Echo. Part 2

"A journal? Anything at all?"

"I can find no account anywhere that would indicate where he has traveled."

It was an inauspicious start because there wasn't much else of substance. No one had ever done a serious biography. Accounts of other explorers existed, containing some details about Tuttle's missions. And a few interviews shed light on destinations. But even there, only a few were precise. Mostly, we saw attacks launched by his colleagues, who used him as an example of the results of wishful thinking and a refusal to face the hard facts of life. His name became a verb, to tuttle tuttle, which meant to persist in an endeavor with no hope of success.

We discovered a few tributes, which came from enthusiasts and true believers who had followed his lifelong effort to find an alien intelligence. There were some laudatory comments on his charity work. He'd been born wealthy and had been a generous contributor to numerous causes. During his final years, he'd sat on the board of governors of the Belmont Foundation for the Underprivileged. We also found a handful of interviews and presentations. And there was a collection of essays.

For more than thirty years, he'd ridden the Callisto Callisto around the Orion Arm in his fruitless quest. During most of that time, he'd been his own pilot, and he usually traveled alone. He claimed to have found more than six hundred biozone worlds, of which only a handful had actually been home to living things. The vast majority were sterile. But none, not around the Orion Arm in his fruitless quest. During most of that time, he'd been his own pilot, and he usually traveled alone. He claimed to have found more than six hundred biozone worlds, of which only a handful had actually been home to living things. The vast majority were sterile. But none, not one one, had contained, as he put it, anything that had waved back.

At the time of his death, he'd been a member of the Gibbon Society. For those unfamiliar with it, it's a group that thinks our best days are behind us. That we're decaying, and that, unless we get hold of ourselves, the end is near.

"It's one of the reasons we need to find an alien intelligence," he said in an interview with talk-show host Charles Koeffler. he said in an interview with talk-show host Charles Koeffler. "We need something to challenge us. To bring us back to life." "We need something to challenge us. To bring us back to life." Koeffler asked whether he was speaking about a potential military threat. Koeffler asked whether he was speaking about a potential military threat. "No," "No," he said. he said. "Of course not. But someone to remind us what we might achieve if we ever really get off our front porch." "Of course not. But someone to remind us what we might achieve if we ever really get off our front porch."

"What," I asked, "does he think the Mutes are?"

"They've been around too long," said Alex. "I'd guess he perceives them as part of the natural world he lives in."

Jacob threw himself enthusiastically into the search. "Korchnoi University invited him to speak to its graduates in 1400," "Korchnoi University invited him to speak to its graduates in 1400," he said. he said. "They took a fair amount of criticism for it because he wasn't perceived as a serious figure in the academic world. The school became the b.u.t.t of jokes. They were said, for example, to be granting graduate degrees in alien psychology. And to be debating the ethics of cutting down talking trees. You will, I hope, pardon me, but I fail to see the humor." "They took a fair amount of criticism for it because he wasn't perceived as a serious figure in the academic world. The school became the b.u.t.t of jokes. They were said, for example, to be granting graduate degrees in alien psychology. And to be debating the ethics of cutting down talking trees. You will, I hope, pardon me, but I fail to see the humor."

"As do I, Jacob," I said.

"I have the Korchnoi address. Did you wish to see it?"

"Sure," said Alex.

It's always hard to be certain about physical size when you're looking at a hologram, but Tuttle appeared to be a small, unimposing figure. He had gray eyes, a weak chin, and he smiled too much. He didn't strike me as a guy who could be pa.s.sionate about anything. At least, not until he finished the preliminaries, talking about the value of education in general, how it was for the benefit of the individual student and not for a prospective employer. Then he caught his breath, came out from behind the lectern, and told his listeners-about two hundred students and a handful of professors-what it meant in modern times to be a professional of any stripe.

