Jack McDevitt - SEEKER

“Once.” Adam’s features clouded. “We found an abandoned lander one time. At Arkensfeldt. It was from a Dellacondan ship. Couple centuries old.”

“I don’t think that’s what we’re looking for.”

Adam shrugged. “With a pilot and a passenger on board.”

“You had, in your home, a drinking cup that we were able to date from about the twenty-eighth century, terrestrial calendar.”

They replied simultaneously, Adam saying he knew nothing about an antique cup and Margaret saying it wasn’t so.

“We think it was in the bedroom. At your home in Sternbergen.”

“Not that I can recall,” said Adam.

Margaret shook her head vehemently. “I’m sure I’d know if we’d had anything like that.”

“Let it go,” said Alex. “It apparently wasn’t included in your programing.”

Which to my mind proved that the Wescotts knew they had something to hide. They’d put it up there in tribute to themselves, but apparently no mention of it was made outside the house.

Shortly before closing time, Jacob informed me a visitor was approaching.

“Descending now,” he said.

There was no one on the appointments calendar.

“Who is it, Jacob?” I asked.

“It’s Mr. Bolton. Calling for Alex.”

I went to the window and looked out. The storm that had been threatening all day had finally arrived. Light snow had begun falling, but I knew it was going to get worse.

“Patch it here, Jacob,” I said. “He’s busy at the moment.”

A black-and-yellow corporate vehicle drifted down out of the gray sky. The BBA logo was displayed in heavy yellow letters on its hull. I hit the intercom. “Boss,” I said.

“Ollie Bolton’s here. Making for the pad.”

He acknowledged. “I see him. Be right down.”

An image formed in the office. Bolton, seated in the back of the aircraft. “Hello, Chase,” he said, cheerily. “It’s a pleasure to see you again.”

“Hello, Ollie.”

“I apologize for dropping by without warning. I happened to be in the neighborhood.”

I mentioned earlier that Bolton possessed the kind of gravitas that you associate with the occasional serious political leader. He never forgot a name, and he had a reputation for being both methodical and persistent. He was, an associate once told me, the kind of guy you wanted to have on your side when things weren’t going well.

Still, there was something about him that put me off. Maybe it was a sense that he thought he could see things that people around him were missing.

“What can we do for you, Ollie?” I said.

“I was hoping to have a few moments with Alex.”

“I’m right here.” Alex strode into the room. “What are you up to, Ollie?”

“Not much. I was sorry I didn’t get a chance to talk with you at the Caucus.”

I was still standing by the window. The skimmer touched down and a door opened.

“To be honest,” said Alex, “I thought you had your hands full fending off the true believer.”

“Kolchevsky? Yes, and unfortunately we shouldn’t take him lightly. He’s been in touch with me since.”

“Really? About what?”

“He’s pushing legislation to put us out of business.”

“I’ve heard that before.”

“I think he’s serious this time.”

“He won’t get anywhere,” said Alex. “We both satisfy the public’s taste to own a piece of history.”

“I hope you’re right.” The Bolton image blinked off, Bolton himself climbed out of the aircraft, pulled on a white-brimmed cap, and started leisurely up the walkway, pausing to frown at the threatening skies. He tugged his collar up, glanced in my direction, waved, and proceeded to the front door, which opened for him.

Alex met him, brought him back to the office, and poured him a drink. “Social call?” he asked.

“More or less. I wanted you to know about Kolchevsky. We need to present a united front.”

“I don’t think there’s too much to worry about. But sure, I’m with you.”

“To be honest, Alex, there’s something else. I was on my way back to my place when an idea hit me.”

“Okay.”

“It involves you.”

They sat down on opposite sides of the coffee table. “In what way?”

Bolton glanced in my direction. “It might be best if we talked privately.”

Alex waved the idea out of the room. “Ms. Kolpath is privy to all aspects of the operation.”

“Very good.” Bolton brightened. “Yes, I should have realized.” He complimented the wine and made a comment about the weather. Then: “We’ve been in competition for a long time, Alex. And I can’t see how either of us benefits from that situation. I propose an alliance.”

Alex frowned. “I don’t think-”

“Hear me out. Please.” He turned his attention to me. “Mr. Benedict has a flair for locating original sites.” He took a deep breath and cleared his throat. “But Bolton Brothers has the resources to exploit that capability to the fullest. If we were to combine Rainbow Enterprises with BBA, we’d have far more financial muscle to work with. And you’d have a Confederacy-wide network of researchers behind you.

None of them is in your league, of course, but they could do the grunt work. It would be to everyone’s advantage.”

Alex sat quietly a moment. Then: “Ollie, I appreciate the offer. But the truth is, I prefer to work on my own.”

Bolton nodded. “I’m not surprised you feel that way. But why don’t you take some time? Think it over? I mean-”

“No. Thanks, Ollie. I like having my own organization. And anyhow, you don’t need me. You seem to be prospering nicely.”

“It’s not so much what I need,” he said. “It’s just that I’d enjoy working with you.

Side by side with the best in the business.” He sat back. “I need not mention there’d be an appropriate position for Chase.”

Alex was getting to his feet, trying to end the conversation. “Thank you, but no.

Really.”

“All right. Should you change your mind, Alex, don’t hesitate to get in touch. The offer’s open.”

At Alex’s direction, I checked to see which corporate entities were leasing superluminals during the 1390s. The only company then in the business on Rimway was StarDrive. But it had since crashed. I tracked down a former executive of StarDrive, Shao Mae Tonkin, currently with a food distribution firm.

It took the better part of a day to get through to him. He was reluctant to talk to me, too busy, until I told him I was working on a biography of Baker Stills, who had been StarDrive’s CEO. Tonkin was a massive individual. He may have been the biggest human being I’ve ever seen. He was maybe three times normal size. But it didn’t look like fat so much as concrete. He had solemn features and small eyes that peered out from under thick lids. His forebears had inhabited a low-gravity world, or maybe an orbital. Or maybe he just ate too much. In any case, he’d probably live longer if he retreated off-world.

It wasn’t just physical size and weight that impressed me. There was a heaviness of spirit, a kind of concrete demeanor. I asked him about StarDrive.

“Went down twenty years ago,” he said. His tone was so serious an eavesdropper would have thought the fate of the world hinged on the conversation. “I’m sorry, Ms.

Kolpath, but everything other than the financial records were destroyed. Long ago. I can tell you all you need to know about Baker.” He’d been competent, creative, a hard driver. Et cetera. “But I can’t provide much in the way of details on the day-to-day operations. It’s been too long.”

“So there’s no record of any kind where your customers took the ships?”

He seemed to be running about five seconds behind the conversation. He thought my question over while he massaged his neck with his fingertips. “No. None whatever.”