Jack McDevitt - Firebird

“Alex, you don't know these people. Impose that restriction on them, and they may pull out. Or if they don't pull out, they'll simply ignore it.”

“I don't want any more deaths on my conscience.”

“You're being unreasonable.”

“Put it in the agreement, Chase.”

We were out on the deck. Rain was falling steadily, and normally Alex enjoyed storms. But on that day it didn't seem to help his mood at all. “Look,” I said, “if one of these guys does actually find the Antares, and he tells us about it, it's not even likely that we're going to have time to get to it. So we can either let one of our pilots risk himself, or we can shoot down any chance of making this operation count for something. These people didn't volunteer so they could just go out there and hang around.”

“Chase, I hate this.”

“So do I. But you're being unreasonable.”

I listened to him breathing. “All right,” he said finally. “Let it go. But make sure they understand the risk if they try to board.”

“Okay.”

“I've arranged to lease some pressure suits. I think we cleared out Jupiter Supplies and the Wilson Off-world Equipment Company.”

“How many did you get?”

“About forty.”

“Where are we going to put them?”

“I'll leave that to you, Chase. Put two or three on each ship.”

“I hope we don't have to get forty people off.”

“So do I. The real question will be whether we can get to the ship quickly enough to evacuate anyone.”

“Alex.” Jacob's voice. “Senator Delmar is trying to reach you.”

“Calling to lecture.” I could see what he was thinking. Tell her I'm out. But instead he took a deep breath. “Put her through, Jacob.”

We didn't have a visual capability on the deck, so the transmission was strictly vocal. “Alex.” Delmar sounded distressed. “How have you been?”

“I'm okay, Senator. What can I do for you?”

“I was just calling to be sure you were okay. I know you've been under pressure lately.”

“I'm fine.”

“Also, I guess I wanted to pass on some news. We just got word that another group of people have been killed on Villanueva. Five or six of them. Details are still sketchy. But I suspect you'll be hearing from the media as soon as it becomes public.”

Alex's eyes closed for a moment. “You have any names?”

“I'm sorry to say the guy running the show was a friend of yours.”

Alex paled. My God. Drummond-

The rain fell steadily into the trees.

“A priest. Harley Evans.”

“Harley,” said Alex. “What the hell was he doing out there?”

“I don't have the details. But some of the people from his church apparently got together and”-she hesitated-”decided it was their Christian duty, I guess.”

I couldn't believe it. “He didn't even like the idea,” I said.

Alex just stared straight ahead. “I thought StarCorps was going to prevent anybody else from landing.”

“They don't have enough ships out there, Alex. They have commitments elsewhere, too. It's not easy to keep people away when they're determined. I wish it were otherwise.”

“What happened?”

“The only thing we know at the moment is that they got caught on the ground somehow. Chased through the streets by bots and cars.”

“My God.”

“Nobody could get to them in time. The media will have it later today.”

Alex stood up, went inside, and switched to visual. The senator looked weary. “Alex,” she said, “I know we don't agree on our approach to this. But I'm sorry. Sorry about everything.”

“We both are.”

“May I offer a word of advice? Do the interviews. Explain how you meant professionals only, and how everybody else should stay away.”

When she'd broken off, he sat slumped in his chair.

“Professionals only?” I said.

“She knows, something like this, there are no professionals.”

It didn't take long. Delmar was barely off the circuit before everybody was jumping in with “breaking news.” Five or six dead. Rumor that a priest was among them. Identities being withheld until notification of next of kin. Killer AIs. Alex Benedict.

Nobody failed to mention his name.

And the calls began coming in. Straight Talk, Kile Ritter, The Round Table, Jennifer in the Morning, Mia Komico. “I don't care what Delmar said,” I told him. “Don't respond. All you can do is make things worse.”

“I'm going to do Jennifer.”

“It's a mistake.”

“You're asking me to hide. No way I can do that.”

“Suit yourself.”

“Look, Chase, stay out of it, all right? This is my problem.”

“Alex, where in hell did you get that idea? I'm in the middle of this, too.”

“All right. Look, I'm sorry. But we'll be okay.”

“You're getting delusional. How can you say that?”

“You remember Oksana?”

“Oksana? No.”

“She was one of the first AIs who got rescued.”

“And-?”

“She was brought back by Salva Inman.”

“Alex-”

“Jacob, see if you can get Salva for me.”

I was up at dawn to watch Jennifer. The program emanates from a comfortable-looking study, fireplace in the background, book-lined walls, large leather armchairs, a pair of side tables, and a couple of floor-to-ceiling potted plants.

Jennifer Cabot is generally a reasonable woman although I could see she was on the other side this time. She opened with Casmir Kolchevski, an archeologist, and a longtime critic of Alex, whom he routinely referred to as “the Grave Robber.”

There were a lot of valuable artifacts on Villanueva, Kolchevski conceded. “Nobody's arguing that. But encouraging amateurs to go after them is irresponsible. And it's getting people killed.” Kolchevski was small and compact, with black hair and relentless features. If he disapproved of you, there was no way you could miss it. I suspected he disapproved of everybody. “The operating systems have run wild out there, and I still have a hard time believing that even Mr. Benedict would act as he has. AIs are databases with programs. They're no more than that. Everything else, the personality, the impression that they actually care about anything, is an illusion. And because of his actions, seventeen people have died. That we know of.”

The opening segment continued that way for twenty minutes, and I knew that Alex was waiting in the green room, where he could watch the monitor.

Jennifer claimed to be careful about potential clashes between guests. Theoretically, they would escort Kolchevski outside before they'd bring Alex onto the set. “We don't want any lawsuits,” Jennifer had blithely told her audience on more than one occasion. In fact, though, the show was celebrated for its confrontations. If you went on, and the topic was sensitive, you could expect the opposition to “escape” his handlers.

Kolchevski delivered his final gibes, but asserted that, in spite of everything, he wished Alex well. The picture blinked off and was replaced by the usual infocoms, sign on to the Flex program for better health, and enjoy a spectacular view of Andiquar at the Village, featuring entertainment and the best food on the planet. Then Jennifer was back. Alex came out, and she smiled at him. “Welcome to the show, Alex.”

He was carrying Oksana, housed in a small red sphere set on a base of the same color. He placed it on the table in front of him. “Thank you, Jennifer. It's good to be here.” Coffee showed up. (One of the sponsors was Berkmann Coffee, “the only way to start the day.”)

Jennifer glanced at the sphere and smiled. “Did you hear Professor Kolchevski, Alex?” she asked.

Alex laughed. “Oh, yes. Couldn't miss him.”

“What's your response?”