Alex Benedict 9 - Village in the Sky, page 10
A golden retriever sat beside her chair, its jaw snuggled against her left leg. A full bookcase stood behind her. And beside the bookcase there was a framed portrait of a little girl standing on a porch. “I guess,” she said, “we never did get together for that lunch we used to talk about.”
“It’s a pretty long ride, Robbi Jo. Does your family still live in Andiquar?”
“Yes. Actually, I’ve been down there a couple of times since I got back from the Columbia.”
“What are you doing now?”
“I’m trying to decide whether I want to work for Spaceways.” An interplanetary touring company. “By the way, I’ve been meaning to tell you, I’ve read a couple of your books, Chase. I’ve enjoyed the accounts of Alex’s archeological adventures. You have a serious writing talent.”
“Thank you,” I said. “Would it be okay if I used that comment as a blurb on the next one?”
“Absolutely.”
“Excellent. I write while you make history.”
She laughed. “That was Quaid, not me. I got lucky. They needed a pilot.”
“I thought you were going to become an astrophysicist.”
“That was my original plan. But I couldn’t see any point in looking at stars through oversized telescopes when I could go out and poke them.” Her eyes lit up and suddenly we were back on the basketball court. “I guess we both headed in the same direction.”
“Looks like. I hope you’ve enjoyed the ride as much as I have. I should mention, by the way, that Alex doesn’t think of himself as an archeologist.”
She glanced at my bookcase and smiled when she saw the hardcover Ulakan volumes I’d received from Chad Barker. Three of them were in plain view. She turned back to me. “How would he describe himself?” she asked. “Alex.”
“As an antiquarian.”
“I’m surprised to hear that.”
Her eyes brightened. “I have to tell you that I wish we’d had someone like you on board the Columbia to write a memoir of the flight.”
“Thanks, Robbi Jo. I appreciate the compliment. Maybe next time?” That was supposed to be a joke. But she didn’t smile. And she didn’t take the bait. “We should have stayed in touch,” I said.
Her bookcase was filled mostly with astronomy books. “That would have been a good idea. It’s not too late, Chase.”
“I’m in favor of that.” She nodded, confirming the idea. “You must have enjoyed the experience, Robbi Jo. Finding aliens.”
“Well, more or less. The aliens went missing. I have to admit the Ulakans would have been more fun.”
“Did you get to meet them?”
“Not exactly. We tossed greetings back and forth. I was part of the crowd when they were leaving.”
We talked about it for a few minutes before I tried again to move toward the Harbinger mission. “What do you think happened?”
“They must have gone to the wrong place. No way I can imagine they could have moved the town out of there. I felt sorry for Vince and the rest of those guys.”
“It must have been a long, dreary ride home.”
“Yeah. I’m sure it was.”
“Do you know any of them? Other than Vince?”
“Just Henry.”
“Have you talked to any of them since?”
“No. I’m maintaining a healthy distance.” Her eyes left me. She was looking at something in her living room. Or wherever that was. “For a while I regretted not being with them. But the way it turned out—” She cleared her throat. “When we saw the village, the Columbia mission turned into one long celebration. I never would have believed the whole thing would crash and burn the way it did.”
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“Me too. The Columbia was the mission of a lifetime. Or at least it should have been. Now we have people saying the whole thing was a lie. That the village was never there.”
“Robbi Jo, Alex would like to go out there, to Korella, and try to figure out what happened.”
“I wish him luck.” Her eyes locked on me. She knew what was coming.
“The problem is that we don’t know where the place is.”
“Why does he want to do that? Is he looking to enhance his reputation? Maybe help you get a bigger book deal?”
She’d changed from the young woman I remembered, who would not have backed anyone into a corner. I could have told her she was wrong, that Alex simply hoped to collect some artifacts. But that was not the answer that was likely to get her on board. “Robbi Jo,” I said, “he has no interest in making contact per se. He would just like to work out what happened. If he finds anyone, he’d keep his distance and do nothing more than come home and report the results.” I managed what I hoped was an amicable smile.
She let me see that she hoped I was right. “I wish I could help,” she said.
“You know where the place is, don’t you?”
“Yes. I know. But everyone who was selected for the mission signed an agreement specifically barring us from revealing any location in the event we found someone. Or from doing anything that might assist anyone else who was on the hunt.”
“Robbi Jo, I assume you know that Henry is saying they won’t be running any future flights into the area.”
“I know. Quaid has taken the same attitude.”
“The whole point of the Columbia’s mission was to look for intelligent life.”
“Not exactly, Chase. We were looking for worlds that could serve as bases or colonies for us. That was the stated purpose of the Visitation Project.”
“The stated purpose isn’t quite the same as the driving force behind the flights. They didn’t want to stir up interest in getting people like Alex and me going out hunting for aliens.”
She exhaled. “I suppose there’s something to that.”
“Why did they choose that particular group of stars in the Orion Nebula? They’re too far to be of any practical use as colonies.”
“Artificial radio signals have been picked up occasionally. A long time ago.”
“How long?”