"Your advisors will tell you," he said, he said, "how to handle profit and loss statements. How to be prudent about your career. How to make more money than the person sitting next to you. But your education is for "how to handle profit and loss statements. How to be prudent about your career. How to make more money than the person sitting next to you. But your education is for you you, and not for anyone else. If you choose to be an anthropologist, as I did, they will recommend that you invest your time hunting down lost ships and forgotten settlements. Find a city somewhere whose builders have dropped out of the history books." He raised a clenched hand and waved it in the air. He raised a clenched hand and waved it in the air. "That's how you make your reputation. But it's not where the real prize is. Anybody can do that. And who really cares what kind of plumbing systems they used on Machinova IV two thousand years ago?" "That's how you make your reputation. But it's not where the real prize is. Anybody can do that. And who really cares what kind of plumbing systems they used on Machinova IV two thousand years ago?"

Alex adjusted the image, bringing Tuttle closer. The gray eyes had caught fire. "There's only one reason the human race left its home world, and it had nothing to do with establishing settlements along the Orion Arm. That was strictly a by-product. We came out of the solar system because we wanted to look around. We wanted to find someone else. Someone like ourselves, perhaps. Or maybe someone entirely different. But in any case, someone we could talk to. It was an adventure, a mission, not a real-estate investment. "There's only one reason the human race left its home world, and it had nothing to do with establishing settlements along the Orion Arm. That was strictly a by-product. We came out of the solar system because we wanted to look around. We wanted to find someone else. Someone like ourselves, perhaps. Or maybe someone entirely different. But in any case, someone we could talk to. It was an adventure, a mission, not a real-estate investment.

"If you read the books written during the early years of the Technological Age, especially the fiction, you won't find very much about founding outposts in the Aldebaran sector." Something in front of him caught his eye, and he grinned. Something in front of him caught his eye, and he grinned. "What's your name, son?" "What's your name, son?"

Alex adjusted the angle, and we saw the person he was addressing, an athletic-looking young man with blond hair and a suddenly sheepish expression. "Colt Everson, sir," "Colt Everson, sir," he said. he said.

"Colt, you look skeptical."

In fact, Colt looked uncomfortable. "It's hard not to be, Professor Tuttle. I can't believe people ever seriously thought they'd find aliens. I know that's what we always say, but how does anyone really know that?" "It's hard not to be, Professor Tuttle. I can't believe people ever seriously thought they'd find aliens. I know that's what we always say, but how does anyone really know that?"

"Read their books."

"Well, the fiction talks about it, about aliens, but if you read the science abstracts of the period, I don't think you see much."

Tuttle looked around the room. "Anybody want to respond to that?" "Anybody want to respond to that?"

A young woman raised her hand. "It's because scientists are supposed to be ruled by the evidence. During the early years of the Fourth Millennium, there was no evidence." "It's because scientists are supposed to be ruled by the evidence. During the early years of the Fourth Millennium, there was no evidence."

Somebody prompted her: "The "The Third Third Millennium, Carla." Millennium, Carla."

"Whatever. Their reputations were on the line, as they always are." Like Colt, she looked uncomfortable. She wanted to say more, but she smiled shyly and sat back down. Like Colt, she looked uncomfortable. She wanted to say more, but she smiled shyly and sat back down.

"You're wondering about me, aren't you, Carla? Has my reputation suffered because of the work I do? Let me point out that I was invited to speak to the graduating cla.s.s at Korchnoi." A few in back began to applaud, and it caught on and spread through the room. Tuttle waited until it had subsided. A few in back began to applaud, and it caught on and spread through the room. Tuttle waited until it had subsided. "At the risk of ruining their reputations, I think I can state unequivocally that Professor Campbell and Professor Baryman are sympathetic to the work." "At the risk of ruining their reputations, I think I can state unequivocally that Professor Campbell and Professor Baryman are sympathetic to the work." More applause. It was easy enough to pick the two named persons out of the crowd. Both nodded acquiescence. More applause. It was easy enough to pick the two named persons out of the crowd. Both nodded acquiescence. "I've been looking for other civilizations now for more than a century. Most of my colleagues are convinced I've wasted my time. But, if nothing else, I've left a track for whoever comes after. He, or she, will know, at least, that "I've been looking for other civilizations now for more than a century. Most of my colleagues are convinced I've wasted my time. But, if nothing else, I've left a track for whoever comes after. He, or she, will know, at least, that these these worlds are empty. Don't look worlds are empty. Don't look here here. It's not what I would have preferred to do, but maybe it's the only way."

