Alex Benedict 9 - Village in the Sky, page 3
“Henry,” I said, “I didn’t know you were interested in archeology.”
“Oh, yes. Especially when Gabe has the floor.” He smiled at me but spoke to Gabe and Chad. “You probably both know she’s a Xenocon.”
“No,” said Chad. “What the hell’s a Xenocon?”
Henry smiled. “You just had dinner with one. They’re people who’ve been trained how to respond during an encounter with aliens.” He turned in my direction. “Chase, have you by any chance decided whether you’re going to join us on the Harbinger? I don’t want to rush you, but we’re running out of time.”
That was how the moment came. Make up your mind. “No,” I said. “I’m going to pass, Henry. Sorry, I just can’t manage it. But thank you.” Chad’s eyes closed momentarily. He looked relieved. But I could see the disappointment in Gabe’s expression. He’d expected more of me.
Henry nodded. “I understand, Chase.”
Gabe checked the time. “Got to get moving, guys. Chase, you need a ride home?”
“Chad’s got me covered, Gabe. Thanks.”
“Okay. See you tomorrow.” He headed into the parking lot.
Henry watched him go and then told Chad he’d been glad to meet him. “Chase,” he added, “I’m sorry you can’t make it. Take care.”
2
There’s no question that the most significant scientific breakthrough in human history occurred eight thousand years ago, when Eugene Taimundo demonstrated that FTL travel was possible. It was an incredible step forward, in every way imaginable. But it came with a cost. We learned quickly that the universe was effectively empty. We’ve been looking for someone to talk with for thousands of years. And we all know how that’s turned out.
—Eleanor Zaraka, speaking at Salem University, on Rimway, 1427
Alex told me that if he’d been in Henry’s place, I’d have been his first choice to pilot the Harbinger, and he wouldn’t have taken no for an answer. Chad, though, was clearly happy. “I know you wanted to go, and I’m sorry it was such a difficult decision. I hope you didn’t turn it down just for my sake. But I’ll admit I wasn’t looking forward to having you out of my life for the next couple of months. Worse than that, aliens are unpredictable.”
A few days after the archeological conference, the Columbia finally arrived at Skydeck. The HV cameras were there, so we all got to watch in hologram format while its team of four emerged from the connecting tube onto the concourse. A crowd was waiting, and they wasted no time delivering enthusiastic applause. I had no trouble recognizing Robbi Jo. It had been a few years, but she hadn’t changed at all.
The Hochman Network’s Lester Wilkinson managed to corner Quaid McCann. “I know you weren’t supposed to establish contact with them, but did you try?”
“No,” he said. “We didn’t.”
“Did you receive any radio signals?”
“There was nothing. As far as we could tell, they didn’t even have a radio.”
“But they had lights?”
“Yes, they did.”
“It’s also been reported that they had electricity. Is that correct?”
“Yes.”
“How could you tell? Did they have motors running somewhere?”
“The light in their windows was steady. It was clearly not candles.”
“That sounds a bit speculative.”
McCann looked annoyed. “We like to speculate, Lester. And they had lampposts that were steady. Electric, not gas.”
One of the other interviewers got to Vince Reddington, the backup pilot. “You guys actually were able to see the aliens in that town. Am I right?”
“That is correct, yes.”
“It must have been disappointing that you couldn’t go down and knock on a few doors. Say hello to them.”
“It was.”
“Why didn’t you just do it?”
“It’s against the rules.”
“We’re talking about something that happens twice in several thousand years. Why not bend the rules a bit?”
Reddington looked toward McCann. “That’s a question you have to ask the boss.”
* * *
The next morning I was back at my desk in the country house, tracking the authenticity of two artifacts that had been offered to us for auction. They were a link and a blaster whose owner maintained they’d once belonged to Christopher Sim, the legendary hero from the Mute War. Alex thought they were not authentic, which was probably true. There was no way to establish a connection with Sim. His initials were on the link. We knew that Sim’s link had carried his initials, but nothing could prevent someone from taking care of that detail. There was no way to authenticate either object. I tried to track down what had happened to his blaster, but there was no record. The weapon matched one that Sim had used, but there was no way to connect it to him. I couldn’t trace their sources, so the owner’s claim could not be substantiated. He had gotten both artifacts from his great-grandfather, now deceased. The great-grandfather had served during the war. But there was no visible connection between him and Sim or his celebrated ship, the Corsarius. Artifacts don’t matter unless you can establish their authenticity. I was just finishing the assignment, getting ready to send the results to Alex, when Jacob, our AI, informed me there was a story breaking on the Hochman Network that I would probably find interesting.
Mary Everson, one of the network anchors, blinked on. She was effectively seated behind a table in the middle of my office. Jacob had recorded it from the beginning: “DPSAR,” she said, “has announced that the follow-up mission to the Orion Nebula will be leaving in eight days. As we’ve known for a while, they’ll be using the Harbinger. Vince Reddington, who was one of the pilots on the Columbia, has joined the crew in the same role. They released the names several days ago of the other people who will be making the flight. And there’s something else to add: I’m happy to report that the mission, which promises to be historic, will be covered in detail by the Hochman Network. Our longtime news anchor, Lester Wilkinson, will be on board the Harbinger. He’ll be doing daily reports, so we’ll all be along on the flight.”
