Echo. Part 8

He looked at me. "Me neither, Fenn."

"Okay," he said. "We'll ask around. If I can come up with something, I'll let you know. Meantime-"

"We'll be careful."

When we were alone, Alex told me he thought it would be a good idea if I took some time off. Stayed away from the country house until Fenn figured out who did it.

"I can't do that," I said. "I'm not going to leave you alone to deal with this." And, after a pause, "You think it's connected with the tablet?"

"Probably," he said. "Chase, that was a scary experience. I thought for a minute we'd lost you." His voice sounded odd.

"I'm okay," I said. "Just have to be more careful for a while."

"I could fire you."

"You'd only have to hire somebody else. I wasn't the target."

Robin was very gracious about it all. I thanked him, and he told me he was just grateful he'd gotten there when he had. "I'm worried about you," he said. "Maybe you should stay at my place until this thing gets settled."

Well, I was taken by his generosity, and I told him so. "But I'll be more careful from now on when I open packages."

"This is serious stuff, Chase. I wouldn't want to lose you." That was said in a more serious tone than his offer for me to bunk with him.

"Thanks, Robin," I said. "I'll be careful."

Audree was a member of the Seaside Players, an amateur theater group. When Alex invited me to join him for Moving Target Moving Target, the production in which she was performing, I said sure and took Robin along. "Strictly for security purposes," I told him.

"Listen, Chase," he said. "This is not funny."

"You don't want to go?"

"I'll go. Sure. But somebody wants you dead."

"Actually," I said, "the package was addressed to Alex."

I like amateur theater. Always have. Audree has tried to talk me into joining Seaside, but the prospect of standing on a stage in front of an audience while I try to remember my lines scares me more than anything I can think of. So I always pretend I'm too busy. "Maybe next year."

It turned out to be opening night for the show. Audree played the harried beauty of the t.i.tle. She is pursued by police, who think she killed her husband; by the actual killer, who wrongly believes she knows who he is; and by a crazed former boyfriend who has never been willing to let go.

At one point she calls her lawyer. Robin commented that it was exactly what people do: Put the lawyer in the maniac's crosshairs. And, of course, when the lawyer got picked off, at the end of the second act, he reacted with a resigned sigh.

Eventually, the ex-boyfriend makes off with her eleven-year-old daughter, whose safety he is willing to exchange for the heroine's virtue. And, as the audience was aware, her life. Ultimately, of course, everything ends well.

Audree was a bit over-the-top, maybe a trifle screechy when she was being chased around by the nutcase, but otherwise she delivered a good performance. Afterward, we attended a cast party. Robin told me he was tempted to join the Seaside group.

"I didn't know you were interested in acting," I said.

He glanced around the room. It was filled with attractive women.

We found others who had known Sunset Tuttle. One, a financial advisor who'd visited him hoping to pick up a client, told us yes, he'd seen the tablet. "Kept it in the cabinet, just like you said. I was in there one time. The cabinet door had been left open. When he noticed, he got up and closed it. It was no big deal. But I remember thinking how odd it was to keep a gravestone-that's what it looked like-in his office. I mentioned it, but he just shrugged it off. Said something to the effect it was an artifact. That he had to keep the cabinet door shut to maintain an even temperature." "Kept it in the cabinet, just like you said. I was in there one time. The cabinet door had been left open. When he noticed, he got up and closed it. It was no big deal. But I remember thinking how odd it was to keep a gravestone-that's what it looked like-in his office. I mentioned it, but he just shrugged it off. Said something to the effect it was an artifact. That he had to keep the cabinet door shut to maintain an even temperature."

"That's nonsense," Alex said.

"I thought that, too, but I wasn't going to argue with the guy. I didn't care if he kept rocks in his cabinet."

The OAAA, the Orion Arm Archeological a.s.sociation, maintains a museum and conference center with attached living quarters for visiting historians and archeologists in the Plaza, adjacent to Korchnoi University in Andiquar. The Plaza also serves as a social center for members of the organization and their guests. Alex had a blown-up picture of the tablet propped against the wall. "There has has to be somebody down there who'd recognize this thing," he said. to be somebody down there who'd recognize this thing," he said.

Alex attended meetings periodically. It was a good way to keep in touch with what was happening in the field. Usually, I went along, not because I had a professional knowledge of whatever subject happened to be on the agenda but because my presence fit with the social environment. As long as the conversations appeared casual, there was less chance of alerting anyone to the possibility that something substantive was happening, thereby running the price up.

