Echo. Part 15

"We'll be back in a week or two."

"Pity. We have a holiday break coming up-"

"Robin," I said, "Alex is anxious to get this done. We really need to do it on his timetable."

"Sure. I understand."

"You ever been off-world?"

"No," he said. "I always thought of going to the mountains as a long trip."

It was odd: I thought by then I knew him pretty well, but it hadn't occurred to me that he'd never gone anywhere. Of course, most people never travel off-world. "I'll see you when we get home."

"Okay."

And he did an imitation of celebrated tough guy Mark Parvin, talking out of the corner of his mouth: "When you get back, baby, I'll be waiting."

I liked Robin, but I felt crowded that day. Maybe I'd been promising more than I'd be able to deliver.

Well, let it go.

The station's actual name, as you probably know, is Tsarendipol, after the CEO of the General Development Corporation, the company that designed and built the place. But the designation quickly evolved into Serendipity.

The project had been started sixty years earlier, but it still wasn't completed. GDC had gone out of business, there'd been labor disputes, the fleet had taken it over twice during the periodic shoot-outs with the Mutes, and apparently there had been simply an extraordinary level of incompetence and corruption. When we got there, the station was still not much more than an exposed docking area, with a hotel, s.h.i.+pping facilities, and a bar. The restaurants and luxury meeting rooms and entertainment palaces that one a.s.sociates with orbiting stations throughout the Confederacy had not yet opened their doors. To this day, I understand, they still aren't up and running.

World's End Tours was probably not happy with the situation, but Dip was ideally located for them. The station drifted through the outer limits of the Confederacy, with easy access to areas that still remain largely unexplored.

When we arrived inside the station's operating area, I turned control of the Belle-Marie Belle-Marie over to them, and they brought us into port. I'd only been out to the place twice before, and on both occasions, I'd simply delivered some freight, crashed for a few hours, eaten, and gone back home. So walking along the nearly deserted concourses was a new experience for me. Alex said he'd been there once, with Gabe. "I was ten years old at the time," he said, "and I parked in one of the games exhibits and spent all my time shooting at aliens." over to them, and they brought us into port. I'd only been out to the place twice before, and on both occasions, I'd simply delivered some freight, crashed for a few hours, eaten, and gone back home. So walking along the nearly deserted concourses was a new experience for me. Alex said he'd been there once, with Gabe. "I was ten years old at the time," he said, "and I parked in one of the games exhibits and spent all my time shooting at aliens."

I didn't see a games exhibit.

"It was over there." He indicated a dark enclosure.

We'd gotten in late, local time, and there was only one hotel. In the morning, we looked through the World's End advertising. They ran tours to a half dozen star systems, promising "the ultimate in sightseeing." Their clients were prosperous. They had to be. World's End tours were expensive, out of sight for ordinary people. They used Eagles, which were optimum vehicles. Individual cabins had opulent appointments; they booked live entertainers; and the s.h.i.+ps carried a maximum of fifteen pa.s.sengers. All of which guaranteed you didn't have to a.s.sociate with the commoners.

They maintained an office in what must have been the only elegantly furnished pa.s.sageway in the station. A window, marked WORLD'S END TOURS looked out on the corridor. Below, in script, was the company's motto: Adventures from Home to World's End. Inside, a young woman sat talking to an AI.

Rachel had worked almost four years out of that office, serving as captain of the Silver Comet Silver Comet. The Comet Comet was a Merrill, the Eagle of its day, although it carried fewer people, a maximum of eight pa.s.sengers. They had several standard routes. But, for an additional consideration, World's End would customize a flight, "to accommodate pa.s.senger interests." I wasn't sure what that meant. was a Merrill, the Eagle of its day, although it carried fewer people, a maximum of eight pa.s.sengers. They had several standard routes. But, for an additional consideration, World's End would customize a flight, "to accommodate pa.s.senger interests." I wasn't sure what that meant.

The standard routes allowed pa.s.sengers to get a look at ringed giants and black holes. They could lob illuminated globes at neutron stars and land on beaches to relax under alien suns. If they had a desire to do so, they could swim in an ocean where nothing, ever, had lived. The clients inevitably liked to party. The schedule of events showed something happening every evening. I doubted it had been much different during Rachel's time.

The young woman looked up, saw us, and smiled. "Let's go say h.e.l.lo," said Alex.

"We're not going to schedule a flight, are we?"

"I don't see any point in doing that. How long's an average flight last?"

I looked through the advertising. "Shortest one looks like eight days. Up to four weeks."