Alex came down a few minutes later. “You okay?” he asked.
“Of course.”
* * *
Henry sent out messages to, I presume, everyone who’d expressed a desire to join the follow-up mission. He regretted not being able to accommodate everybody but explained again his reluctance to put anyone unnecessarily at risk. If another opportunity arose, he hoped we would not hesitate to come forward again. Another opportunity? Hard to believe he delivered that line with a straight face.
Robbi Jo called that evening. I’d just arrived home when she blinked on in my living room. “Hi, Chase.” She was wearing the smile that had lit up schoolrooms, as beautiful as ever. “Good to see you again. I got your message. Thank you.”
“Hi, Robbi Jo. Good to see you, too. You’re having a pretty nice career.”
“I guess we both are, Chase. You have a pretty nice job.”
“It’s not bad.”
“I have to tell you, I’d have loved having you along on the flight. Most of it was pretty boring. Until we caught up with the aliens.”
“It would have been nice,” I said. “Next time you do one of these things, keep me in mind.”
“Absolutely. By the way, I’ve enjoyed your Alex Benedict books.”
“Thank you.”
“Thank you. We could have used you to provide some PR for us.”
“Are you serious? You guys discovered real aliens. The PR’s built in.”
“I’m not so sure. They’re aliens, but they live in a small village on the edge of nowhere.” She was leaning back in an armchair. “Not too much excitement there. It would have been different if Mac had let us go down and say hello. Anyhow, Chase, I’ve got to go. Maybe we can get together for lunch sometime?”
“I’d like that.”
“I’ll give you a call.”
* * *
The week passed quickly. We never quite managed to get together. Robbi Jo was being interviewed by everyone in sight. She was a speaker at events all around the Confederacy, and she was a guest on every talk show. Her life had gotten crowded, and I’d simply have to wait my turn.
Chad told me several times that he understood I was disappointed about not being on the follow-up mission, but that he was glad, as he put it, that I hadn’t gone off into the wilderness. Hochman ran shows every night, interviewing participants, talking with people from the Columbia, and going on about how much everyone was looking forward to finding out what the village was doing alone on the planet.
McCann, appearing on Night Talk, reminded Henry Cassell and his team that the Spaulding Mandate was still in effect. That he would personally see that anyone who violated it would be prosecuted.
And finally the time of departure arrived.
* * *
I suspect everybody who could make it boarded the shuttle at the Andiquar Spaceport with Lester Wilkinson and the Hochman team and rode up to Skydeck that morning. Departure would be the following day. We watched them check into the Harbinger. Wilkinson interviewed Sam Carmody and Chuck Dumas. I’d never been in the same area physically with either of them. Both are Xenocons, of course, Sam from Dellaconda, Chuck from Earth. Vince Reddington said he was anxious to go back out to Korella and this time, he hoped, we’d at least get to say hello.
Two more Xenocons, both women, had not yet arrived. Autumn Ulbrich was from Saraglia, and Jennifer Hancock, from Rambuckle. Wilkinson pushed through the crowd on the concourse and let himself into the Harbinger passenger cabin. Reddington and Henry Cassell were there, drinking coffee and watching a woman being interviewed on the HV. Wilkinson and his cameraperson arrived and took seats. They did a round of introductions, leaving the cameraman out. Henry told the Hochman host how much they appreciated his coming along. “I think,” said Henry, “you’ll find this a unique experience.”
Wilkinson was in his later years, with a long history of bringing down corrupt politicians and anybody else who engaged in questionable activities. His most celebrated moment had come early in his career, when he confronted Margo Depierre, then president of the Confederacy, over using her position to control elections. It was an interview that led to her resignation a few weeks later. Wilkinson’s name became a synonym for standing up to power. He told Hancock he was happy to meet her. “If you’re able to talk to one of the aliens, Jennifer,” he continued, “what’s the first question you’ll ask?”
She frowned. Apparently she’d been expecting something else. Hancock looked as if she’d been around the block a few times. Her eyes were riveted, not on Wilkinson, but on me as she considered her reply. And that was probably the surprise, discovering she’d just as soon get away from the cameras. “I guess my first question would be ‘How are you doing?’ ” She was as tall as Wilkinson, with red hair cut short and an expression that suggested she had better things to do than talk to the media.
“And what would be the second question?”
“I guess it would be whether they are surprised to see us.”
* * *
The second part of the show came on a few hours later, live from the Starlight Hotel, where the Xenocon team was staying. Autumn Ulbrich had joined them. She was a late addition. Tori Hackleman, from Fishbowl, had pulled out during the last few days. Problem at home, she’d said. Autumn had been the replacement.
Wilkinson asked Henry Cassell about McCann’s warning that if they violated the Spaulding Mandate, he would see to the prosecution. “I have great respect for Professor McCann,” Henry said, “but DPSAR supports what we’re doing. We have been preparing for years for precisely this issue.”
We got to watch them eat, got details on the menu, and listened to a conversation about how anxious everyone was to get started. The table was set beside a long window that provided a dazzling view of Rimway, which dominated the sky. The hotel management had to be happy.