"Professor?" A young man in the rear stood. A young man in the rear stood. "May I ask a personal question?" "May I ask a personal question?"

"You may ask."

"If you had it to do again, would you go in a different direction?"

"Oh, yes. Certainly. Absolutely."

"What would you do differently?"

"You asked if I'd go in a different direction. And of course I would. I didn't find anything in the direction I took. But if you're asking whether I'd spend my life digging up Fifth Millennium kitchen utensils from a dead city on a world we forgot about two thousand years ago, the answer is no. Certainly not. I'd rather fail at a world-shaking effort than succeed with trifles."

"That's strange," said Alex.

"What is?"

"He talks as if he left a complete record."

"You know," Alex said, "the tablet is going to turn out to be a joke. Something somebody gave him for his birthday. But I guess it doesn't cost us anything to look."

"How long did Tuttle live in the Rindenwood house?" I asked.

"He was born and died there, Chase."

I was watching the time. I'd be leaving in a few minutes for the place. "It seems odd," I said. "A guy who spent his life exploring the stars but never really left home."

Alex was wearing a frumpy University of Andiquar sweater. He noticed it was hanging crooked, unb.u.t.toned it, and fixed it. "Take a contract with you," he said. "If Ms. Greengra.s.s isn't at home when you get there, park on her doorstep until she shows up and get her signature. Give her a nominal payment."

"How much is nominal?"

"Twenty-five. No. Make it thirty thirty-five. Just make sure we have everything in writing." He got up and started for the door. "Chase, I don't have to tell you-"

"I know," I said.

I prepped a contract and got moving. A light rain had begun to fall as I came out the side door and hurried down the walkway to the pad. Alex keeps saying he's going to put a roof over the walkway-Andiquar gets a lot of rain-but it never happens. The skimmer lit up as I entered, and said h.e.l.lo.

It would be a sixteen-minute run to Greengra.s.s's place.

Rindenwood was a moneyed area. Some houses looked like Greek temples, others incorporated Aurelian domes and Sanjo towers. No false modesty here anywhere. And not a place where I'd expect to find a government worker. Number 12 in the Gold Range was conservative by local standards, but it was a luxurious place by mine. It was a plastene two-story structure with decks on both levels and a cl.u.s.ter of evergreens out front. Broad lawns opened onto the Melony, where Madeleine Greengra.s.s had a pier and a boathouse.

I descended onto the pad, sending a pa.s.sel of spindels fluttering out of the trees. Alex always claimed it was a sign of bad driving when you couldn't land without scaring the birds. It was pouring by then. I got out, made a dash along a brick walkway, and climbed three or four steps onto the front deck.

There was no tablet. I stood in front of the door, and the house asked if I needed help.

"My name's Kolpath," I said. "I'm here to pick up the tablet. Ms. Greengra.s.s is expecting me."

"I'm sorry, Ms. Kolpath. But the tablet is gone."

"Gone? Gone where?"

"Someone came for it."

"She was supposed to hold it for me."

"I am am sorry. I guess there was a misunderstanding somewhere. But someone else called, and they came right over." sorry. I guess there was a misunderstanding somewhere. But someone else called, and they came right over."

"Can you reach her for me? Ms. Greengra.s.s?"

"Is this an emergency?"

"It qualifies."

"What does?"

"Let it go. Do you know who it was? Who took the tablet?"

"Yes."

"Can you tell me, please?"

"I'm sorry, but I'm not really permitted to give out that kind of information."

"Is Ms. Greengra.s.s home?"

"No, she isn't."

"When do you expect her?"

"She will probably be in at the end of the day. After six o'clock."

Tim's people were descending onto the pad as I started back out to the skimmer. They set down beside it and climbed out. There were two of them. One was Clyde Halley, with whom I'd worked before. I didn't know the other. Clyde was a big beefy guy, and so was his partner. "Problem, Chase?" said Clyde.

"It's gone," I said. "I guess we brought you guys out here for nothing. Sorry."