He nodded. "They used to be a lot longer. Technology wasn't as good at the turn of the century, of course. Then the flights ran as long as four months. To the same destinations. Or at least to ones at the same range. The long ones were generally the hunting trips."

"They went hunting?"

"They still do." He led the way into the office. "Good morning."

"h.e.l.lo," said the woman, her eyes brightening automatically. "Can I help you?"

"I'm Alex Benedict. We'd like to see Miriam Wiley, please."

"Is she expecting you?"

"No. Actually, she isn't."

"I see." She pressed a b.u.t.ton and studied a screen. "I'm sorry, Mr. Benedict. She's not available at the moment. I'll be happy to a.s.sist you if I can."

"This is important. Would you please tell her I'm here. That I'd like very much to talk to her?"

"One moment, please. I'll connect you with my supervisor."

It took a minute or two, but they apparently bypa.s.sed the supervisor. The next voice was also a woman's: "Mr. Benedict, this is Miriam Wiley. I'm surprised to hear you're on the station." "Mr. Benedict, this is Miriam Wiley. I'm surprised to hear you're on the station." Her image appeared on-screen. She was a dark-eyed, dark-skinned woman with a surprised smile. Her image appeared on-screen. She was a dark-eyed, dark-skinned woman with a surprised smile.

"It's nice to meet you, Ms. Wiley."

"Can I a.s.sume you're the the Alex Benedict?" Alex Benedict?"

"Not sure about that that. I deal in antiquities."

"Yes, indeed," she said with a sly grin. she said with a sly grin. "So I've heard. Arma, send them in, please." "So I've heard. Arma, send them in, please."

Miriam Wiley was a retired pilot who had, at seventeen, charged into a collapsing building at a reclamation project to rescue an injured worker. On another occasion she'd taken over a taxi when its AI system malfunctioned, and ridden it to a safe landing, narrowly missing a swimming pool filled with gawkers who, apparently, didn't have enough sense to clear out.

She stood up as we entered, came over, shook our hands, and suggested we all sit down and relax. "We don't get many visitors out here," she said. "At least not famous ones."

Her pilot's license, in a silver frame, hung on the wall behind her desk. The walls were covered with pictures of Eagles, flying through ring systems, gliding over lunar surfaces, standing by while a blast of white light emanated from something something too far away to identify. The one that caught my eye was of an Eagle riding above a cloudscape, silhouetted against a partially obscured crescent moon. She tried to pretend she knew me by reputation, too, but she stumbled over my name. "What can I do for you?" she asked. "Were you planning on taking one of our tours?" too far away to identify. The one that caught my eye was of an Eagle riding above a cloudscape, silhouetted against a partially obscured crescent moon. She tried to pretend she knew me by reputation, too, but she stumbled over my name. "What can I do for you?" she asked. "Were you planning on taking one of our tours?"

"No," Alex said. "Unfortunately, we're here on business at the moment."

"Tracking a rare artifact, no doubt."

"No doubt." Alex smiled. They both smiled. Miriam was on the make.

"Too bad. I'd be more than happy to offer you our special VIP rate. You'd find a vacation with us to be a glorious experience." She s.h.i.+fted those dark eyes in my direction, suggesting that I might consider urging him to take the offer. That I'd enjoy it myself.

"Miriam," said Alex, "have you heard of Sunset Tuttle?"

"Who?"

"Sunset Tuttle? He was the guy who was always looking for aliens."

"Oh, yes. Sure. There was a vid based on him a few years back."

"Okay. We're looking into the possibility-and it's only only a possibility-that he might have made a major discovery connected with a World's End flight." a possibility-that he might have made a major discovery connected with a World's End flight."

"With one of our our flights? What kind of discovery?" flights? What kind of discovery?"

"First of all, we're talking thirty years ago."

She laughed. It was a pleasant sound. "That's well before my time. I've only been here six years."

"Have you taken any of the tours yourself?"

"Of course," she said. "It's part of the job. So what's the discovery this Tuttle might might have made? Did he find aliens on one of our tours?" The smile became even brighter. Suddenly, I was sitting there feeling foolish. have made? Did he find aliens on one of our tours?" The smile became even brighter. Suddenly, I was sitting there feeling foolish.

"No. At least not that we know of."

"Okay. So-?"

"There's an outside chance, though, that one of your captains may have encountered an extraterrestrial civilization."

She laughed again. Even more skeptically. "Which one?"

"Rachel Bannister. Would it be possible to look at the flight logs?"

