“What else?”
“Once it gets out, you can’t control access. Every nitwit with a ship would want to go take a look. Maybe, if there were aliens, they simply asked to have their privacy respected.”
“Would Tuttle have gone along with that?”
“It’s funny. There was a time I thought that being known as the discoverer of an alien civilization would have been more important to Sunset than the discovery itself.”
“But you don’t think that anymore?”
“No. So, yes, if he’d found aliens, and they asked to be let alone, I think he’d have honored their request.”
“And you say that because—?”
“He was an honorable man.”
“Okay. Any other reasons to keep it secret?”
“Oh, yes. The one that comes immediately to mind is the possibility that they’re a million years beyond where we are.”
“You mean they’d constitute an existential threat?”
“Not in the sense I think you mean. But what would happen to us if suddenly we were given their knowledge? So that we had a complete map of the galaxy, we knew where everything is, knew what’s there and what isn’t? Maybe they have the details about alternate universes. They can solve all our problems—”
The host broke in:
“You make that sound dangerous—”
“What would we have left to live for? Another possibility: How would we react in the presence of a species who lived indefinitely? Who didn’t die? Who were enormously smarter than we are? Whose creations and accomplishments made ours look like children’s toys?”
“I couldn’t agree more,”
said Peer.
“There’s the real danger.”
Alex glared at the hologram. “So what would you suggest?” he demanded. “That we keep everybody home? To make sure we don’t find anything?”
“Alex—” I said.
“Idiots. What’s wrong with these people?”
“It’s why you should probably have gone this evening.” We heard Bannister’s name.
“So she bought the tablet and got rid of it,”
said McCovey.
“Is anything going on here?”
“She was close to Sunset,”
said Holverson.
“Probably lovers. I doubt he’d have kept a secret from her. Especially something like what we’re talking about here.”
Jacob broke in:
“You have a call, Alex.”
“Who is it?”
“Leslie Cloud.”
“Tell her I’m not here. That you can’t reach me.”
“As you wish. And you have
another
call. Two more, in fact.”
“Same response for everybody.”
“Alex,” I said, “you’re going to have to respond.”
“I know.”
My own link began vibrating. “Who’s Leslie Cloud?” I asked.
“Columnist for
Archeology Today
.”
“You can’t really just—” I shrugged and opened my link. It was Carmen.
“Chase,”
she said,
“I know you don’t like to be disturbed, but we have three calls. All from media representatives. No, make it four.”
“Tell them I’m not presently available.”
“Very good, Chase.”
“Find out who they are. I’ll get back to them.”
NINETEEN
Truth comes in two formats: insights, and collisions with reality.
—Tulisofala,
Mountain Passes
(Translated by Leisha Tanner)
We were left with no alternative but to issue a statement. The same message went to every media outlet: We were looking into the provenance of a tablet that had turned up on property once owned by Sunset Tuttle. We knew nothing about aliens and had no idea where those stories were coming from.
At the moment,
the statement concluded,
we have no theory regarding its origin. In all probability, we will ultimately discover that the statements made on
The Peter McCovey Show
this evening were exaggerated. Rainbow Enterprises is interested primarily because the tablet might be a genuine artifact.
Rachel issued a general denial, although it was difficult to know precisely what she was denying, whether it was the discovery of aliens, or her romantic relationship with Tuttle. One journalist managed to get to her. She remained noncommittal, other than admitting she was considering legal action against both McCovey and Alex.
“Why?”
the reporter asked.
“Intrusion into my private life.”
The statement did nothing except stir things up. So we went to a press conference. Six journalists attended physically, and an additional six hundred or so linked in. Alex led off with another statement, even less informative than the first.
Then he took questions. Was it true that we were looking for aliens? Did we have any concerns that we might lead these aliens back to the Confederacy? What precautions were being taken?
When were we going out to continue the search?
“Where precisely do you think they are?”
asked the
Financial Times
.
“I’ve said repeatedly, we are not looking for aliens.”
“Where is this tablet we keep hearing about?”
That came from the
Narimoto Courier
.
“We don’t know.”
In a follow-up:
“Is this by any chance a public-relations ploy?”
The day after the press conference, I had dinner with Shara Michaels. Shara was a longtime friend, and a physicist who’d helped us in the past. We went to Bennie’s Far and Away, which was her favorite restaurant. And, although I tried to have Rainbow pick up the tab—she’d never charged for her services—she refused. “Let me buy for you for a change,” she said.
Afterward, we did a tour of the nightspots. We enjoyed ourselves, and probably drank a bit too much. I know that, toward the end of the evening, we found ourselves, with three or four other women, dancing on tables while everybody clapped, then someone yelled my name, and I realized I’d been recognized, so we stopped and hustled out into the street. After that, we maintained a more appropriate demeanor.
An hour or so later, we were sitting in the Karanova, trading one-liners with a couple of guys, when somebody came up behind me and stopped. I’d heard him approach, and I knew he was standing there. A peculiar look came over Shara’s face. Then one of the guys—his name was Charlie—looked up past me and frowned.
