7
There is nothing so compelling as an event that defies explanation. Whether a scientific issue or the disappearance of a gold reserve from a sealed vault or a man murdered in a locked room high in a skyscraper, it does not matter. Everyone loves a mystery.
—Maria Sumter, creator of fictional detective Maxwell Pelham, fifth millennium
The media were out in force when the Harbinger docked. It was the middle of the afternoon in Andiquar. We’d known for a couple of days that the ship had surfaced and arrival was imminent. I watched on my office HV while they came in. The exit tube lit up. Sam, Jennifer, and Autumn were the first ones to come out onto the concourse. As a result of the constant media coverage, they seemed like longtime acquaintances. They tried to avoid the picture-taking and the questions, but in the end they gave in. The missing village had been disappointing, they said. And strange. Sam and Jennifer both threw up their hands and admitted they weren’t sure they’d arrived at the right location. It looked the same as the pictures, but that was the only explanation they had that made any sense. Autumn shook her head and said she just didn’t know what was going on.
I switched over to the Hochman Network, where Wilkinson was having a few final words with Henry Cassell in the passenger cabin. “So, Henry,” he asked, “what happens now? Where do we go from here?”
The director’s eyes closed momentarily. “We simply forget the whole thing, Lester. It’s over.”
“Would you encourage anyone else to go out there?”
“No. Absolutely not. It would be a total waste of time.” He picked up a bag from one of the seats and looked toward the exit. “Time to go.”
“Okay.” Wilkinson was carrying nothing. It looked as if most of the luggage had been removed. “And thank you for allowing me to accompany you and your colleagues on this mission.”
Henry responded with a smile that was almost pitiful. “I wish we could have had something more for you.”
Alex waited a few days for the media coverage to go away. Then he called McCann. The automated response replied, “Professor McCann is not currently available. He will be informed of your call.”
I was in Alex’s office the following afternoon when Jacob told us McCann was on the circuit. “Put him through,” Alex said. He signaled me to stay, but to retreat to the armchair beside the door, where I wouldn’t be visible to McCann. Alex sat down behind his desk and McCann blinked on in the middle of the office. He was accompanied, off to one side, by an armchair, though he wasn’t using it.
“Mr. Benedict?” he said.
Alex leaned forward. “Thanks for getting back to me, Professor. Please, take a seat.”
“It’s good to meet you, Mr. Benedict.” He remained standing, ignoring Alex’s invitation. “I assume you want to go hunting for artifacts?” McCann had obviously done his research.
“Yes, sir. If we can find any, they will eventually become historical treasures.”
“I suspect you’ll understand that I don’t want anything more to do with that place.”
“I’m sure what happened with the Harbinger has been frustrating for you, Professor. But you’ve made a major contribution to our knowledge of the Orion Nebula.”
“And what was that, sir?”
“We know now that there is another civilization out there. Somewhere. And with the arrival of the Ulakans a few weeks ago, we don’t feel nearly as alone as we used to.”
“Yes, that was quite an experience, wasn’t it? I would love to have had a chance to say hello to them. I don’t suppose you had the chance to actually meet any of them?”
“No, I didn’t, Professor.”
“Call me Quaid.”
“I’m Alex.”
“Indeed. Before we go any further with this, I can see only one reason that would have prompted you to get in touch with me, Alex. And I have to tell you up front that I have no inclination to reveal the location of Korella IV. We have to maintain control over attempts at contact.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, Quaid, but I understand.”
McCann stood quietly for a moment. Finally he lowered himself into the chair. “It’s essential that we not reveal the location of alien worlds.”
“That place doesn’t seem to be an alien world.”
“Of course it is. Aliens were living there when we arrived.”
“The evidence suggests they were not natives. You guys and the Harbinger both ran long searches and found no one else anywhere on the planet.”
“Searching an entire world for small towns or villages isn’t easy, Alex. It takes a lot of time. You of all people should be aware of that. And finding nothing doesn’t mean they aren’t there. But okay, you may be right. Maybe the world is deserted now. We just don’t know. In any case, yes, we are aware that aliens have been there. The Harbinger brought back a satellite. So there’s no question that they existed. We don’t want our people going out to the place and taking it over. Once the location gets out, there’d be no way to protect it.” He raised his left hand. “And to be frank, I don’t know where the place is. If they’d needed me to help them, they’d still be drifting around looking. The reality is that even if I wanted to help, I wouldn’t know how.”