“Originally during the fifth millennium. And periodically since then. The most recent one goes back four centuries. But it’s a long ride out there, especially in those eras. It would have taken a year or more.”
“Okay. So the truth is out. We’ve been fascinated by the possibility of others all the way back to the early days of spaceflight. But the people in charge have always been nervous about what might happen if we actually found someone. But look how the Ulakans turned out.”
“Yeah.” She laughed. “Aliens finally show up—aliens other than the Mutes—and they’re dedicated book readers.”
“Right. Who saw that coming?”
She was staring again at the Ulakan volumes. “Have you read any of them?”
“I’ve read two. And they feel as if they’ve been written by us. How about you?”
“I read Footprints in the Sands of Time. It’s about the significance of art and literature in civilized development.”
“How is it?”
“It’s excellent. Monteo says it’s a classic. Right up there with Looking Askance.” She obviously saw the title hadn’t connected with me. “It’s by Michael Leja,” she said. “He was a third-millennium art historian.”
“The name rings a bell. I don’t know Monteo, though.”
She smiled. “Monteo’s strictly a critic. Lives on Dellaconda. Leja’s book has been around almost since the beginning of western civilization. There are a lot of illustrations in it. In both books. The Ulakans have the same passion for art.”
“I recall you used to do some painting.”
“At one time I thought that was going to be my career. Didn’t happen.” She looked back at the painting beside the bookcase. “That’s Tammy,” she said. “Her mom’s in the other room.”
“It’s beautiful.”
“She is, isn’t she?”
“I meant the painting. She is too.”
“Thank you. I guess you know the Parkington is going to do one of the plays. One of the Ulakan plays.”
“I hadn’t heard that.”
“They just announced it this morning.”
“Robbi Jo, I can’t help thinking how much all those generations probably missed because we and the Ulakans needed so long to find one another.”
She sat quietly and pushed her tongue against her cheek. “Chase, I’m sorry. I wish there were a way for me to help you.”
“If it were your call, you’d send out another mission, wouldn’t you?”
She thought about it. “I would. But it’s not my decision.” She was staring past me again. “Sorry.” She looked down at her link. “I’ve got to go. When we can find some time, Chase, let’s get together.” And she clicked off.
I wasn’t quite ready to give up. I called Chad and bought hardcover copies of Facing Reality and Why We Laugh. The latter book described the importance of art and literature in the development of a civilized world. I provided Robbi Jo’s address and asked him to ship them to her. “You want to attach a card?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said. “ ‘For my favorite artist.’ ”
* * *
“So how do we find the place?” I asked.
“I don’t know.” When Alex gets frustrated, he usually closes his eyes. This time he stared hard into mine. “We’ve touched base with the pilots, and with McCann and Cassell. Nobody’s budging. And nobody else on either flight is likely to be able to find it.” He sat at his desk, picked up his coffee, and took a long drink. We weren’t getting any rain, but there was a lot of thunder and the wind was moving tree branches. “I guess we should just let it go for a while. Eventually somebody’s mind might change.”
“Okay.” I shouldn’t admit this, but I was almost relieved. “How is it, I wonder, that the Visitation Project was originally hoping to find someone, and then when they did, they were so quick to back away from it?”
“Because it went public. We aren’t always rational, Chase. Searching for intelligent life was at the heart of what they were doing, but they didn’t expect to find anything. And they even pretended they weren’t looking for aliens. When it happened, it came as a shock. And they played it straight. But since the village disappeared, I guess it’s become hard to walk away from the project.”
He didn’t broach the subject again for a few days. When I asked if he was still thinking about it, he let me see that he’d given up. “I took another crack at Reddington. But he won’t budge.”
“So it’s over?”
“Yes. Though there’s somebody else I want to talk with.”
“Who’s that?”
“The Mutes. They’ve been over to the Orion Nebula several times.”
“That sounds like a long shot.”
“I don’t know. I don’t think they have the same attitude toward aliens that we do. But let’s find out. It’s all we have. When you have a minute, see if you can set up a meeting with Torega.”
* * *
Torega was a Mute with whom we’d done occasional business. He was a diplomat who was also a collector of artifacts from actions that had led to the war and the efforts to end it. We had obtained for him a draft copy of the Call to Victory, the challenge issued by the Mutes that had initiated the attack at Blenkoven and in effect blocked ongoing efforts to reach a settlement. We’d also gotten him the pen used by the Mute leader Andropoli to sign the agreement that brought peace. And there was an early version of “Finale,” the famous poem written by Jora Modesta, expressing his appreciation that the war had ended.
So he owed us. I set up the appointment and, the following afternoon, accompanied Alex to the Kostyev House, in the center of Andiquar. The Kostyev House had been an embassy for the Dellacondans in an earlier time. Now it served primarily as the consulate for the Ashiyyur. For years, the Mutes had to tolerate angry demonstrators who thought they were monsters interested only in bringing down the Confederacy. The war that had been fought with them was long gone, but their fearsome appearance remained, as well as their ability to read minds. But happily, the sign-waving demonstrators were now gone too. That had happened when the Mutes came to the rescue of Salud Afar, helping get a shield in place to save that terrified world from a supernova.
