Seeker (34 page)

“I’m hungry.”

There were plenty of snack shops. But Alex insisted we go to Karl’s, with its candles, soft music, and sizzling Dellacondan chicken.

“We don’t have time,” I said. It’s true that an hour on Rimway is moderately longer than a terrestrial hour, but we’d still not come close to making the shuttle. At Karl’s, you were expected to relax, enjoy the ambience, and let the food catch up to you, so to speak.

He frowned. “There’s another flight at nine.” He looked at me with those big eyes. Come on, Chase, we’ve been cooped up for weeks. Let’s relax a bit. “Why don’t we just take it easy?” he said. “Take advantage of the opportunity?” He was really asking whether I wanted a decent meal, or preferred the prepackaged stuff on the shuttle.

So he called the reservation desk to make the change, and we strolled up to B Deck, and poked our heads into a couple of the souvenir shops. I bought a shirt for a nephew, and Alex got some chocolate for the ride down. Then we wandered into Karl’s.

Despite the mixed outcome of the mission, it was a night to celebrate. We got our table and sat down and I put the box and the souvenirs on the seat beside me and told Alex not to let me forget it. There was sultry music drifting from the piano at the far end of the dining room. We tossed off drinks and stared into each other’s eyes like a couple of starstruck lovers. We told each other how good we were, and how the entire world was going to come to our doorstep to ask how we did it. We ordered seafood. White staple, supposedly from the Inland Sea. Whatever, I enjoyed every bite. It’s funny, I can clearly remember the details of that meal, the way the salad looked, the dressing I used, the shape of the wineglasses, everything as if it happened yesterday. I can still see the chandelier, and the half-filled dining room. I can see Alex, swept away by the emotions of the evening, sitting at the apex of his career, simultaneously delighted and depressed. The plight of those people so long ago had gotten to him. Had I been behaving that way, he’d have told me to get my act together. Everybody dies eventually. It’s ancient history.

Well, it
was
that.

I remember his joking about how there should be an antiquities dealers’ hall of fame. About time they got the recognition that had long been withheld. And he took time to thank me for my contribution. I think by then he’d drunk a bit too much.

The piano player was real rather than virtual, a tall, serious-looking guy with a bristling mustache and gray eyes that didn’t quite match the romantic music. I can still tell you what he played, and that he wore a red carnation and looked mournful. I remember thinking maybe it was a result of his wistful repertoire. “Lost Without You.” “Night with No Moon.” And “Chandra.”

I’m not sure precisely when I became aware of a change in atmosphere. We’d gotten well past the meal and were simply sitting, drinking, and enjoying the evening. I was beginning to wonder if we’d make the nine o’clock flight. And gradually I noticed a change in the mood of the place. The spontaneity seemed to evaporate, and people were whispering and looking around and shaking their heads. Alex saw it, too. When our waiter came over to refill our glasses, Alex asked if something was going on.

“The shuttle,”
he said.
“It blew up on the way down.”

I have to confess my first thought was not for the victims, but for us, how close Alex and I had come to being part of the disaster. Had it not been for his appetite, and his inclination to visit Karl’s at every opportunity—

The victims. They’d been walking around the concourse a few hours ago brushing shoulders with us. And the guy with the shy demeanor. Charlie. Had he been aboard?

I don’t recall that either of us ate or drank anything after that. The waiter had no details. I heard someone sobbing out in the concourse. I remember getting up from the table while Alex paid the bill. We wandered outside in a daze. “These things happen,” I said.

He gave me a strange look and shook his head. I don’t know how I got there, but I ended in his arms. “It’s okay,” he said.

I just hung on.

Alex shifted his weight.

“What?” I asked.

“The artifacts.” He called the shipping service. Yes, they were sorry, but the three containers
had
been on the six o’clock shuttle. “
But I see they’re insured. No need to worry, Mr. Benedict
.”

Insured for a nominal sum. Insuring them for their true value would have overwhelmed the shipping company and they’d have refused to accept the packages.

At that moment I remembered the box, the only remaining artifacts. Which I’d left at the table. I started back, only to see the host hurrying my way with the box and my purchases in his hands.

We tried to call Windy. Her AI informed us she was on another circuit, extremely busy, planning for a conference starting tomorrow.

I asked whether they knew about the shuttle.

“Yes,”
he said.
“Dr. Yashevik knows.”

“I’ve a question,” said Alex. “Is there a Charlie Everson on Windy’s staff?”

“No,”
said the AI.
“We do not have any such person on the rolls.”

I broke the connection. He pulled me over to one side and looked anxiously at the crowd swirling around us.

“You think that was meant for us?” I asked.

“What do you think?”

“No survivors,”
somebody was saying on a news spot.
“Names have not yet been released pending notification of next of kin.”
The reporter turned to another journalist.
“Bill, what do you have?”

“Lara, this is believed to be the first shuttle accident in more than a century. The last one occurred—”

People were gathering to watch.

Alex called security. He gave them Charlie’s description and told them he might be involved in what had happened to the shuttle. This was the guy I’d thought shy.

Two minutes later, a man and woman showed up and asked a lot of questions. After we’d given them what little we had, they looked skeptical. But they thanked us, assured us they’d make a full report, and asked us where we could be reached if additional questioning became necessary.

“Maybe they can get him before he gets away from the station,” I said.

“Let’s hope.”

The media account continued: “
—Air and Space will be issuing a statement shortly—”

A man standing beside us shushed his kids. A woman on the far side of the concourse collapsed.

“ —Twenty-two people, including the pilot—”

I looked around, wondering if I might spot Charlie somewhere. Wondering if he might make a second attempt at us.

“— Into the ocean. Rescue teams are just arriving on the scene—”

Alex opened the box. Everything was accounted for. “Try to hang on to it,” he said.