“There’s one other possibility,” Alex said. “Robbi Jo Renfroe is an old friend of yours, isn’t she?”
I wasn’t surprised that he knew. I couldn’t recall ever having mentioned our connection, but if Alex was persistent at anything, it was research. “Yes,” I said. “We go back to early school days.”
“I assume you don’t want to ask her if she’d be willing to help.”
“I don’t like putting her on the spot.”
“She’s pretty much all we have left. You wouldn’t have to put any pressure on her. Just let her know what we’re planning and give her the opportunity to make an offer.”
I hated going near her with the issue. If she broke ranks and gave us the Korella location, her career with DPSAR would be over. I’d been hoping Alex would make an effort to win over somebody from the Visitation Project, but he’d presumably already looked into that. The only ones who knew the details of the mission were very likely the pilots. Even Henry probably didn’t know.
Alex read my reluctance. “If you have to pass on it, Chase,” he said, “I understand.”
I came close. If there’d been another option, I’d have backed off. But there wasn’t, and I could sense the passion in his voice. He’d talked about money. But the money wasn’t at the heart of this. He collected artifacts because they were a way to touch history. If we could come up with something on Korella, it would be the ultimate historical connection in his career.
Robbi Jo lived in Parnau, about six hundred kilometers north of Andiquar, at the foot of the Konjour Mountains. I settled in behind my desk and called her. She picked up. “Hi, Chase. I’ve been meaning to get back to you. It was great to hear from you.”
We had a bad connection; her image flickered, faded, and was gone. Then it came back at full clarity. She was seated in a chair, dressed for mountain climbing or maybe just camping, with gray leggings and a heavy pullover shirt. Two boots were on the floor in front of her. “Hello, Robbi Jo. How you doing? Hope all’s well with you.”
“I’m fine, thanks.”
Robbi Jo had looked pretty good during her high school years, and she’d lost nothing. Her eyes gleamed. She was blond, with congenial features and an easy manner that indicated the relationship between us had not aged. Two windows provided a view of a sloping landscape. She wasn’t alone. She made hand signals, and a moment later I heard a door close.
A golden retriever sat beside her chair, its jaw snuggled against her left leg. A full bookcase stood behind her. And beside the bookcase there was a framed portrait of a little girl standing on a porch. “I guess,” she said, “we never did get together for that lunch we used to talk about.”
“It’s a pretty long ride, Robbi Jo. Does your family still live in Andiquar?”
“Yes. Actually, I’ve been down there a couple of times since I got back from the Columbia.”
“What are you doing now?”
“I’m trying to decide whether I want to work for Spaceways.” An interplanetary touring company. “By the way, I’ve been meaning to tell you, I’ve read a couple of your books, Chase. I’ve enjoyed the accounts of Alex’s archeological adventures. You have a serious writing talent.”
“Thank you,” I said. “Would it be okay if I used that comment as a blurb on the next one?”
“Absolutely.”
“Excellent. I write while you make history.”
She laughed. “That was Quaid, not me. I got lucky. They needed a pilot.”
“I thought you were going to become an astrophysicist.”
“That was my original plan. But I couldn’t see any point in looking at stars through oversized telescopes when I could go out and poke them.” Her eyes lit up and suddenly we were back on the basketball court. “I guess we both headed in the same direction.”
“Looks like. I hope you’ve enjoyed the ride as much as I have. I should mention, by the way, that Alex doesn’t think of himself as an archeologist.”
She glanced at my bookcase and smiled when she saw the hardcover Ulakan volumes I’d received from Chad Barker. Three of them were in plain view. She turned back to me. “How would he describe himself?” she asked. “Alex.”
“As an antiquarian.”
“I’m surprised to hear that.”
Her eyes brightened. “I have to tell you that I wish we’d had someone like you on board the Columbia to write a memoir of the flight.”
“Thanks, Robbi Jo. I appreciate the compliment. Maybe next time?” That was supposed to be a joke. But she didn’t smile. And she didn’t take the bait. “We should have stayed in touch,” I said.
Her bookcase was filled mostly with astronomy books. “That would have been a good idea. It’s not too late, Chase.”
“I’m in favor of that.” She nodded, confirming the idea. “You must have enjoyed the experience, Robbi Jo. Finding aliens.”
“Well, more or less. The aliens went missing. I have to admit the Ulakans would have been more fun.”