* * *
The following morning the passengers and crew made their way through a crowded concourse to the entry tube and boarded the Harbinger. We were able to listen in on the exchanges between Skydeck comm ops and the ship. Wilkinson was on the bridge when they separated from the dock. He signed off as they made their exit through the bubble that surrounds the space station. When he came back two hours later, he was still seated beside Vince Reddington. The two of them were looking out through the wraparound. We could see the control board and Reddington and, of course, the sky. “We’re getting ready to make our jump into Armstrong space,” Wilkinson said. “Vince, we won’t be losing contact, will we?”
“We’ll be fine.” The pilot pointed toward Wilkinson’s lap. “You’ll want to buckle in.”
“Yes, yes. I forgot.” He took care of it and smiled at us.
I assumed Wilkinson had prepared what he hoped would be intriguing questions, and probably would have been for his viewers, like How does it feel when you go into Armstrong Space and all the lights in the sky go out? Or What were your thoughts coming on board, knowing that you would be contained inside these bulkheads for a couple of months? The problem is that you can only ask each question once, and it’s probably not something the viewers haven’t heard before. This was the first HV series of its kind I’d ever heard of, and they were only a half hour into it when everything started to sound repetitive. “I suspect,” Alex said, “nobody will try this kind of coverage again.”
* * *
On a flight with a one-way four-week duration, they were all going to be sitting around reading, doing puzzles, playing computer games, and watching movies. And sleeping. None of that amounts to good entertainment when it’s nonstop. To make things even worse, aside from the fact that there’s nothing to see through the windows when you’re traveling through Armstrong space, there’s also an absolute sense of stillness that takes over. The vehicle does not seem to be moving. Riding an interstellar, somebody once said, is like sitting in a hotel under a dark, gloomy sky. The normal routine is to surface roughly once a week to give the passengers a break. They made their first exit after only four days. Whatever remorse I’d felt about staying behind was gone.
Chuck Dumas was probably the oldest person on board. He’d been a high school teacher for a while but eventually just decided to do physics research and play chess. “I miss the kids,” he told Wilkinson. “I’d like to go back and live those days again. But I just don’t have the energy for that kind of thing anymore.”
“Says the guy,” replied Wilkinson, “who’s sitting in an interstellar going out to the Orion Nebula to say hello to aliens.”
He interviewed Reddington twice during the first few days. Mostly he asked questions about the Columbia mission. How did he feel about having an opportunity to meet aliens on that flight and coming away with no contact? “Ask me,” he said, “after we get home from this one.”
* * *
During the second week, there were reports that the audience had shrunk almost to nothing. People were going back to watching My Life with Sally and On the Edge and Party High. The Harbinger Show, which had been playing for an hour each evening, slipped back to thirty minutes and then to occasional fifteen-minute break-ins during the late-night talk shows. Usually the setting was the passenger cabin, although Wilkinson interviewed Sam Carmody inside the lander on a Sunday afternoon. Carmody admitted to a fascination with aliens from his earliest days. “I was disappointed,” he said, “when I found out there was nobody out there. Or almost nobody. I loved Rack Gomez. My father watched it with me when I was about five years old. I remember getting annoyed because Rack had an interstellar that could go anywhere in a few minutes, and all he could think of to do with it was pick fights with a guy who looked like my uncle Brock.”
“You’re referring to Sharah the Pitiless,” Wilkinson said.
“Yeah. Years later I went back and watched the show again. I realized the interstellar didn’t have an air lock or a washroom.”
Wilkinson was visibly amused. “Not good when you’re going to Andromeda.” That was where Sharah lived.
* * *
Fortunately, the Harbinger had a pretty good library, most of the popular games, and an excellent selection of vids. The team members recommended favorite shows to their invisible audience, talked about what they were currently reading or watching, and even staged a couple of games that probably sent what was left of their watchers to bed.
Wilkinson’s guests usually avoided personal issues, like relationships with friends and partners that had been put aside to join the mission. “Were there any problems? Maybe a romantic attachment you hadn’t seen coming when you signed up for this mission?” If anything like that had happened, no one was admitting to it. The only thing they were committed to was getting to the target world. We couldn’t help noticing that no one ever mentioned specifics about the flight, anything that might assist someone who wanted to visit Korella IV.
Wilkinson was good at his job. It didn’t seem likely he could have foreseen the difficulties that came with the assignment, but if that was the case, he adjusted well. He asked his guests whether they would recommend this type of mission for their friends. And given a similar opportunity next year, how would they respond? There was occasional hesitancy, but in the end they all claimed yes, of course they would go with it. “No question,” said Autumn.
Alex asked me about regrets that I had not gone. “I never really had any,” I said. I don’t often lie to him, but that one was somehow automatic. And I could see he understood that.
“If the contact evolves into a major event,” he said, “I’d expect you to feel some serious frustration. But the odds of that happening are minuscule. These aliens are likely not much more than advanced savages. We’ll probably discover there are a few villages in the area, nestled within forests and consequently easy to miss. But whatever, it looks as if they’ll be a long way from any kind of serious tech advancement.”