So I dressed for the occasion, a white blouse, beige slacks, and a gold necklace Alex had given me for precisely these kinds of events. The necklace featured an ankh ankh, which made me automatically one of the crowd.

Alex had been granted an honorary membership after the Christopher Sim experience, so we had no trouble gaining entrance. There were seven or eight people present, seated in two groups in the Sakler Room, named of course for the woman who'd found the Inkata ruins on Moridania four hundred years ago. We collected a couple of drinks at the bar and joined one of the groups.

They were talking about tribal instincts and gestalt exercises, and I wasn't there five minutes before I began looking at the time. The conversation was on a casual first-name level, but then, suddenly, as the topic of tribal cultures took hold, someone recognized Alex as the man who'd found the Corsarius Corsarius. And everyone's attention swung his way.

He tried to do his modesty routine. "I'm just here," he said, "to listen to you guys. Fascinating idea, that tribes would react to a shifting climate in the way that Liz suggests." With the exception of a wiry, bearded guy who'd been dominating the conversation, they declared themselves delighted that he was present. "And Chase, too, of course." One claimed to have had lunch with him two years ago at the Blackfriars' event in Peshkong. Another explained he'd been on Salud Afar, coincidentally, at the same time that we had, last year. "I have cousins there, believe it or not."

"So," the Blackfriar said, "what are you working on now?"

And Alex had his opening. "Nothing much," he said. "I've gotten interested in Sunset Tuttle."

"Why?" The bearded man broke out in laughter. "Why on earth would you do that?" His name was Braik. I never got a last name. Or maybe that was was his last name. "What did Tuttle ever do?" his last name. "What did Tuttle ever do?"

"We're putting together a history of Survey operations during the last century and a half. He's part of it."

Braik laughed again and waved it away. "Okay," he said. "But really, no kidding around now, why are you interested in him him?"

"He represents a whole cla.s.s of scientists, Braik. The people who went out to the stars and looked around. Who hoped to make contact." Alex normally didn't talk like that, but he kept a straight face, and everybody seemed to buy it. "He was pa.s.sionate about exploration. Yet he broke away from it in 1403. Never went back. He lived only a few years after that, but it's the only period in his adult life that he never went out on a mission. I wonder why that is."

Braik did something with his mouth and jaws to suggest who cared? "He probably pulled the pin because he figured out his career wasn't going anywhere. Never would go anywhere."

Liz was actually Elizabeth McMurtrie, who'd made her reputation as a climatologist. She whispered something to the guy who'd been to Salud Afar. Alex invited her to say it for everyone.

"Maybe he was exhausted," she said. "I'd be willing to bet if he hadn't died prematurely, he'd have gone back. Probably, he'd be out there somewhere now now."

"He was an idiot," said Braik, "who might have made a contribution. Instead, at the end, what did he have to show for his life?"

"I was just wondering," said Liz, "who he really was." She was the only person among the members in the room who might have been justly described as young.

"He's n.o.body, my dear," said the Blackfriar. "He's a man who spent his time chasing moonbeams. Am I right, Alex?"

Alex sipped his drink. "I think people should set whatever goals they want. As long as they don't create problems for anybody else, where's the harm? Tuttle didn't fail because he never found anybody. He looked, and that's all you can ask. The real failure would have been not to try."

Liz started to say something, but she got elbowed aside by Braik. "Tuttle," he said, "recognized his own failure. That's why he quit."

Liz got through: "What's your your dream, Braik?" dream, Braik?"

Braik responded with a sound that was half snicker half snort. "Make a contribution," he said. "And leave a good reputation behind me."

The conversation wandered for a while, but eventually Alex brought it back to Tuttle. Braik, though, was the only person present who had known him personally, and he was too interested in disparaging him to be helpful. Every question we asked produced a derisive response. "Does anybody know," Alex said, inserting the question as a matter of no consequence, "whether Tuttle ever brought any artifacts back from his expeditions?"

"He had some," Braik said. "A holistic link supposed to be from Chaldoneau, a captain's hat from the Intrepid Intrepid, stuff like that. But I'd bet everything was a duplicate picked up in a gift shop somewhere."

"Any stone tablets that anyone knows about?"

"No," said the Blackfriar, looking around to see whether anyone had ever heard of anything.