“Did you get to meet them?”
“Not exactly. We tossed greetings back and forth. I was part of the crowd when they were leaving.”
We talked about it for a few minutes before I tried again to move toward the Harbinger mission. “What do you think happened?”
“They must have gone to the wrong place. No way I can imagine they could have moved the town out of there. I felt sorry for Vince and the rest of those guys.”
“It must have been a long, dreary ride home.”
“Yeah. I’m sure it was.”
“Do you know any of them? Other than Vince?”
“Just Henry.”
“Have you talked to any of them since?”
“No. I’m maintaining a healthy distance.” Her eyes left me. She was looking at something in her living room. Or wherever that was. “For a while I regretted not being with them. But the way it turned out—” She cleared her throat. “When we saw the village, the Columbia mission turned into one long celebration. I never would have believed the whole thing would crash and burn the way it did.”
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“Me too. The Columbia was the mission of a lifetime. Or at least it should have been. Now we have people saying the whole thing was a lie. That the village was never there.”
“Robbi Jo, Alex would like to go out there, to Korella, and try to figure out what happened.”
“I wish him luck.” Her eyes locked on me. She knew what was coming.
“The problem is that we don’t know where the place is.”
“Why does he want to do that? Is he looking to enhance his reputation? Maybe help you get a bigger book deal?”
She’d changed from the young woman I remembered, who would not have backed anyone into a corner. I could have told her she was wrong, that Alex simply hoped to collect some artifacts. But that was not the answer that was likely to get her on board. “Robbi Jo,” I said, “he has no interest in making contact per se. He would just like to work out what happened. If he finds anyone, he’d keep his distance and do nothing more than come home and report the results.” I managed what I hoped was an amicable smile.
She let me see that she hoped I was right. “I wish I could help,” she said.
“You know where the place is, don’t you?”
“Yes. I know. But everyone who was selected for the mission signed an agreement specifically barring us from revealing any location in the event we found someone. Or from doing anything that might assist anyone else who was on the hunt.”
“Robbi Jo, I assume you know that Henry is saying they won’t be running any future flights into the area.”
“I know. Quaid has taken the same attitude.”
“The whole point of the Columbia’s mission was to look for intelligent life.”
“Not exactly, Chase. We were looking for worlds that could serve as bases or colonies for us. That was the stated purpose of the Visitation Project.”
“The stated purpose isn’t quite the same as the driving force behind the flights. They didn’t want to stir up interest in getting people like Alex and me going out hunting for aliens.”
She exhaled. “I suppose there’s something to that.”
“Why did they choose that particular group of stars in the Orion Nebula? They’re too far to be of any practical use as colonies.”
“Artificial radio signals have been picked up occasionally. A long time ago.”
“How long?”
“Originally during the fifth millennium. And periodically since then. The most recent one goes back four centuries. But it’s a long ride out there, especially in those eras. It would have taken a year or more.”
“Okay. So the truth is out. We’ve been fascinated by the possibility of others all the way back to the early days of spaceflight. But the people in charge have always been nervous about what might happen if we actually found someone. But look how the Ulakans turned out.”
“Yeah.” She laughed. “Aliens finally show up—aliens other than the Mutes—and they’re dedicated book readers.”
“Right. Who saw that coming?”
She was staring again at the Ulakan volumes. “Have you read any of them?”
“I’ve read two. And they feel as if they’ve been written by us. How about you?”
“I read Footprints in the Sands of Time. It’s about the significance of art and literature in civilized development.”
“How is it?”
“It’s excellent. Monteo says it’s a classic. Right up there with Looking Askance.” She obviously saw the title hadn’t connected with me. “It’s by Michael Leja,” she said. “He was a third-millennium art historian.”
“The name rings a bell. I don’t know Monteo, though.”
She smiled. “Monteo’s strictly a critic. Lives on Dellaconda. Leja’s book has been around almost since the beginning of western civilization. There are a lot of illustrations in it. In both books. The Ulakans have the same passion for art.”
“I recall you used to do some painting.”
“At one time I thought that was going to be my career. Didn’t happen.” She looked back at the painting beside the bookcase. “That’s Tammy,” she said. “Her mom’s in the other room.”
“It’s beautiful.”
“She is, isn’t she?”
“I meant the painting. She is too.”
“Thank you. I guess you know the Parkington is going to do one of the plays. One of the Ulakan plays.”
