Authors: Jack McDevitt

Tags: #Science Fiction, #General, #Adventure, #Fiction

Echo (4 page)

BOOK: Echo

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A young woman raised her hand.
“It’s because scientists are supposed to be ruled by the evidence. During the early years of the Fourth Millennium, there was no evidence.”

Somebody prompted her:
“The
Third
Millennium, Carla.”

“Whatever. Their reputations were on the line, as they always are.”
Like Colt, she looked uncomfortable. She wanted to say more, but she smiled shyly and sat back down.

“You’re wondering about me, aren’t you, Carla? Has my reputation suffered because of the work I do? Let me point out that I was invited to speak to the graduating class at Korchnoi.”
A few in back began to applaud, and it caught on and spread through the room. Tuttle waited until it had subsided.
“At the risk of ruining their reputations, I think I can state unequivocally that Professor Campbell and Professor Baryman are sympathetic to the work.”
More applause. It was easy enough to pick the two named persons out of the crowd. Both nodded acquiescence.
“I’ve been looking for other civilizations now for more than a century. Most of my colleagues are convinced I’ve wasted my time. But, if nothing else, I’ve left a track for whoever comes after. He, or she, will know, at least, that
these
worlds are empty. Don’t look
here
. It’s not what I would have preferred to do, but maybe it’s the only way.”

“Professor?”
A young man in the rear stood.
“May I ask a personal question?”

“You may ask.”

“If you had it to do again, would you go in a different direction?”

“Oh, yes. Certainly. Absolutely.”

“What would you do differently?”

“You asked if I’d go in a different direction. And of course I would. I didn’t find anything in the direction I took. But if you’re asking whether I’d spend my life digging up Fifth Millennium kitchen utensils from a dead city on a world we forgot about two thousand years ago, the answer is no. Certainly not. I’d rather fail at a world-shaking effort than succeed with trifles.”

“That’s strange,” said Alex.

“What is?”

“He talks as if he left a complete record.”

“You know,” Alex said, “the tablet is going to turn out to be a joke. Something somebody gave him for his birthday. But I guess it doesn’t cost us anything to look.”

“How long did Tuttle live in the Rindenwood house?” I asked.

“He was born and died there, Chase.”

I was watching the time. I’d be leaving in a few minutes for the place. “It seems odd,” I said. “A guy who spent his life exploring the stars but never really left home.”

Alex was wearing a frumpy University of Andiquar sweater. He noticed it was hanging crooked, unbuttoned it, and fixed it. “Take a contract with you,” he said. “If Ms. Greengrass isn’t at home when you get there, park on her doorstep until she shows up and get her signature. Give her a nominal payment.”

“How much is nominal?”

“Twenty-five. No. Make it
thirty
-five. Just make sure we have everything in writing.” He got up and started for the door. “Chase, I don’t have to tell you—”

“I know,” I said.

I prepped a contract and got moving. A light rain had begun to fall as I came out the side door and hurried down the walkway to the pad. Alex keeps saying he’s going to put a roof over the walkway—Andiquar gets a lot of rain—but it never happens. The skimmer lit up as I entered, and said hello.

It would be a sixteen-minute run to Greengrass’s place.

Rindenwood was a moneyed area. Some houses looked like Greek temples, others incorporated Aurelian domes and Sanjo towers. No false modesty here anywhere. And not a place where I’d expect to find a government worker. Number 12 in the Gold Range was conservative by local standards, but it was a luxurious place by mine. It was a plastene two-story structure with decks on both levels and a cluster of evergreens out front. Broad lawns opened onto the Melony, where Madeleine Greengrass had a pier and a boathouse.

I descended onto the pad, sending a passel of spindels fluttering out of the trees. Alex always claimed it was a sign of bad driving when you couldn’t land without scaring the birds. It was pouring by then. I got out, made a dash along a brick walkway, and climbed three or four steps onto the front deck.

There was no tablet. I stood in front of the door, and the house asked if I needed help.

“My name’s Kolpath,” I said. “I’m here to pick up the tablet. Ms. Greengrass is expecting me.”

“I’m sorry, Ms. Kolpath. But the tablet is gone.”

“Gone? Gone where?”

“Someone came for it.”

“She was supposed to hold it for me.”

“I
am
sorry. I guess there was a misunderstanding somewhere. But someone else called, and they came right over.”

“Can you reach her for me? Ms. Greengrass?”

“Is this an emergency?”

“It qualifies.”

“What does?”

“Let it go. Do you know who it was? Who took the tablet?”

“Yes.”

“Can you tell me, please?”

“I’m sorry, but I’m not really permitted to give out that kind of information.”

“Is Ms. Greengrass home?”

“No, she isn’t.”

“When do you expect her?”

“She will probably be in at the end of the day. After six o’clock.”

Tim’s people were descending onto the pad as I started back out to the skimmer. They set down beside it and climbed out. There were two of them. One was Clyde Halley, with whom I’d worked before. I didn’t know the other. Clyde was a big beefy guy, and so was his partner. “Problem, Chase?” said Clyde.

“It’s gone,” I said. “I guess we brought you guys out here for nothing. Sorry.”

“It happens,”
he said.
“You’re sure you don’t need us?”

“Not at the moment, Clyde.” I tipped them both. Then I turned back to the house: “Would you get a message to Ms. Greengrass?”