“ — They’re telling us there was no hint of a problem, Lara. No distress call. Nothing like that. They just dropped off the scopes without warning—”

The screen showed schematics of the L700, which was the shuttle model used at Skydeck. An analyst began explaining its safety features.

A pair of paramedics arrived to attend to the woman who’d collapsed. There were cries of
Look out
and
Give them room
. Then they carried her away.

“ — Tell us it’s the safest shuttle in the fleet. It’s been in service throughout the Confederacy for more than sixty years. And this is the first—”

We disengaged from the crowd and found seats in one of the boarding areas. I think we were just beginning to grasp the reality of what had happened. Twenty-two dead. It would constitute one of the worst disasters of modern times. But I’m not sure that was what I was feeling. I pictured myself inside the cabin and suddenly blown into the sky.

“You okay?” Alex asked.

“Yeah.”

The security people came back and took us to a central location where we described Charlie again for an artist. “Did you know,” Alex asked, “there was a time they used surveillance cameras in places like this? Recorded everything.” In fact, he added, Rainbow had sold one of the devices to a collector years ago.

“Maybe we need to get them back,” I said.

By the time we were finished, we’d missed the nine o’clock shuttle, too. Assuming there’d been one.

Nothing quite shocks the system like murder. It reminds us that, even in this relatively enlightened time, there are still barbarians among us.
— Barringer Tate,
Civilized to a Fault,
1418

By morning they had the names of the passengers. I was not surprised to see there was no Charlie Everson among them.

“He wasn’t one of our people,”
Windy told me, speaking over the circuit.
“I didn’t even know you guys were back until your call came in.”

“We got in yesterday.”

“Thank heaven you weren’t on it. You really think this was an effort to kill you and Alex?”

“It’s the third attempt.”

“My God, what’s going on?”

“Alex thinks somebody was hoping to put us out of the picture and claim the
Seeker
.”

She brightened considerably. “
You found it
?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me about it. What kind of condition is it in? Where is it? Did you find Margolia?”

I paused briefly for effect. “We orbited the place.”

She caught her breath. “
Really? You wouldn’t kid me
.”

“No, Windy,” I said. “We were there.”

She clapped her hands, screamed “Yes!” and came out of her chair with such force I thought she was going to charge physically into my office. “
Marvelous
!”

“It’s a jungle now. Nothing left.”

“It’s okay! But you found it? Wonderful! Are you sure? How do you know if there’s nothing left?”

I needed several minutes to explain. Then another few minutes elapsed while we talked about the effect it would have on the archeological community. After she’d settled into a radiant glow, she switched back to the shuttle. “
What did Charlie look like
?”

I described him.

She shook her head. “
Rings no bells
.”

“I assume it’s safe to say you don’t know anything about a tracker either, right?”

“No. What tracker?”

“Somebody tried to play bumper cars with us.”

“This is crazy,”
she said.

“Right. We think the danger’s past now that we’ve filed the claim.”

“Be careful anyhow. When did you file?”

“First thing this morning.”

“You included us?”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. We need two things.”

“I’m listening.”

“We’d like to have an announcement made right away. With a big enough splash so we can be sure these lunatics know it’s gone public. Just in case they’re not following developments at the Bureau of Records. We want them to know Margolia is off the table.”

“Okay. I’ll set one up for tomorrow morning. What else can I do for you?”

“I assume Survey will be sending a mission?”

“Of course.”

“Okay. You’ll want to get moving on it. These people, whoever they are, have a head start. They could do a fair amount of looting before anyone gets there.”

As soon as I’d finished talking to Windy, I called Shara. “
I heard what happened
,” she said. “
I’m glad you guys missed the flight
.”

“There’s more to it than that, Shara. Somebody tried to take us during the mission.” I explained about the tracker.

“How could that happen?”
she asked.
“Who knew where you were going?”

I hesitated. “Nobody except you.”

She covered her mouth with a hand. “
Hey
,” she said. “
I didn’t tell anybody
.”

“That’s what I wanted to ask. No one came around, asking questions?”

“No. Not a soul.”

“Would anybody have had access to the information you gave us?”

She took a deep breath. “
The staff
.”

“What staff? Who, specifically?”

“Chase, anybody who works for Survey’s administrative staff could have pulled it up.”

“Shara—”

“I used my office to run the program. That made it accessible.”

“To the whole world.”

“I’m sorry, Chase. You didn’t say anything about a need for secrecy.”

“I thought it was obvious.”

“It wasn’t. I’m sorry.”

“Okay. At least we know what happened.”

“If I’d realized, I could have put a security code on it.”

“It’s okay,” I said.

“I didn’t know—”

Fenn called us and that afternoon we got interviewed by two more investigators. We went over everything we’d told the first team, then went over it again. They asked who would want us dead and looked skeptical when we told them we didn’t know. “Not that I don’t have enemies,” said Alex. “Can’t avoid it in my business. But I don’t know of anyone who’d qualify as a homicidal maniac.”

“And you think they were after this
Margolia
?”

“Yes.”

“Sounds like the biggest claim jump of all time.”

They were male and female, very serious, thank you ma’am, are you absolutely certain? The male was short and dumpy, the female tall and trim. The male seemed to be in charge.

They called up images of every Charlie Everson on the planet. None of them was the guy. Then they showed us through a rogues’ gallery. Nobody there, either.

“Was it a bomb?” I asked.

The woman nodded. “Yes.” Her voice showed strain. Subdued rage, maybe. “Hard to believe,” she added after a pause, “anyone would put a
bomb
into a vehicle loaded with people. I don’t know what we’re coming to.”

“They’ve implemented all kinds of security measures,” said the male.