"I can't see that there'd be a problem with that. I'd have to edit them first."

"Edit them how?"

"Remove the names of the pa.s.sengers. You want to see those, you'd need a court order."

"Okay. No, we don't care about the pa.s.sengers, so that wouldn't be a problem."

"Good. Which flight logs did you want to look at? What year?"

"It was 1403."

"Oh, no," she said. "Sorry. I wasn't thinking. I can't do that."

"Is there a prohibition of some sort?"

"No. I mean the logs from that period don't exist. They only go back to 1405. That's ten years before current owners.h.i.+p took over. I should have realized when you mentioned thirty years that I wouldn't be able to help you."

"I'm sorry to hear it."

"We're only required to keep the files for ten years, Alex. Walter-he was the CEO here previously-followed the letter of the law. We keep everything now. Have done since the new management took over. But 1405's as far back as we go."

"What do you know about the tours at the turn of the century? Were they the same as the ones you offer now?"

"Pretty much. We visit spectacular places. Do some specialized flights. You know, hunting, camping, that sort of thing. We've done interstellar weddings. We've taken people for rides on asteroids. We've even done a couple of ordinations. Did one two years ago, and another the year before that. So no, nothing's changed very much. We have different destinations, of course, because we have a lot of repeat business. People want to see new stuff. But the nature of the flights is about the same."

"Miriam, did they ever lose anyone? Was there ever an incident?"

"No. At least nothing I know of." She glanced around the room at the framed pictures. "Thank G.o.d, we've been fortunate. And we've always had good people."

"Do you have any records at all from the earlier years?"

She shook her head. "Not a thing, Alex. We don't even have maintenance records. Which they were supposed to keep. h.e.l.l, we don't have the advertising stuff anymore. We don't know where the s.h.i.+ps went. We've got nothing." She raised her hands in surrender. "Sorry."

TWELVE.

Is there someone in your life who's been taken for granted? Someone who's never been given the thanks he or she deserves? Here's your chance to make up for lost time. Take that person on our special Appreciation Trek. Call for details.

-World's End brochure, 1431.

When we got home, we immediately began looking for those who'd ridden World's End in the years during Rachel's tenure. The company itself provided no help. So we did a search for people who'd commented about vacations with them. We talked to avatars and read journals and consulted biographies. With few exceptions, they had good things to say about the flights. Service was generally reported to be excellent. Typical responses: "Oh, man, Marsha Keyes was on board. I felt sorry for the comedian they'd brought in. I mean, how do you perform when she's she's in the audience?" (I've no idea who Marsha Keyes was.) And "Great experience. I've never known anything like it. There was this huge solar flare-" And "Best show for the money in town. I'd do it every year if I could, and I'll tell you this: I'm going to see that my grandchildren get to make the trip." in the audience?" (I've no idea who Marsha Keyes was.) And "Great experience. I've never known anything like it. There was this huge solar flare-" And "Best show for the money in town. I'd do it every year if I could, and I'll tell you this: I'm going to see that my grandchildren get to make the trip."

The negatives were inconsequential: Prices were too high. The onboard food wasn't what they'd expected. The captain was grouchy. One woman even claimed they'd almost gone off and left her stranded "on a moon somewhere."

The Walter Walter that Miriam had referred to was Walter Korminov, who'd been the company's majority shareholder and CEO at the turn of the century. He'd hired Rachel in 1399, and whatever might have happened had happened on that Miriam had referred to was Walter Korminov, who'd been the company's majority shareholder and CEO at the turn of the century. He'd hired Rachel in 1399, and whatever might have happened had happened on his his watch. watch.

He was officially retired, though he headed the Bronson Inst.i.tute, which helped support medical facilities. He was also on the boards of several other philanthropic organizations. His home was on an island in the Questada. When I called for an appointment, I couldn't get past his secretary. Mr. Korminov was extremely busy and wasn't currently giving interviews. If I wished to submit questions, I was directed to do it in writing. No avatars, please. Usually, Alex's name opens doors everywhere, but not this time. The secretary had no idea who he was.

So we tried a different approach. Korminov did a lot of speaking engagements. We saw that he was scheduled to address the Interworld Medical a.s.sociation dinner and, a few days later, the annual Pilots' a.s.sociation luncheon. "Best," Alex said, "is to approach this as casually as we can."

I got the point and arranged for tickets to the Pilots' a.s.sociation event. The luncheon, which moved around the globe each year, was on the other side of the planet at the Cranmer Hotel in Armanaka. When Korminov got to the lectern, we were there.