“I hadn’t heard that.”
“They just announced it this morning.”
“Robbi Jo, I can’t help thinking how much all those generations probably missed because we and the Ulakans needed so long to find one another.”
She sat quietly and pushed her tongue against her cheek. “Chase, I’m sorry. I wish there were a way for me to help you.”
“If it were your call, you’d send out another mission, wouldn’t you?”
She thought about it. “I would. But it’s not my decision.” She was staring past me again. “Sorry.” She looked down at her link. “I’ve got to go. When we can find some time, Chase, let’s get together.” And she clicked off.
I wasn’t quite ready to give up. I called Chad and bought hardcover copies of Facing Reality and Why We Laugh. The latter book described the importance of art and literature in the development of a civilized world. I provided Robbi Jo’s address and asked him to ship them to her. “You want to attach a card?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said. “ ‘For my favorite artist.’ ”
“So how do we find the place?” I asked.
“I don’t know.” When Alex gets frustrated, he usually closes his eyes. This time he stared hard into mine. “We’ve touched base with the pilots, and with McCann and Cassell. Nobody’s budging. And nobody else on either flight is likely to be able to find it.” He sat at his desk, picked up his coffee, and took a long drink. We weren’t getting any rain, but there was a lot of thunder and the wind was moving tree branches. “I guess we should just let it go for a while. Eventually somebody’s mind might change.”
“Okay.” I shouldn’t admit this, but I was almost relieved. “How is it, I wonder, that the Visitation Project was originally hoping to find someone, and then when they did, they were so quick to back away from it?”
“Because it went public. We aren’t always rational, Chase. Searching for intelligent life was at the heart of what they were doing, but they didn’t expect to find anything. And they even pretended they weren’t looking for aliens. When it happened, it came as a shock. And they played it straight. But since the village disappeared, I guess it’s become hard to walk away from the project.”
He didn’t broach the subject again for a few days. When I asked if he was still thinking about it, he let me see that he’d given up. “I took another crack at Reddington. But he won’t budge.”
“So it’s over?”
“Yes. Though there’s somebody else I want to talk with.”
“Who’s that?”
“The Mutes. They’ve been over to the Orion Nebula several times.”
“That sounds like a long shot.”
“I don’t know. I don’t think they have the same attitude toward aliens that we do. But let’s find out. It’s all we have. When you have a minute, see if you can set up a meeting with Torega.”
Torega was a Mute with whom we’d done occasional business. He was a diplomat who was also a collector of artifacts from actions that had led to the war and the efforts to end it. We had obtained for him a draft copy of the Call to Victory, the challenge issued by the Mutes that had initiated the attack at Blenkoven and in effect blocked ongoing efforts to reach a settlement. We’d also gotten him the pen used by the Mute leader Andropoli to sign the agreement that brought peace. And there was an early version of “Finale,” the famous poem written by Jora Modesta, expressing his appreciation that the war had ended.
So he owed us. I set up the appointment and, the following afternoon, accompanied Alex to the Kostyev House, in the center of Andiquar. The Kostyev House had been an embassy for the Dellacondans in an earlier time. Now it served primarily as the consulate for the Ashiyyur. For years, the Mutes had to tolerate angry demonstrators who thought they were monsters interested only in bringing down the Confederacy. The war that had been fought with them was long gone, but their fearsome appearance remained, as well as their ability to read minds. But happily, the sign-waving demonstrators were now gone too. That had happened when the Mutes came to the rescue of Salud Afar, helping get a shield in place to save that terrified world from a supernova.
We rode a tube up to the fourth floor and followed a carpeted corridor down to a set of windows that had not been there during my previous visit. They overlooked the courthouse. Long murals depicted men and women in modest cottages contemplating approaching storms, seated at crowded picnic tables, and looking out across broad rivers. Carved mahogany doors lined both sides of the corridor. Most were unmarked, save a legal firm and a tax adjuster and a couple showing only names. We paused in front of a set of double doors that appeared to be oak with a khaki color. A plaque indicated we’d arrived at the Ashiyyurean consulate.
Alex spoke his name. The doors opened and we entered. The Mute civilization was considerably older than ours, by thousands of years. And they were telepaths. Experts maintained they were more intelligent than humans, though it could be argued they hadn’t always shown it. They could not speak, probably a result of their telepathic capabilities.
