Jack McDevitt - SEEKER

Alex liked to play the role of a man unaffected by external honors. The only thing that was important to him, he liked to say, was knowing he’d accomplished something worthwhile. But it wasn’t true, of course. He liked accolades as much as the next guy.

When the plaudits had poured in for his work during the Christopher Sim affair, he’d been delighted. Just as he was hurt by the reaction of some who claimed he had done more harm than good and should have left things alone.

I had no trouble picturing Alex, with his collar pulled up to hide his identity, slipping into the grotto at night to admire his statue, while claiming by day that it was all nonsense.

They brought our food, fish for him and Windy, fruit dish for me. The wine flowed, and I began to wonder if Windy was trying to lower our resistance. The evening began to take on a pleasant buzz.

Until Louis Ponzio wandered in. He was Survey’s director, and a man whom Alex found hard to stomach. Alex was usually pretty good at masking his reactions, favorable and unfavorable, to other people. But he seemed to struggle with Ponzio, who was a self-important, squeaky, artificially cheerful type. The kind of guy, Alex once said, who, when he was in school, was probably routinely attacked by the other kids. But Ponzio never seemed to notice.

“Well done, Alex,” he said, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “You really put on a show this time.”

“Thank you. We seem to have been very fortunate.”

Ponzio looked at me, tried to remember my name, gave up, and turned to Windy. She took her cue. “Dr. Ponzio,” she said, “you remember Chase Kolpath. Alex’s associate.”

“Of course,” he said. “Who could forget one so lovely?”

Who, indeed?

He didn’t stay. We hadn’t yet worked out all the details of the rights transfer for the Seeker and for Margolia. And I suppose he was smart enough to realize that Survey had its best shot at an outright grant by his staying clear and letting Windy handle things.

He would have been right. During the course of the evening, Windy negotiated access and salvage rights to the Seeker and to Margolia. Alex retained the right to make a return voyage and bring back more artifacts, although he accepted limits.

Windy made notes, drank her wine, and put away the fish, pretty much in tandem.

And she did it with a flourish. “Very good,” she said, as we finished. “One more thing:

We’re going to mount an expedition posthaste. We’ll want you to sit down with the people running the mission and give them all the help you can.”

“Sure,” said Alex, “I’ll be happy to.”

“And, Alex-?”

“Yes.”

“I know this hasn’t entirely turned out the way you would have preferred. But there’s a bigger payoff. This is a monumental find. Whatever happens from here on, you’re up there with Schliemann and Matsui and McMillan.”

The sciences have always missed the point. Theirs is a dream world filled with quantum fluctuations, rubber dimensions, and people who cannot decide whether they are dead or alive. Perception is the only reality.

- Leona Brachtberg,

Last Woman Standing, 1400 For almost two days Alex was the toast of Andiquar. He appeared on Jennifer in the Morning and The Daytime Show and Joe Leonard amp; Co. Academic heavyweights showed up everywhere to pay him compliments and explain to the public the significance of the discovery. Alex confronted Kolchevsky on Jennifer and later on The Dumas Report, pointing out the contributions he’d made over the years, while Kolchevsky called him a tomb robber.

On the second night, somebody on the south coast was charged with murdering his wife and throwing the body off a small boat, and the Margolia story was driven out of the headlines.

Alex enjoyed playing the conquering hero and was even willing to show generosity to Kolchevsky. “He stands up for what he believes in,” he told me. “It’s hard to take issue with that.” He even sent a message to him, congratulating him on his performance. He insisted, with a straight face, that he was not rubbing it in.

There was only one uncomfortable moment, which occurred when Ollie Bolton came to our defense.

Speaking on The Data Drill, he announced that he was proud to be a colleague of Alex Benedict. “Alex and I are close friends,” he said. “I know him well, and he has always been a credit to the community. If he has perpetrated an outrage, then so have I. If he has gone beyond what is permitted by law, and by a decent regard for the opinions of mankind, then I have gone even farther.”

“Sanctimonious creep,” said Alex.

“Alex Benedict is right,” Ollie continued. “If it weren’t for people like him, many of these remnants of our past would remain adrift for ages. Might, in fact, never be found at all.”

On the day that the South Coast Murder, as it came to be called, took over the media, the weather finally turned, and spring showed up. Birds were warbling, everything was in bloom, and a fragrant breeze was moving the curtains.

Windy called Alex to add her voice to the compliments pouring in. “You almost had me convinced that we need more antiquities dealers,” she said. “So you can take it as an honest, but reluctant, appraisal.”

“Thanks.”

“Something else I’ve been wanting to mention. There’s talk in the office of bringing you on as a consultant. Would you be interested?”

He thought about it. “Windy,” he said finally, “you know you can ask me anything at any time, and I’ll do what I can. But I don’t think I’d want to enter into a formal contract.”

Her expression registered disappointment. “There’s nothing I can do to persuade you?”

“No. I’m sorry. But thanks.”

“That’s pretty much what I thought you’d say. But hear me out. We’ll take you both on. The compensation would be steady, wouldn’t take much of your time, and you’d have the sense of satisfaction that comes with knowing you’re making a serious contribution. And we’d approve your sales. That would give you cover.”

“And give Survey control of the business.”

“Alex, it would work well for everyone.”

“I appreciate the offer,” he said.

Bolton also called. “I’ve been meaning to get to you,” he said. “What a magnificent coup. Margolia. How can any of us ever top this?” He looked genuinely pleased and not at all envious.

“Thank you, Ollie,” Alex said, his voice neutral.

“I wish I’d been with you.”

Alex wasn’t entirely able to hide his contempt. “Or maybe even a bit ahead of us.”

“Oh, yes. I won’t deny that. Anyhow, I’ve ordered a case of the best Kornot wine sent over. Please accept it with my congratulations.”

“You know,” Alex said, when the line was cleared, “I listen to him, and I think maybe Windy is right. Maybe we are all thieves.”

“Well, Alex, we can be pretty sure he is.”

“Yeah.” He tapped his fingers on the arm of his chair. “You know, maybe it’s time Dr.

Bolton paid a price for Gideon V.”

Three days later I was at Windy’s office with a packet of documents. “Do you know what the Blackmoor Medallions are?”

“Of course.” She took a deep breath. “You don’t mean to tell me he’s found them now?”

“No,” I said. “But we’d like Ollie Bolton to think so.” I laid the papers on her desk.

The top one stipulated that Alex believed the Medallions were located on a threecenturies-old imperial warship, the Baluster.

She registered doubt at first, then began to smile. “Which is where?”

“In orbit around the supergiant star Palea Bengatta. The ship was damaged in the fighting, and they just left it there. What we’d like you to do is pass this up the line to the director’s office. The woman you suspect of giving out information is still there, right?”