"It happens," he said. he said. "You're sure you don't need us?" "You're sure you don't need us?"

"Not at the moment, Clyde." I tipped them both. Then I turned back to the house: "Would you get a message to Ms. Greengra.s.s?"

"I can put it on her board."

"Ask her to call me as soon as she can."

"Very good, madame. Is there anything else?"

"Can you tell me anything at all about the persons who took the tablet?"

"I'm sorry, but that would not be ethical."

Alex was not happy. I can tell because he always starts telling me not to be upset. "This Greengra.s.s should be able to let us know who took it, and we'll just make an offer."

"Sounds good."

"We should be able to track it down easily enough."

"Maybe whoever took it is thinking the same thing we are."

"You mean that it's an artifact? Not likely."

"Why not?"

"How many academics do you think scan the Rees Market every morning? No, I think somebody just likes white stone and decided it would make a nice garden decoration."

Jacob broke in. "Pardon me, Alex," "Pardon me, Alex," he said, he said, "but Ms. Wellington would like to speak with you about the Ivar vase." "but Ms. Wellington would like to speak with you about the Ivar vase."

The Ivar vase had stood in a prominent place onstage during the turn-of-the-century hit Showstopper Showstopper. The problem was that Ms. Wellington, its new owner, had encountered an "expert" who was telling her that her vase was only a duplicate. That the original had been broken during the next-to-last performance. All the paperwork was in place, but Ms. Wellington needed to be rea.s.sured she had the original.

Alex signaled I should go back to work while he got on the circuit with his client. I went down to my office, finished the billing, did some inventory work, recommended to a couple of clients that they not partic.i.p.ate in planned trades, and eventually it was time to go home.

I called Madeleine Greengra.s.s again.

"Ms. Greengra.s.s is not available. If you wish, leave a message."

Well, I wasn't about to leave the building until I'd found out what the situation was, so I settled in to wait. Alex came down after a while, told me to go home, and promised he'd call as soon as he heard something.

"It's okay," I said. "If you don't mind, I'll hang on for a bit."

He suggested it was pointless. "It's much ado about nothing, Chase. Don't waste your time. Go home and entertain Mack."

Mack was my boyfriend of the hour. Alex didn't especially like him. He was an archeologist, he disapproved of what we did for a living, and he made no effort to hide it. "Years from now, Chase," he had told me, "you're going to look back on all this vandalism and grave robbing and selling off antiquities that should be in museums, and you're going to regret it."

Mack was a charmer, and that was the reason he was in a temporary status and not gone altogether. I hoped he might eventually arrive at a more reasonable point of view. At least that was what I kept telling myself.

I stayed on at the country house. We sent out for sandwiches. Then Alex got caught up in a conference with two people who'd just come back from an excavation at a thousand-year-old military base in a star system I'd never heard of. Of course, there was nothing unusual about that. If you haven't traveled much off Rimway, you probably have no idea how big big it is out there. it is out there.

I was sitting in my office, finishing what was left of a pot-roast sub, when Jacob indicated we had a caller. "It's Professor Wilson. He wants to talk to Alex, but Alex is busy. Did you want to take the call?" "It's Professor Wilson. He wants to talk to Alex, but Alex is busy. Did you want to take the call?"

Wilson appeared to be at home, relaxing in a large fabric armchair. I couldn't see much of the room, but it had dark-stained panels, and the lighting was subdued. A trophy case guarded a doorway behind him, placed so that it was visible to callers. Concert music rumbled through the background. Heavy stuff. Barankov or somebody, I thought. But the volume was turned down. "Ah, Chase," "Ah, Chase," he said. he said. "I was calling for Mr. Benedict." "I was calling for Mr. Benedict."

"He's busy at the moment, Professor. I can have him get back to you, if you like."

"No, no. I've looked again into the tablet engraving. It's definitely not Late Korbanic. Which is not a major issue. But there's nothing like it anywhere in the record. I have found a few similarities to other systems, but nothing close enough that would give us an identification."

"What about the Ashiyyur? Could it be a Mute artifact?"

"Possibly. We don't have complete information on ourselves, let alone on them."