I’d been there on several earlier occasions. The furnishings had been upgraded since my previous visits. Before, the consulate had seemed simply mundane, not a place in which you’d want to spend much time. I don’t remember details other than a sofa, chairs, and a desk, all looking as if they’d been acquired during a low-budget sale. There was a white door behind the desk. Worn books were piled on a table, supported by a pair of horse-head bookends. Two windows, shaded by green curtains, looked out over Bancroft Street.
There was a bookcase now. It held some of the volumes that had been here before, biographies of both humans and Mutes, a few histories of both species, and several books in the Ashiyyurean language. There was also a copy of Leisha Tanner’s Extracts from Tulisofala. It’s a book I’ve been wanting to read forever. Eventually I’ll get to it. And I should mention that there was a copy of Alex’s A Talent for War.
A light rain was falling. Alex settled into one of the chairs, while I stood looking at the books. And suddenly I got a sense that I was being watched, that we were no longer alone in the room. That shouldn’t have come as a surprise. It had happened during my other visits. And I knew what was coming next: the white door opened.
I held my breath while a Mute entered the room. Their faces resemble ours except that they are less animated, with large arched diamond-shaped eyes and canines that suggest there is something of a vampire about them. It was a male. Almost a head taller than Alex. Its skin was like worn dark leather. I couldn’t tell whether it was Torega.
“Hello, Alex,” he said, speaking through a medallion that hung on a chain around his neck. Centered on it was a bird in flight that might have been an eagle. “It’s good to see you again.”
Alex got up and extended his hand. “Good to see you, Torega. It’s been a long time.”
“We’ve missed you, Alex.” His eyes rotated toward me. “And you are Chase. Do I have that right?”
“Yes,” I said.
“Forgive me. Humans all tend to look alike to us.”
“It’s okay,” I said, trying to stop myself from thinking that all he had to do was look into my mind to find out who I was. “Good to see you again, sir.”
“The pleasure is all mine, Chase.” He indicated we should all sit. He took a place on the couch. “Alex,” he said, “I haven’t been able to help noticing that your archeological career has brought considerable success. My congratulations.”
“I’m not really an archeologist, Torega. I’m just a retail guy. My uncle Gabriel is the archeologist.”
“Oh. I don’t think I ever actually understood that.”
Said the guy to whom our minds lay open. Alex got the joke too and smiled. “I’m happy to clarify.”
An associate brought in a round of drinks. Not alcoholic, more like tea with a taste of lemon. Torega tried it, showed his approval, and then addressed Alex: “So what can I do for you?”
Alex leaned back in his chair. “I’m aware that your people claim we are the only developed civilization you’ve ever encountered. Is that really true?”
“Probably not,” he said, “although I’ve no way to know. Our people have been like yours. We understand how much damage high-tech visitors can do to a primitive society. And since there’s really no way to control interstellar flights from our worlds, we’ve tried to deal with the issue by simply not releasing information about discoveries.”
Alex nodded. “So if a couple of your people out wandering around find another civilization, how do you persuade them to keep it quiet?”
“How would DPSAR handle it?”
“We’d probably pay them. I can’t see what else we could do.”
“And there you have it, Alex. If they reveal anything, they lose the money and are given treatment to ensure it doesn’t happen again.”
“Treatment? What do you mean?”
“Their memory of the incident is wiped and replaced.”
Alex took a long sip from the lemon tea. “I wouldn’t have thought you guys could keep any secrets from each other.”
“Of course we can. We don’t live in each other’s brains. Our natural inclination is to be completely open. But we can create blockage. It’s not difficult. And I assume since the Confederacy, until last month, reported no evidence of newly discovered high-tech aliens, that you have a similar system in place.”
Alex signaled me to respond. “You might be right,” I said. “But I think we just do what we can to prevent others from using the information. Give it time and probably everybody will forget about it.”
“You’ve had a wild ride recently. Two connections.” Torega’s eyes widened. “With the Ulakans and that odd business at Korella IV.”
“That’s why we’ve come,” said Alex. “Obviously you know what happened on Korella IV, in the Orion Nebula. Is there any possibility that a group of your people got stranded out there on one of those worlds? And possibly got mistaken for another species?”
“There’s always a possibility, Alex. Why do you ask?”
“One of the crew on the Harbinger, Autumn Ulbrich, reported feeling what she thought might be a telepathic connection. She described a sense of being watched. She thought it was someone in the forest.” Alex had brought a copy of the report with him. He produced it and handed it to Torega. He looked at it and gave it back.
