Orders and requests came in, sometimes accompanied by complaints about Alex, or cheers from people urging him to continue his “good work.” Many of our new clients seemed to think he was simply an employee, and that he should be promoted or dismissed.
But the increased activity, somehow, didn't help the time pass. I kept thinking about that open outer hatch. So, okay, when Cermak and Robin left the Firebird, they'd forgotten to close up. And the AI was not working or it would have done it for them. So it was no big deal. But there was something about it that chilled me.
Shara reported that the effort to track lost ships, which they were now calling the Firebird Project, was going reasonably well. “The big problem,” she told us one evening over dinner, “is that we don't really know enough about the black-hole population. How many are there? The only way you can spot them is by the gravitational effects. Estimates are that we only know about ten percent of the total within two thousand light-years. My own feeling is that there aren't nearly as many of them as most people think. But ask me what I base that on, and it comes down to pure guesswork.” She grinned. “Or maybe pure optimism.”
Finally, it was time to go.
I went up to Skydeck to conduct a preflight with Belle. But I went a day early, so I could spend a rare evening at the Pilots' Club. I love the place. I've a lot of old friends there, and more than a few memories. I was in the middle of helping one of them celebrate her escape from a tiresome boyfriend when Alex called. “I've arranged to have an extra pressure suit delivered.”
“Okay.” That induced another chill. We hadn't really discussed it, but we were both hoping, against all the odds, that we'd find Chris Robin on board. Waiting to be rescued.
What were the chances? Remote, at best. Probably nonexistent. Even if time on the ship passed only when it had surfaced, six hours out of every two weeks since 1393, he would still have been on board for almost eight months. The air supply for one person might be adequate, but it would have been unlikely that he'd have had enough food and water. So we were, in effect, hoping for a miracle. Which was why neither of us ever mentioned it. And why the open hatch was so depressing.
And why Alex was bringing along an extra pressure suit.
“Are you on Belle now?” he asked.
I knew he could hear the music in the background. “Yes,” I said.
“Good. They should be contacting you shortly about the suit.”
“Okay.”
“I'll see you in the morning, Chase.”
I was on the bridge doing my routine flight check when Alex, carrying a couple of small bags, arrived, trailing a cloud of media guys. Somebody had called them to let them know we were headed out somewhere, and that was all it took. Where are you going, Alex? Does this have anything to do with Save-the-Boxes? With the ancient ships? With Christopher Robin?
Alex told them we were just going out looking for an artifact, but he refused to say which one. “Sorry, ladies and gentlemen,” he said, “but it's our policy not to reveal what we're looking for in advance. I'm sure you can understand why.”
Hands went up. More questions were shouted. But he pushed through into the airlock.
A Courier reporter was right behind him. “When will you be back, Alex?” he asked.
“We'll only be gone a few days, Larry.”
He closed the outer hatch, sealing them off. Two minutes later, he came through into the cabin, looking relieved. “Love the media,” he said.
“Hi, Alex,” I said. “How's it going?”
“I'm not sure. How in hell did they get up here so early?”
“Took the early flight, I guess.”
“How we doing? Ready to go?”
“We're scheduled out in about a half hour.”
“Okay, I'm going to get unpacked.” He looked at me. “Good luck,” he said.
We had no trouble finding the Firebird. We arrived in the target area, and had been waiting only a few hours when Belle reported a contact. “Directly ahead,” she said. “Range nine hundred kilometers.”
I noted the time. “It just appeared, Belle?”
“It would have had to. It wasn't there a moment ago.”
“Okay. Alex? We've got it.”
He was in the passenger cabin. “Coming.”
“We have a visual.”
“Let's see it.”
She put it on the display. It was too far out to get much of an image, but I could make out the lights.
Alex came in behind me.
“As soon as you're belted down,” I said, “we'll be on our way.”
“Very good.” He lowered himself into the right-hand seat, and I activated the restraint.
“Belle, we want to pull alongside.”
She began to accelerate and adjusted course. We were pressed gently back into our seats. “We should rendezvous in approximately ninety minutes.”
I squeezed Alex's shoulder. “Congratulations.”
“Not yet,” he said.
“You still want to board the vehicle?” asked Belle.
“Yes.” Silly question.
“I will line us up appropriately.”
Alex took a deep breath. “Open a channel to it, Belle.”
Status lights blinked. “Done.”
“We've already tried that,” I said.
“I know.” He took a deep breath. “Firebird, this is the Belle-Marie. Please respond.”
Static.
“Professor Robin, are you there?”
An hour and a half later, we drew alongside. The yacht looked exactly as it had two weeks earlier: The cockpit was dark, but the cabin lights were still on. There was no movement anywhere inside. And watching it from a few meters away was different from seeing it on a screen at the country house. When we were back home, it simply looked empty. Up close, we could feel the emptiness. Not so much empty, maybe, as abandoned. An effect emphasized by the open hatch.
“You really do think he got stranded here, don't you?” I said.
He didn't reply.
We eased in alongside. I was looking out at bolts and struts, at the yacht's scanners, which were rotating slowly, and at the serial number W4-771 emblazoned on the hull. And that name again: Tai Ling. “We should have a couple of hours before we need to worry about its making another jump,” said Alex. “Still, we don't want to spend any more time in there than necessary.”
We were already in our suits. The third one was in a storage bin aft. We left it.
“We will be braking slightly,” said Belle. “Get hold of something.”
We did, and there was a slight jar, pulling us both forward a step, as we matched velocity. “Okay,” she said. “This is as close as we're going to get.”
The Veiled Lady looked brighter, denser, bigger, than it ever had before. Don't know why. My imagination was going full bore. I felt as if I'd gotten to know Chris Robin, and I was hoping that, yes, in spite of everything, he was over there, asleep in the cabin, waiting for rescue.
The sky was filled with stars, and I remembered the old Greek line about how they looked like the campfires of an invading army. We were tethered to each other. Just in case. And we wore links so that Belle could follow everything.
The open hatch was directly across from us, only about fifteen meters away. I pushed off, floated across, and landed inside the Firebird airlock.
I turned back to Alex. “Okay,” I said. “Whenever you're ready. Go easy-”
He stepped out of the airlock. I watched the hatch close behind him as he drifted over, and it's funny how long something like that seems to take. It was only seconds when I was crossing, but Alex had almost no experience with this kind of thing, and I was concerned how he might be reacting. But I think he became aware that my breathing had picked up, and he told me to relax. Halfway across, he switched his wrist lamp on.