We rode a tube up to the fourth floor and followed a carpeted corridor down to a set of windows that had not been there during my previous visit. They overlooked the courthouse. Long murals depicted men and women in modest cottages contemplating approaching storms, seated at crowded picnic tables, and looking out across broad rivers. Carved mahogany doors lined both sides of the corridor. Most were unmarked, save a legal firm and a tax adjuster and a couple showing only names. We paused in front of a set of double doors that appeared to be oak with a khaki color. A plaque indicated we’d arrived at the Ashiyyurean consulate.
Alex spoke his name. The doors opened and we entered. The Mute civilization was considerably older than ours, by thousands of years. And they were telepaths. Experts maintained they were more intelligent than humans, though it could be argued they hadn’t always shown it. They could not speak, probably a result of their telepathic capabilities.
I’d been there on several earlier occasions. The furnishings had been upgraded since my previous visits. Before, the consulate had seemed simply mundane, not a place in which you’d want to spend much time. I don’t remember details other than a sofa, chairs, and a desk, all looking as if they’d been acquired during a low-budget sale. There was a white door behind the desk. Worn books were piled on a table, supported by a pair of horse-head bookends. Two windows, shaded by green curtains, looked out over Bancroft Street.
There was a bookcase now. It held some of the volumes that had been here before, biographies of both humans and Mutes, a few histories of both species, and several books in the Ashiyyurean language. There was also a copy of Leisha Tanner’s Extracts from Tulisofala. It’s a book I’ve been wanting to read forever. Eventually I’ll get to it. And I should mention that there was a copy of Alex’s A Talent for War.
A light rain was falling. Alex settled into one of the chairs, while I stood looking at the books. And suddenly I got a sense that I was being watched, that we were no longer alone in the room. That shouldn’t have come as a surprise. It had happened during my other visits. And I knew what was coming next: the white door opened.
I held my breath while a Mute entered the room. Their faces resemble ours except that they are less animated, with large arched diamond-shaped eyes and canines that suggest there is something of a vampire about them. It was a male. Almost a head taller than Alex. Its skin was like worn dark leather. I couldn’t tell whether it was Torega.
“Hello, Alex,” he said, speaking through a medallion that hung on a chain around his neck. Centered on it was a bird in flight that might have been an eagle. “It’s good to see you again.”
Alex got up and extended his hand. “Good to see you, Torega. It’s been a long time.”
“We’ve missed you, Alex.” His eyes rotated toward me. “And you are Chase. Do I have that right?”
“Yes,” I said.
“Forgive me. Humans all tend to look alike to us.”
“It’s okay,” I said, trying to stop myself from thinking that all he had to do was look into my mind to find out who I was. “Good to see you again, sir.”
“The pleasure is all mine, Chase.” He indicated we should all sit. He took a place on the couch. “Alex,” he said, “I haven’t been able to help noticing that your archeological career has brought considerable success. My congratulations.”
“I’m not really an archeologist, Torega. I’m just a retail guy. My uncle Gabriel is the archeologist.”
“Oh. I don’t think I ever actually understood that.”
Said the guy to whom our minds lay open. Alex got the joke too and smiled. “I’m happy to clarify.”
An associate brought in a round of drinks. Not alcoholic, more like tea with a taste of lemon. Torega tried it, showed his approval, and then addressed Alex: “So what can I do for you?”
Alex leaned back in his chair. “I’m aware that your people claim we are the only developed civilization you’ve ever encountered. Is that really true?”
“Probably not,” he said, “although I’ve no way to know. Our people have been like yours. We understand how much damage high-tech visitors can do to a primitive society. And since there’s really no way to control interstellar flights from our worlds, we’ve tried to deal with the issue by simply not releasing information about discoveries.”
Alex nodded. “So if a couple of your people out wandering around find another civilization, how do you persuade them to keep it quiet?”
“How would DPSAR handle it?”
“We’d probably pay them. I can’t see what else we could do.”
“And there you have it, Alex. If they reveal anything, they lose the money and are given treatment to ensure it doesn’t happen again.”
“Treatment? What do you mean?”
“Their memory of the incident is wiped and replaced.”
Alex took a long sip from the lemon tea. “I wouldn’t have thought you guys could keep any secrets from each other.”
“Of course we can. We don’t live in each other’s brains. Our natural inclination is to be completely open. But we can create blockage. It’s not difficult. And I assume since the Confederacy, until last month, reported no evidence of newly discovered high-tech aliens, that you have a similar system in place.”
Alex signaled me to respond. “You might be right,” I said. “But I think we just do what we can to prevent others from using the information. Give it time and probably everybody will forget about it.”
“You’ve had a wild ride recently. Two connections.” Torega’s eyes widened. “With the Ulakans and that odd business at Korella IV.”
“That’s why we’ve come,” said Alex. “Obviously you know what happened on Korella IV, in the Orion Nebula. Is there any possibility that a group of your people got stranded out there on one of those worlds? And possibly got mistaken for another species?”
