“I’ve no idea who they are,” said Greengrass.
Alex handed me a note. “Try this.”
A stone tablet was removed yesterday from a front deck in Rindenwood. The tablet, pictured herein, has great sentimental value. Reward. Call Sabol 2113-477.
We ran it that evening. When I came back into the office next morning, there’d been two responses. “Neither was actually involved with the tablet,” Alex said. “But they did have engravings they wanted to sell us.”
Alex asked me to call Greengrass again. This time I got her on the first try. “Yes, Ms. Kolpath?” Her eyes slid momentarily shut. “What can I do for you this time?”
“I’m sorry to bother you—”
“It’s all right.”
“We think the tablet was originally left in the house by Sunset Tuttle.”
“Who?”
“He was an anthropologist.”
“Okay.”
“Do you know if there’s anything else you have that might have belonged originally to him?”
“I don’t know. There are some tennis rackets out back that came with the house. And a swing on a tree. I never met the guy.”
She was too young to have made the purchase. “If I may ask, how long have you been in the house?”
“About six years.”
“Okay. Is there anything around that might have archeological significance? Anything else like the tablet?”
“No. I don’t think so.”
“All right. If you find anything, it might be worth money. Please let us know.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. And I hope you find the tablet.”
THREE
If we know anything for certain, it is that the universe is virtually empty. Nine thousand years of exploration have revealed the presence of only one technological race, other than ourselves. And while we have always been inclined to mourn something we’ve never had—communion with other entities—you must forgive me if I point out that the cosmos is consequently a far safer place than it might have been. We have seen intelligence in action. The first thing it does is learn how to make axes. And spears. Say what you like about missing the opportunity to enjoy the company of somebody else, I prefer the echoes. And I hope very much that it stays that way.
—Maria Webber, The Long Voyage
Alex asked me to set up a conference with Jerry Hagel. The name was vaguely familiar because he was a client, but otherwise I knew nothing about him. So I looked up his profile. Unlike most of the people we served, he wasn’t wealthy. And he had only one very narrow interest: Sunset Tuttle.
Through Rainbow, Hagel had acquired the Callisto’s AI, and a shirt worn by Tuttle. He also owned a telescope that had been mounted on the ship’s hull, and, incredibly, the interdimensional drive unit. He had a transfer bill signed by him, a reading lamp from the Rindenwood house, and images of the Callisto leaving Skydeck, returning to Skydeck, passing across the face of the moon, and looking down from orbit on Parallax III and several worlds bearing only numerical designations.
Hagel was an architect. He’d been married three times. The third marriage had recently dissolved. He had a reputation for being a difficult man to work for. And, I guessed, to live with. There were no kids.
He was an enthusiast for the outer fringes of science. There were no ghosts, he is quoted as saying, but there might be interdimensional echoes that “occasionally leak through the time-space fabric.” And he thought there might be an inflexibility in the quantum mechanical world that eliminated multiple possibilities. That the uncertainty principle was an illusion. “There is no such thing as free will,” he’d once told a gathering of the Lincoln Architects Association. I’m sure they invited him back.
When I reached him, he was having dinner with guests. There was a lot of noise and laughter in the background while I identified myself. I told him Alex wanted to talk with him when he had a few minutes.
“Can’t at the moment,” he said. “I’m entertaining friends, but I’ll get back to you as quickly as I can.”
He was in his skimmer an hour or so later when he called. Alex was out of the building. “What did he want, Chase? Do you know?”
“He had some questions. About Sunset Tuttle.”
“What did he want to know?”
“You’ve always been interested in Tuttle.”
“Yes. I think I qualify as something of an expert.” He tried to sound modest, as though being an expert on Tuttle was a major achievement.
“Jerry, do you know of any indication, any rumor, that Tuttle might have found what he was looking for?”
“You mean aliens?”
“Yes.”
He exploded with laughter. “Listen, Chase, if he’d found anything out there, it wouldn’t be necessary to ask about it. He’d have organized a parade. Ridden down Market Street with an alien mayor.”
“Can you imagine any set of circumstances that might have led him to keep quiet about it?”
“No. None.”
“Nothing at all?”
“Well, there was a story that got around at one point, but conspiracy theorists are always with us.”
“What’s the story?”
“That he found something so terrible he didn’t dare reveal it. Except to a few people high in the government. So now, the theory goes, there’s an area out there that they keep absolutely secret. Where nobody’s allowed. It’s never been made official, and, naturally, the government denies everything. If you submit a flight plan that takes you anywhere close, they’ll find a reason to deny permission. Impending supernova or something.”
“Where is this area?”
“Oh, nobody knows, of course. If people knew, you wouldn’t be able to keep them out.”
“You don’t think there’s any truth to it? None at all?”
He broke into a wide grin. “Chase, I know you’re not serious.”
“No. Of course not. Just kidding.”
“Unless you guys know something I don’t.” I heard the lander set down. “Have you—?”
“No.” I tried to sound amused. “I’m just thinking what a great story it would make.”
The skimmer door opened. “Yes, it certainly would.”
“Jerry, thanks. We’re just doing some historical research and trying to get a handle on the folklore that surrounds this guy.”
“Oh, yeah. He’s a legendary character, okay. Sometimes I think it’s the failure that makes him so interesting. I mean, he just wouldn’t quit. You have to love him. I’m sorry I never got to meet him.”
“Well, thanks, Jerry.”
But Jerry wasn’t finished. “There are others out there. Have to be. The thing is, intelligence is an aberration. But the galaxy is big. Instead of talking as if there’s nobody here except us and the Mutes, we should recognize that the fact there are Mutes shows it’s possible. And with all those worlds, there are going to be others. We’ve become too set in our ways. We have access to the entire galaxy, but we talk as if we have it all to ourselves. Eventually we’re going to run into somebody, and we better damned well be ready so we don’t screw it up the way we did last time.”