“I don’t think so.” Charlie leaned closer. “It looks like a photo.”
“Why isn’t it the sun?”
“Look down here.” He pointed at a quarter-sized sphere of bright golden light. “That’s a second star. No other stars around here.”
“That’s really clever.” Jake squinted. “You’re right.”
Inside, a small man in gray trousers and a white shirt sat at a desk behind an office-length counter. He was bent over a computer. His black hair had begun to thin, and he wore a red tie and bifocals. There was something basically prissy in his expression.
Jake pushed open the door.
The man with the bifocals continued to peer at the computer. Then without having seemed aware of their presence, he glanced up. “Good afternoon, gentlemen. What can I do for you?”
A rubber plant dominated his work table. On the wall behind the plant, Jake saw a photograph of an aircraft with filamented wings flying over a rough sea. The plane looked like one of those 1912 experiments that always went wrong. But this one appeared to be riding out a storm.
“Just looking around,” Jake said. There were several other pictures mounted on the walls, shots of landscapes and cities. “What kind of plane is that?”
“Name’s Kirby.” The man smiled weakly and offered his hand.
“Jake Cashman. This is Charlie Halvik.”
“And that,” Kirby indicated the aircraft, “is a Wyndsurf 18.”
“New kind of plane?”
“An old one.” Kirby adjusted his bifocals. “They’re only used now for sightseeing.” He looked toward Charlie and back at Jake. “May I be of assistance?”
Jake nodded. “Do you have information on the South Seas?”
“You mean traveling there? Of course.” He tilted his head in a way that seemed almost birdlike. “Would you be interested in a winter vacation possibly? We could plan an excellent one for you.”
“Well, I’d just like to get an idea what’s available. What the rates are. One-way.”
Kirby reacted with surprise. “One-way? You’re planning on a permanent move?”
“I’m considering it.”
“How many people would be traveling?”
“One,” Charlie said. Jake did not miss the reproach in his tone.
Kirby’s eyes moved from Jake to Charlie. “Please wait a moment.” He turned away, back to his keyboard.
Jake and Charlie looked at each other. “Don’t make any commitments now,” said Charlie.
“I won’t. I just want to start getting a feel for things.”
Kirby peered into his screen. “Best current fare into Truk, that’s in Micronesia, would be just under a thousand dollars. One way.”
“Not cheap,” said Charlie. “Why don’t you try Atlantic City?”
“On the other hand, Mr. Cashman, I can suggest a destination you might find interesting. And the price is right.”
“Where?” Jake asked.
“Just a moment.” Kirby opened a cabinet and produced a photo album. He glanced inside it, nodded to himself, turned it around, and opened it in the middle.
A single photograph, about the size of a sheet of stationery, was mounted in the center of the page. There was a beach in the foreground, a few pieces of driftwood, a line of waves, and an oddly-twisted seashell. Twin peaks dominated the skyline, one towering over thick black forest, the other rising out of the ocean. They were gray and polished, their tops snow-covered. It was late afternoon on a day somber with approaching rain. Jake could almost smell salt air.
“I think I’ve seen that somewhere,” said Charlie. “Is it in Maine?”
“It’s Coeli-namar. Sea Mount in English.”
A finger of mist curled up out of the forest. Streaks of sunlight fell across cold rock. Just below the snowline, Jake could make out a silver span connecting the two mountains. Maybe a thousand feet up. “What is that?”
Kirby twisted around to get a look. “A bridge,” he said matter-of-factly.
“A bridge?” There was no support, and the thing had to be two miles long.
“Yes.” Kirby nodded. “Isn’t it magnificent?” He started to turn the page.
“Just a minute.” Jake did not feel that he was looking at a photo. It might almost have been a living landscape.
Kirby adjusted his collar. “It lies somewhat beyond the routes of the commercial airlines.” Another photo revealed a house on stilts rising out of a moonlit lake, in which three crescents floated in the black polished water. The house appeared to be constructed of brass and fronds. Circular windows glowed along its upper level. Lanterns lined its decks. Jake could see several shadowy forms stretched out in chairs.
“Arboghast,” said Kirby. “This lake is almost two thousand feet above sea level.”
“I never heard of it,” said Charlie.
“Would you like to visit it?”
“Yes,” said Jake. “I would.”
“Excellent, Mr. Cashman.” He rubbed his hands together and turned another page. “I’m in a position to offer you a voyage of unusual dimensions.”
Kirby turned the book to provide a better view. A domed city stood on a snow-covered plain. Fur-covered elephantine beasts grazed beneath a brilliant white sun. They cast two shadows.
“The journey of a lifetime,” Kirby said.
“Where are these places?” asked Jake.
“Very far.” Kirby looked directly into his eyes. “Centaurus.”
Charlie laughed. “That’s in Ohio, isn’t it?”
“No, it’s considerably farther. If you really want to get away, Mister Cashman, if you are indeed serious, this is your chance. In spades.”
The overhead lights dimmed.
Kirby glanced at Charlie. “The offer is open to you both.”
“To do what?” asked Charlie.
“To come and live among us. Transport, I should add, will be taken care of at no cost to you.”
The look of sublime control that was usually visible in Jake’s eyes faded.
“Oh, come on,” said Charlie. “What the hell is this about anyway?”
“Be aware,” said Kirby, “that our coverage of expenses is for the outbound flight only.”
Jake’s eyes closed momentarily. “All right,” he said. “I’m in.”
Kirby produced a ticket and handed it to Jake, who felt the touch of a chill.
“Not me,” said Charlie. “I don’t care if you guys don’t charge for the flight. I’m not going anywhere. I’m particularly not going to—where is that? Alpha Centauri?”
Jake stared at his ticket. DAWNSTAR LAUNCH/FLIGHT 111. It was dated for that night. “I’d have liked to have a little time to think about it.”
“Yeah,” said Charlie. “Well, I don’t think he wants you to back out. This is crazy, Jake.” Jake pushed the ticket into his pocket. “You don’t know anything about them.”
They left the travel office and turned onto Seventeenth Street. A bus passed, spraying water and slush.
“If I don’t go,” Jake said, “I’ll always regret it.”
“Jake, I rarely give you advice—”
“You always give me advice.”
They entered the parking lot. Charlie’s elderly Plymouth was jammed between a pickup and a station wagon. “Jake, don’t do this,” he said.
“Charlie, I feel nineteen years old.”
Jake tried to contact his daughter, but she didn’t answer. It didn’t really matter. She knew how he felt. He sent an emaiclass="underline"
Hi, Love
Everything here is yours. There’s a letter in the desk drawer with banking and property info. It should be enough to get what I own safely into your hands. It explains where I’m going. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be happy. I probably won’t be back.
You’ve been a marvelous daughter.