"I'm honored," he said, "to have been invited to speak to you folks. From all of us who benefit from your contributions, let me say thanks. When I was young, I wanted to be what you are are. I wanted to be on the bridge of an interstellar. But they discovered I have a color problem. I can't tell brown, green, some shades of blue, from each other. They told me they could fix it, but I didn't like having anybody monkey with my eyes, so I backed away. Harry, here"-he indicated a man at one of the front tables-"told me that if I scared that easily, it was just as well. My point, ladies and gentlemen, is that I'd rather be sitting down there at one of the tables with you than standing up here trying to say something significant."

After that opening, he could do no wrong. We laughed and applauded and got to our feet when he suggested a const.i.tutional amendment that would require those who set interstellar policy to be licensed pilots. Later, when I tried to recall what he'd said overall, I couldn't remember much. The pilots were showing the way somewhere somewhere, and he hoped that we would continue to support the efforts of the Bronson Foundation, which was also doing work from which everyone benefited.

He ended by a.s.suring us that, "if I could come back in a hundred years, and the Pilots' a.s.sociation is still here, still conducting its luncheons, still filled with people like you you, then I'll know the Confederacy is in good shape. Thank you very much." He stepped down to a standing ovation.

"The guy's good," said Alex, as the emcee wound things up.

We'd arranged to get Alex introduced to Korminov, and if his secretary hadn't known who he was, Korminov did. We had no trouble sitting down with him for an apparently incidental conversation.

Korminov was about average size, but he seemed seemed big. He had a big voice, even when he was talking one-on-one, and his demeanor suggested a familiarity with command. His hair was beginning to gray at the temples, but his blue eyes retained the vigor and enthusiasm of youth. They could lock onto you and not let go. And they combined with an amiable smile to communicate his intentions far better than words ever could. He let me know without saying a word, for example, that he would have enjoyed taking me home that night. If I cared to make myself available. And if not, that was okay, too. Alex, who was usually pretty observant, later claimed he saw nothing. I should add here that Korminov's wife, a tall, attractive blonde, maybe forty years younger than he was, was standing off to one side, laughing and talking with her own groupies. How he would have managed an a.s.signation that night I have no idea. And yes, I know you're thinking I imagined it all. But I didn't. big. He had a big voice, even when he was talking one-on-one, and his demeanor suggested a familiarity with command. His hair was beginning to gray at the temples, but his blue eyes retained the vigor and enthusiasm of youth. They could lock onto you and not let go. And they combined with an amiable smile to communicate his intentions far better than words ever could. He let me know without saying a word, for example, that he would have enjoyed taking me home that night. If I cared to make myself available. And if not, that was okay, too. Alex, who was usually pretty observant, later claimed he saw nothing. I should add here that Korminov's wife, a tall, attractive blonde, maybe forty years younger than he was, was standing off to one side, laughing and talking with her own groupies. How he would have managed an a.s.signation that night I have no idea. And yes, I know you're thinking I imagined it all. But I didn't.

We went immediately to a first-name basis. And when, after a few minutes of idle talk, Alex casually mentioned World's End, Korminov responded by banging his fist on the table and letting us know that the touring company had provided the ride of his life. "I always regretted leaving the place," he said. "I loved the work over there."

We were nursing drinks, and Alex took a moment to stare over the top of his gla.s.s at a pa.s.sing woman. "I wonder who that that is?" he said in an admiring tone. Korminov followed his eyes, shook his head, and pa.s.sed silent agreement across the table. Then Alex said, "Why's that, Walter?" He made it sound as if he wasn't really that interested but was just being polite. is?" he said in an admiring tone. Korminov followed his eyes, shook his head, and pa.s.sed silent agreement across the table. Then Alex said, "Why's that, Walter?" He made it sound as if he wasn't really that interested but was just being polite.

"We used to throw welcome-home parties for the clients. A lot of them had never been off-world before. And they'd come back after some of the stuff we showed them and tell us that the experience was priceless. And a lot of times they'd taken their kids. I remember one woman, Avra Korchevsky I think it was, something like that. I ran into her years later and she said how, after going out with us, her daughter for the first time came to understand what kind of place she lived in. That her worldview literally changed. That she'd never been the same since. Alex, I still get mail from people, physicists, cosmologists, mathematicians, even artists and musicians, telling me that it was one of our flights that got them started on their careers. A life-changing event. I hear it all the time. Even after all these years."