Eventually, we drifted away and joined another group. But they, too, had nothing to contribute. Only one of them, a short, bleak-eyed blonde, had ever even seen Tuttle. "It was at a conference," she said. "In Dreyfus, I think. Or maybe at Kaldemor." She made a face. "Actually, it might have been-"

I broke in: "Did you get a chance to talk with him?"

"No. He was on a panel, and I might have asked a question or two. But I'm not sure. I can't really say I had a chance to talk with him. The panel was on radio archeology."

"I've lost an old friend I was hoping might be here tonight," said Alex. "Hugh Conover. Anybody know him?"

Several of them nodded. "He's long gone," said the blonde. "Dropped out of sight years ago." She looked around. "Anybody hear from him recently?"

n.o.body had.

We had several calls during the next few days from people who'd heard about our visit to the Plaza and claimed connections, usually tenuous, with Tuttle. I thought they were really just looking for an excuse to talk with Alex, who, by that point in his career, had become a major celebrity.

One of the callers identified himself to Alex as Everett Boardman. "I've always admired Tuttle," "I've always admired Tuttle," he said. he said. "My father was a colleague of his. I'm sorry to say he was one of the ones who never took the man seriously." "My father was a colleague of his. I'm sorry to say he was one of the ones who never took the man seriously." Boardman was the sort of guy you immediately felt you could rely on if you were in trouble. Dark hair and beard, clear eyes, a good smile that suggested he didn't take himself too seriously. Boardman was the sort of guy you immediately felt you could rely on if you were in trouble. Dark hair and beard, clear eyes, a good smile that suggested he didn't take himself too seriously.

"You're an archeologist?" asked Alex.

"Yes. And I shared a lot of Tuttle's interests. I really don't care all that much about ancient interstellars and buried ruins. Those are just historical details."

"You want to find little green men."

Boardman's eyes brightened. "Mr. Benedict, I would kill to find someone else out there. It's all I care about." "Mr. Benedict, I would kill to find someone else out there. It's all I care about."

"Are you still looking?"

"Whenever I can make time away from work."

"Well, I wish you luck."

"Thanks." He was seated at a table, covered with papers, maps, books. A cup of coffee rested at his right hand. He was seated at a table, covered with papers, maps, books. A cup of coffee rested at his right hand. "Some of the people at the Plaza got the impression that you thought Tuttle might have found something." "Some of the people at the Plaza got the impression that you thought Tuttle might have found something."

"You were there?" said Alex. "I thought I recognized you. And yes, it's possible. But we don't know."

"You have any evidence?"

"Nothing I'm prepared to talk about."

Boardman nodded. "I don't think it happened. Tuttle would never have sat on that kind of discovery." "I don't think it happened. Tuttle would never have sat on that kind of discovery."

"How well did your father know him?"

"They socialized occasionally. Even shared a mission back in the seventies. My dad knew him up until the very end. You know about the boat accident?"

"Yes."

"My father had lunch with him that day before he went out. His last meal, I guess."

"And Tuttle never said anything-?"

"Not that I know of. h.e.l.l, if my father had heard him talk about finding something, he'd have had a heart attack."

That same afternoon, we got another call, this one from an ancient, somber man sitting in a large armchair in a room with a blazing fireplace. "My name is Edwin Holverson," "My name is Edwin Holverson," he said. he said. "May I speak with Mr. Benedict, please?" "May I speak with Mr. Benedict, please?"

"He's with a client, Mr. Holverson. My name's Kolpath. May I help you?"

"Are you his secretary?"

"I'm a staff a.s.sistant, sir."

"I wanted to talk to him him. Would you have him call me when he becomes available?"

"If you like, certainly. May I tell him what it's about?"

"Sunset Tuttle. I understand Mr. Benedict is interested in him."

"That's correct. We're doing some doc.u.mentary work."

"You are? May I ask why you and he are interested in a man who's been dead a quarter century?"

"I told you. We're doing research."

"Research for what?"

"A history of Survey."

"I see. I hope you're not going to laugh at him."

"Of course not."

His eyes narrowed. "Or offer your sympathy." "Or offer your sympathy."

"Why would we do that?"

"Come on, Ms.-? What did you say your name was?"

"Kolpath."

"Ms. Kolpath, please don't play dumb with me." He leaned forward and gripped the chair arms as if he were accelerating. He leaned forward and gripped the chair arms as if he were accelerating.

"I don't think I'm following the conversation."