“It’s certainly possible,” he said. “We’ve seen no evidence of telepathy anywhere. Beyond ourselves. Hold on a moment.” He gave the question to the AI. We waited a few seconds.
It responded, “No record of any mission to or near the Orion Nebula losing any of its passengers over the last 847 years. To take it back further than that, I would need to make contact at home.”
Torega’s eyes narrowed. “That doesn’t eliminate the possibility.”
Alex smiled and said thanks. “Don’t go to a lot of trouble. But if you hear anything different, Torega, please let us know.”
The Mute’s expression signaled that he would go to whatever trouble it took. “You know,” he said, “I’ve no question that we sometimes underrate the fact that you have capabilities similar to ours. I would wager that humans are on the cusp of developing telepathic skills.”
When we got back to the country house, a note from Robbi Jo was waiting. “Thank you for the books, Chase,” it said. “I’m looking forward to reading them.”
Later that afternoon I heard Gabe and Alex in the conference room. Ellen Hargrove’s Sonata no. 3 in A Major, the Deep Sky Sonata, was playing in the background. It was Alex’s favorite piece of music, a classic composed four centuries ago. Alex had told me that it made the artificial world around him disappear and brought him to confront what really matters: beautiful women, irresistible rhythms, and the fact that time doesn’t last forever. I’d seen him come seriously to life a few times when it was playing. This time he’d kept the volume down so I could hear Gabe speaking over it. “It just makes no sense,” he was saying. “How could it have happened?”
I couldn’t resist going in. “You guys need anything?” I asked.
They both declined. And Gabe let me see he had a question for me. “That small town on Korella: How could there be only one village on that whole planet? Can you think of any explanation for that at all?”
“I have no idea, Gabe.”
He looked over at Alex, who simply shrugged and looked at the ceiling. “We’re looking at a technologically advanced species on a world like ours. They have electricity and an artificial satellite and they all live in one village. Or at least they used to. This has to be a hoax. There’s nothing else that makes sense. That makes riding out there absolutely pointless.”
Alex’s expression hardened. How many times had he heard that? “We don’t really know enough yet to do anything other than come up with theories, Gabe. We need to wait until we have more information.”
Gabriel settled back in his chair. “How you doing, Chase?”
“I couldn’t be better.”
A damp breeze blew in off the trees. Alex touched his link and the windows closed. “Look,” he said, “everybody’s interested in this. The village that moved. A few artifacts, if we can find them, would be invaluable.”
The Deep Sky Sonata started winding down. Gabe frowned. “I don’t know. I just don’t like you and Chase going out there. It might be dangerous. “And I’m not sure that if whatever it is decides to move against you, hand weapons would be enough.” Do we have any more information on the satellite? The one they brought home?”
The music stopped. “They haven’t released anything of interest yet,” said Alex. “The thing isn’t much different from one we’d have built.”
“Yes,” Gabe said. “I suspect there isn’t a great deal you can do to improve a satellite.”
He pushed a chair in my direction. I sat down. “So what,” I said, “are you suggesting? What do you recommend, Gabe?”
“There’s a good chance these guys are considerably more advanced than we are. It looks as if they just move from world to world.”
“I suspect,” said Alex, “that they scare pretty easily. One ship goes out and sees them and they all clear out.”
“I know,” said Gabe. “That makes no sense either.”
“I can’t see that it matters whether they’re dangerous. They’re gone. That’s what makes them interesting. That’s all we’ll be looking for.” Alex smiled at me. “Chase, this could be the biggest payoff by far we’ve ever seen.”
“You never really change, do you, Alex?” Gabe did not look happy. “You’re leaving in a few days?”
“A week or two. If we can find out where the place is.” Alex hesitated, and I understood suddenly that Gabe was waiting for another invitation. Alex delivered an uncomfortable smile. “You change your mind? You want to come with us?”
“Yeah.” That produced a long pause. “If that’s okay.”
“We’d like to have you, Gabe. Of course.”
“May I ask a question?”
“About the artifacts?”
“Yes. If I find any, Alex, will I have control of them?”
For a moment, we were back at the old point of contention. Gabe and the museums or Alex and Rainbow Enterprises. Alex nodded. “We’ve put that behind us. You keep yours, I’ll keep mine. Okay?”
“Now,” I said, “all we have to do is get there.”