Despite myself, I was sorry for him.
Alex was a good boss. I was responsible for day-to-day operations, and he left me to take care of things without trying to give a lot of directions. He spent most of his time entertaining clients and sources, but he always made it a point during the middle of the week to pull me out of the office and take me to dinner.
A couple of days after the convention, we went to dinner at Molly’s Top of the World, which is located at the summit of Mt. Oskar, the highest peak in the area. He was excited because he’d located an early-German coal stove. The thing was worth a fortune, and the owner needed the money and wanted to make a quick sale. Usually, we simply put buyers and sellers together, but the price was so good, Alex was thinking of buying the unit himself.
We spent the hour talking about stoves and European antiques. He solicited my opinion, and I told him sure, buy it, what can we lose? The decision made, we fell into small talk. It was late when we finished, and normally he’d have taken me home, but I had work to do, so we rode back to the office.
The house had originally been a country inn, a solitary structure built atop a low rise. It had catered to hunters and travelers until Alex’s uncle Gabe bought it and had it refurbished. Alex spent much of his boyhood in it. In those early days it had been surrounded mostly by forest. There’s an ancient graveyard just off the northwestern perimeter. The markers and the statuary are worn smooth from the centuries. Older boys had told Alex the occupants went wandering at night. “There were evenings,” he said, “if I was alone in the house, I hid behind a sofa.” That didn’t sound at all like the Alex I knew.
Gabe had fought a long, and ultimately losing, battle against development. He’d been something of a fanatic on the subject, and he would not have approved of the surfeit of neighbors the house had acquired over the years, or the loss of large sections of forest.
It was a glorious house, four stories and lots of windows overlooking the Melony. Furnished in the reserved traditions of the previous century. Rooms everywhere, several with VR, another with workout gear, another with a squabble table, another for sitting and watching the river go by. Some rooms were held aside for visitors, and others were pressed into service to store the occasional pieces of other civilizations that Gabe had brought back from his travels.
It was completely out of sync with the other houses in the neighborhood, which were modern, sleek, utilitarian, no space wasted. Practical. Land was at a premium outside Andiquar, and you didn’t find many houses that weren’t part of a designed community. You’ll understand then that the country house stood out. You could see it from a couple klicks away when approaching from the city. Except, of course, at night.
We passed over the Melony, adjusted course, slowed, and drifted down through the treetops.
It was about an hour after sunset. The moon was down, but the stars were out in force. The house, and the landing pad, normally lit up as we approached, but on that evening they remained uncharacteristically dark.
Alex jiggled his comm link. “Jacob,” he said, “lights, please.”
No response.
“Jacob?”
We eased gently to the ground.
“I don’t think he’s there,” I said, as the engine stopped, and the skimmer’s exit lights winked on and threw shadows along the front and side of the house. The cabin doors opened, and a cool breeze blew through the aircraft.
“Stay put,” said Alex. He climbed out.
The area was crowded with other houses. They pushed up to the edge of the low stone wall that marked the northern and eastern perimeters of Alex’s property. They were all illuminated, so whatever was going on, it wasn’t a general power failure.
The landing pad is in a slight depression. Once you’re down you can only see the upper stories. He started up the incline toward the front door. I got out and fell in behind him. I’d never seen the place completely dark before. Burglars are virtually nonexistent nowadays, but you never really know. “Careful,” I said.
The walkway was chipped stone. It crunched underfoot, and we could hear a mournful wind moving through the trees. Alex kept his ID remote in his ring. He strode up the front steps and pointed it at the door. It opened. But slowly. The power was low.
He pushed through. I hurried up beside him and grabbed his wrist. “Not a good idea.”
“It’s okay.” He waved me back and walked into the living room. The lights tried to come on but faded almost immediately. “Jacob,” he said, “hello.”
Nothing.
Starlight came through the windows. He had an original piece of art, a Sujannais, hanging over the sofa. I was relieved to see it was still there. I stuck my head in the office. Maddy’s jacket remained folded inside its display case. And the Polaris glass was in its accustomed place among the books. Had there been a burglar, they should have been the first things taken.
Alex came to the same conclusion. “I think Jacob just went down,” he said.
“There’s no sign of a break-in.”
“Did Jacob ever do a blackout before?”
“No. But AIs go down all the time.”
Actually, they almost never do.
He looked past me into the kitchen. “Maybe you should wait outside, Chase. Just in case.” He opened a cabinet door, fumbled around, and produced a lamp.
Jacob’s internals were located inside a wine cabinet in the dining room. A red warning light was blinking.
The power came by way of a laser link through a dish on the roof. I went outside, far enough away from the house that I could see past the overhang. The receiver was missing. I found it on the ground in back. The base was scorched where someone had cut it down.
I told Alex and suggested he get out of the house. “Just a minute,” he said. He can be frustrating at times. I went in and dragged him out. Then I called the police.
A woman’s voice responded. “Please give your name,” she said, “and state the nature of the emergency.”
I complied and told her that we’d probably had a burglar.
“Where are you now?”
“In the garden.”
“Stay there. Do not go inside. We’re on the way.”
We watched the front door from a safe distance, back within running range of the skimmer, so we could jump aboard and skedaddle if we had to. But the house stayed quiet, and after a few minutes lights appeared overhead. A police cruiser. My link chimed. “You the lady who called?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, ma’am. Please stay well away from the house. Just in case.”
The cruiser assumed station directly overhead.
Alex and I had talked before about security at the office. But burglaries were so rare as to be almost unheard-of, and Alex couldn’t be bothered upgrading his alarm system. “But I guess I’ve learned,” he said. There’d been two break-ins in the area over twelve years, and he’d been the victim of both. “We’ll do something about it this time.”
“Mr. Benedict,” said the voice from the cruiser, “we’ve scanned the house. It’s clear. But we’d prefer you don’t go inside just yet.”
The police drifted down and landed beside the skimmer. There were two officers, male and female, both tall, neatly pressed, courteous. The male, who had dark skin and enormous shoulders and a vaguely northern accent, took charge. He questioned us about what we knew, then they went inside while we waited. After about ten minutes we were invited in, but told not to touch anything. “They used a laser on your dish,” the male said. “Took you right off-line. You’re on backup power.” He was middle-aged, had been on the job a while, and obviously thought citizens should take better care of their property. Maybe invest in decent security systems. I could see it in his eyes. He had thick arms and a heavy black mustache.
“We found a set of footprints that we followed out to the road. But after that-” He shrugged. “Whoever did it must have worn a suit. He left nothing we can trace.”
“I’m sorry to hear it.”
“Have you noticed any strangers in the area? Anyone behaving oddly?”
Not that either of us could recall.