A vaguely familiar voice said, “Bitch.”
At first I thought it was somebody talking to Shara. When I turned, I found myself looking at Doug Bannister. He stood there, angry eyes screwed into me, jaws clamped tight.
I stayed where I was. Charlie got out of his chair. He was big, and he dwarfed Doug.
“Enjoying yourself, bitch?” Doug hissed.
“Hey.” Charlie took a step forward. “Back off, pal.”
Doug ignored him. “You run around with that rich son-of-a-bitch troublemaker of yours, ruining people’s lives.” He reached down, picked up my drink, and threw it in my face.
Charlie decked him. Doug went down hard, and I tried to get between them. Charlie glared down at him and said something about breaking his neck. But Doug had eyes only for me: “Kolpath,” he told me, “I hope you choke.” Then he got up, wiping blood from his jaw, and while I restrained Charlie, he walked slowly away.
The entire place had gone quiet. “It’s over,” Charlie said. “Everybody relax.”
Shara stared at me. “Who was that?” she said. “What was that all about?”
“Charlie,” I said, “thanks.”
“It’s okay. I’m glad I was here. What the hell’s his problem?”
“It’s business-related,” I said.
Next day, we got a call from Korminov. Alex took it in my office while I was going through the files. The onetime World’s End CEO was not happy.
“Alex,”
he said,
“whatever this crazy business with the tablet is about, I’d really appreciate it if you’d stop. You’re stirring up rumors that reflect on Rachel Bannister. She’s a good woman. She doesn’t deserve this.”
Alex sat down at my desk. “Walter,” he said, “I haven’t accused anybody of anything. I’m simply trying to ascertain the provenance—”
Korminov exploded.
“Look, you’re doing a lot of damage. Think how Rachel must feel, having all this dug up about Tuttle. An hour ago I heard accusations on
The Morning Show
that she was after his money.”
“Has she complained to you?” Alex asked.
“No. Does she have to? Alex, I expected more from you. Man with your reputation—”
“Walter, all I’m trying to do is determine what’s on that tablet.”
“Well, I suggest you leave it alone. I can’t believe you’d do all this just so you can satisfy your curiosity about a piece of rock. Alex, you’re a better man that that.”
“Walter, I think you’re becoming overwrought.”
“I don’t get overwrought, Alex.”
He was in a plush leather chair, in front of a set of curtains.
“Please think how your actions are affecting others.”
“Does that include you, Walter?”
“Yes, in fact it does. I’ve had a few calls from the media asking whether there’s a connection with World’s End. I don’t want to get dragged into this. Please just use your head and make it go away.”
Robin and I went out that evening. We were celebrating his birthday, but he saw right away that my mind was elsewhere. When he asked what was wrong, I made the mistake of telling him about the encounter with Doug Bannister the previous evening, and he told me he wished he’d been there. “If I see him—” I immediately regretted saying anything. In fact, I knew when I first started mouthing off about it that it was a mistake to tell him, but you know how it is. Once you get started on these things, you pick up momentum, and there’s no easy way to stop.
Anyhow, I told him he was to keep out of it, that things were already bad enough, and that, anyhow, I could take care of myself.
“That’s not the point,” he said.
“Really? What is?”
He started going on about his responsibility to protect me, until I made it clear that wasn’t the point. Then he said okay and laughed, and it was over.
I knew Robin would be a good guy to have around if I ever really needed help, but the last thing I wanted was something that would make relations with the Bannisters even worse. I don’t know. Maybe I had a premonition.
TWENTY
There are times when the only response to the misfortunes and calamities cast upon us is to end our existence in this tumultuous world, to draw the blinds, turn off the lights, and retire forever from the comedy.
—Tulisofala,
Mountain Passes
(Translated by Leisha Tanner)
That night, two days after the press conference, Carmen woke me shortly before dawn.
“Call from Alex,”
she said.
I rolled over and looked at the clock. “At this hour?”
“Do you want me to tell him—?”
“Carmen, did he say what it’s about?”
“No, Chase.”
“Put him through.” She knew without my saying anything to keep it audio only. I heard the click that indicated the channel had opened. “Alex,” I said, “you okay?”
“It’s Rachel.”
His voice was flat.
“Thought you’d want to hear it from me before you see it on the morning news shows.”
I froze. “Hear what?”
“She’s up on the Trafalgar Bridge. Half over the rail. I’m on my way there now. Maybe I can talk her off the damned thing.”
The Trafalgar is located twenty kilometers northwest, where the Melony enters the mountains. At that point, the river splashes down into a long canyon. The bridge, designed for both pedestrians and ground traffic, crosses the canyon. If you’ve ever been on it, you know how high it is. Probably three hundred meters to the river. If Rachel jumped from that, she wasn’t going to swim real well after she hit the water. “You think she means it?” I asked.
“Probably.”
“Where are you now?”
“I’ve just left the house.”
“Okay. I’m on my way.”
“I doubt there’s anything you can do, Chase.”