“I can put it on her board.”

“Ask her to call me as soon as she can.”

“Very good, madame. Is there anything else?”

“Can you tell me anything at all about the persons who took the tablet?”

“I’m sorry, but that would not be ethical.”

Alex was not happy. I can tell because he always starts telling me not to be upset. “This Greengrass should be able to let us know who took it, and we’ll just make an offer.”

“Sounds good.”

“We should be able to track it down easily enough.”

“Maybe whoever took it is thinking the same thing we are.”

“You mean that it’s an artifact? Not likely.”

“Why not?”

“How many academics do you think scan the Rees Market every morning? No, I think somebody just likes white stone and decided it would make a nice garden decoration.”

Jacob broke in.
“Pardon me, Alex,”
he said,
“but Ms. Wellington would like to speak with you about the Ivar vase.”

The Ivar vase had stood in a prominent place onstage during the turn-of-the-century hit
Showstopper
. The problem was that Ms. Wellington, its new owner, had encountered an “expert” who was telling her that her vase was only a duplicate. That the original had been broken during the next-to-last performance. All the paperwork was in place, but Ms. Wellington needed to be reassured she had the original.

Alex signaled I should go back to work while he got on the circuit with his client. I went down to my office, finished the billing, did some inventory work, recommended to a couple of clients that they not participate in planned trades, and eventually it was time to go home.

I called Madeleine Greengrass again.

“Ms. Greengrass is not available. If you wish, leave a message.”

Well, I wasn’t about to leave the building until I’d found out what the situation was, so I settled in to wait. Alex came down after a while, told me to go home, and promised he’d call as soon as he heard something.

“It’s okay,” I said. “If you don’t mind, I’ll hang on for a bit.”

He suggested it was pointless. “It’s much ado about nothing, Chase. Don’t waste your time. Go home and entertain Mack.”

Mack was my boyfriend of the hour. Alex didn’t especially like him. He was an archeologist, he disapproved of what we did for a living, and he made no effort to hide it. “Years from now, Chase,” he had told me, “you’re going to look back on all this vandalism and grave robbing and selling off antiquities that should be in museums, and you’re going to regret it.”

Mack was a charmer, and that was the reason he was in a temporary status and not gone altogether. I hoped he might eventually arrive at a more reasonable point of view. At least that was what I kept telling myself.

I stayed on at the country house. We sent out for sandwiches. Then Alex got caught up in a conference with two people who’d just come back from an excavation at a thousand-year-old military base in a star system I’d never heard of. Of course, there was nothing unusual about that. If you haven’t traveled much off Rimway, you probably have no idea how
big
it is out there.

I was sitting in my office, finishing what was left of a pot-roast sub, when Jacob indicated we had a caller.
“It’s Professor Wilson. He wants to talk to Alex, but Alex is busy. Did you want to take the call?”

Wilson appeared to be at home, relaxing in a large fabric armchair. I couldn’t see much of the room, but it had dark-stained panels, and the lighting was subdued. A trophy case guarded a doorway behind him, placed so that it was visible to callers. Concert music rumbled through the background. Heavy stuff. Barankov or somebody, I thought. But the volume was turned down.
“Ah, Chase,”
he said.
“I was calling for Mr. Benedict.”

“He’s busy at the moment, Professor. I can have him get back to you, if you like.”

“No, no. I’ve looked again into the tablet engraving. It’s definitely not Late Korbanic. Which is not a major issue. But there’s nothing like it anywhere in the record. I have found a few similarities to other systems, but nothing close enough that would give us an identification.”

“What about the Ashiyyur? Could it be a Mute artifact?”

“Possibly. We don’t have complete information on ourselves, let alone on them.”

“So we’ve no idea where this thing might have come from.”

“None. I’d say it’s either a hoax, or you have something quite valuable on your hands. What does Alex think?”

“I don’t know. I’d guess he’s on the fence.”

“Well, let me know if I can do anything else.”

That evening, I finally got through to Greengrass. “Madeleine,” I said, “the tablet was gone when I got there.”

“I know. Stafford told me.”

Stafford? That would be the AI.
“We think it may have some intrinsic value.”

“Too late now. It’s gone, Chase.”
She had a laid-back manner, probably a result of doing presentations for the visitors at Silesia Park.

“Can you tell me who took it?”

“No idea.”

“You don’t know?”

“I think that’s what I said.”

“They didn’t give you their names?”

“I didn’t give my approval for anyone to take it. A couple more people called after you did. I thought I told them it was no longer available, but there might have been a communication breakdown. I don’t know. I just wanted to get rid of it, okay? I’ve no idea where it is now, and I don’t particularly care. I apologize, though, that you made the trip for nothing.”

“I was hoping you could help us retrieve it.”

“How valuable do you think it is?”

“We don’t know yet. Maybe a lot.”

“Well,”
she said,
“it’s only money.”

“Ms. Greengrass, I’m not promising anything, but it might have bought you another house.”

“You’re not serious.”

“As I say, we don’t know yet. Is there anything you can think of that might help us locate it?”

“Well, I wish I could. But I just don’t see anything. I don’t even know who those people were.”

“How about if we take a look at what your AI has. We might be able to identify whoever took it.”

BOOK: Echo

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