Jack McDevitt - Coming Home

Moretti looked surprised to hear Baylee’s name. Her face was lined by too many years. Her frame was bent, and she looked tired. “It’s been a while since anyone’s mentioned Garnett to me,” she said, in a voice that seemed much too strong for its frail source. “May I ask what your interest in him is?”

Alex explained about the transmitter. “His family’s wondering how he got possession of it. We were hoping you might have some idea where he might have found it.”

“None,” she said. “But I’m happy to hear about it. He deserved a final success.” She was seated in an armchair, an open book in her lap.

“Were you in contact with him during the last year or two before he went back to Rimway?”

“Occasionally.”

“And he never said anything to you about it?”

She laughed. “No. I’d certainly remember it if he had. Are you certain about your analysis?”

“Yes.” He paused. “I understand you’re an accomplished musician.”

“That may be giving me too much credit, Alex. But it’s nice to hear. I don’t play professionally anymore, but I’m still active. My primary responsibility these days is directing the school’s music program.”

We talked about concerts and symphonies for a few minutes, with Alex asking most of the questions. It was a standard approach for him, putting Luciana at ease and allowing them to get to know each other somewhat. He was good at it.

Her husband Rod appeared and joined the conversation. Which was Alex’s signal to get me into it also.

A string instrument I didn’t recognize was stored in a glass cabinet behind her. “It’s the one she used to win the Cortez Prize,” Rod said proudly. “That was the first time I’d seen her, onstage at the Galabrium.”

“And that was how you guys met?” I asked.

“Oh, yes.” Rod exchanged smiles with his wife. “I was in the orchestra.”

“But,” said Luciana, “that’s enough of that.” She looked at Alex. “You wanted to talk to me about Garnett.”

“Yes,” said Alex. “I understand you’re an advisor for the Southwick Foundation.”

“To a limited degree. I’m pleased to say we’re doing reasonably well. Would you be interested in making a donation?”

“I’m an antiquarian, Luciana. You really want me to make a donation to an organization I’m in direct competition with?”

“You might not get another chance.”

“Of course,” Alex said. “After all, you’re contributing your time to my current project.” He tapped his link.

“No, Alex, that’s really not necessary. I was just—”

“It’s a good cause,” he said.

She checked her own link and her eyes widened. “That’s very generous of you. I’ll arrange to send you periodic updates on current projects.” She paused. “Oh, but you’re from Rimway, aren’t you?”

“That’s correct.”

“Well, so much for the updates. Now, if you will, satisfy my curiosity and tell me about the Corbett. Was it really found in Baylee’s home?”

Alex described in detail what had happened. When he finished, Luciana sat in a state of disbelief.

“My inclination,” she said after a long pause, “is to tell you it’s not possible. Something’s wrong somewhere. But obviously it’s true, or you wouldn’t be here. I can’t think of any way to account for it. I can’t imagine where he got it or why he didn’t say something to me. Or to Lawrence. You did tell Lawrence about this, right?”

“Yes, I did.”

“Well, it just beats the hell out of me.”

“When was the last time you saw him?”

“I think it was a few months before he left. Before he went back home. I thought he’d return, but he never did, then five or six years later, I heard he had died.”

“Did you hear anything from him at all after he’d returned to Rimway?”

“No,” she said. “And that was strange. I expected him to keep in touch, but he just seemed to disappear.”

“Did you make any effort to contact him?”

“I sent a couple of messages. Nothing special, just hello, how’s everything? I don’t recall whether he even responded. I don’t think he did.”

“Do you have any idea where he’d been spending his time during his last year here?”

“He was in Centralia for a while. You know about the Prairie House, Alex?”

“That’s a storage facility. The place where the Huntsville artifacts were supposed to have been taken.”

“Correct. It was in Grand Forks. Grand Forks isn’t there anymore. But the town still is. They call it Union City now. He was there for a while. I’d guess he was trying to decide whether there was anything to the claim.”

“And—?”

“I don’t know how it turned out. I never got to talk to him about it. I assumed if he’d found anything, he’d have told me.”

“One final question, Luciana: Can you think of anyone else who might be able to shed some light on this?”

“No. I’d say if anybody would know anything, it would be Lawrence. But you’ve already talked with him. And I assume he wasn’t able to help?”

“No.”

“Then I can’t imagine who can. Lawrence and Garnett were very close.”

“Okay, thanks.”

“There might be one other possibility, Alex.” She checked her notebook. “There’s a charter boat outfit in Cumberland. Eisa Friendly Charters. Garnett used to go there a lot. Liked to dive down to the Space Museum. You know the one I mean?”

“Sure. The Florida museum.”

“Right. Anyhow, Eisa’s run by a brother and sister. He got pretty close to them. It’s possible they’d know something. I wouldn’t bet on it, but it’s all I can suggest.”

In the morning, we caught a maglev to Fargo, in Centralia. We arrived in the early evening, rented a car, and rode north through a flat landscape that consisted mostly of cottages and town houses and rosebushes and parks. The lawns weren’t as lush as we’d seen elsewhere, but Centralia had a reputation for being cold. I’d seen pictures of the area in an earlier age, and it wasn’t hard to believe it had once been home to vast, windswept prairies.

We’d been under way about half an hour when we received a message from Rimway.

Interstellar communications are, of course, not cheap. Consequently, if someone wants to send a transmission across the stars, he will frequently look for others who might also wish to make contact with the party at the other end, thereby dividing the cost by bundling the messages. There’d been no bundling with this one, no apparent concern about cost.

It was from Leonard Culbertson, the lawyer for the Capella Families. Alex looked at it and passed it to me. “Alex,” it said, “I hope you’ve seen the wisdom of stopping the people who want to play lethal games with the drive unit on the Capella . We are still gathering support for our initiative. We have tried to go through the courts, but no action will be forthcoming in time to prevent a disaster. In any case, the scientists are being very reassuring. In fact, they’re making a strong case. They are going to bring in young teens and argue that they have been deprived of a parent for most of their lives, and that, unless the court allows the procedure to take place, some of them won’t see their parents until they’re in their thirties or forties.