Jack McDevitt: Firebird

Shara, though, thought the information in Robin's notebook might change that.

“Instead of looking for black holes, then tracking them back,” she said, “Robin searched for missing ships, and used them to locate areas of danger. Sometimes, most of the time, that doesn't lead to anything, because ships can go missing for a variety of reasons that have nothing to do with time/space instabilities.

“But sometimes the disappearances line up. Sometimes they form a trail.”

Shortly after we got back, Jacob announced that we'd received a message from Senator Delmar. “Please get in touch.”

“I owe you an apology, Alex.” Delmar was in her office. “You were right. We should have listened to you.”

Alex kept his voice flat. “I can't help thinking, Senator, what it would have done for your career had you been with us out there, with a force big enough to have rescued those people.”

I listened to the sound of the air vents.

“I understand you're upset,” she said. “But you need to be aware I don't wield the kind of power you think. I made some calls, Alex. I tried to get help for you.”

“Of course.” He showed no emotion. “I appreciate that.”

A pearl white sweater was draped around her shoulders. She pulled it tight as if she'd been struck by a sudden draft of cold air. “My understanding is that the next one of these ships from the past won't be here for a long time. For years. Is that correct?”

“Shara tells me they found one that will probably show up in 1361. Twenty-seven years.”

She didn't try to hide her disappointment. “Okay. I was hoping we could do better. But we'll put together a program.” She got up and came forward. “Look, Alex, I know you don't believe this at the moment, but I don't like having those people stranded out there any more than you do. I will pursue this. I'm putting in a motion to do whatever's necessary to get this affair under control. Our first order of business will be to introduce the Deep-Time Rescue Provision. And we'll pass it by a near-unanimous vote. I can guarantee that. It'll be aimed at establishing a permanent commission to oversee operations as they become necessary. And also to try to determine who else might be out there that we don't currently know about. That is possible, right?”

“That's correct, Senator. A good example would be the Capella.”

“The Capella. Yes.”

“I wish you luck.”

“You sound doubtful, Alex. And I guess you're justified feeling that way. Sometime between now and maybe the next election cycle or the one after that, somebody will introduce a cost-cutting measure and I'm concerned that the Deep-Time Rescue Provision will be among the first casualties.”

Alex shrugged. No surprise there. “Would they take any heat for that?”

“To be honest, I think we need something that isn't three decades away. If we don't do something now, the commission will get put on the back burner. It might not happen right away. In fact, it almost certainly won't. But, eventually, there'll be a serious need somewhere else, and it'll coincide with some economic problems, and that'll be the end of it.”

“So what do we do? Do you have a suggestion?”

“Would you be willing to make an initial grant? A nominal amount. Just something to get it started. Say, ten thousand?”

“To what purpose?”

“To establish the Alex Benedict Foundation, which would be dedicated to coordinating future rescue operations of vehicles lost on interstellar flights. You get it up and running, and I'll see that it's funded. That way it gets put on the calendar, it becomes a functioning entity, and it's considerably harder to shut down.”

A week later, we officially launched the effort. Melissa took over as volunteer chair, I signed on to do public relations, and contributions began rolling in. We named it the Dot Garber Foundation.

At about the same time, we attended a memorial service for Dot. I don't think the family was happy to see us there, but Melissa came over and embraced us, and returned a few minutes later with Dot's parents. “Alex tried to discourage her from making the attempt,” she told them. “But she rescued Sabol and Cori. And she was going back for more. Would you have been proud of her if she'd thought of herself first?”

The father's name was Stan, and he stared at the sky while Melissa talked. When she was done, he glared at Alex. Then he shrugged. “I don't guess there's much to be done about it at this point.”

“She's a hero,” I said.

The mother, whose name was also Dot, managed a smile. “I'm sorry, Mr. Benedict,” she said. “I know it wasn't your fault. I guess it wasn't anybody's fault.”

I think everybody who'd been on the rescue flight was also there, Allie, Jon, Cal, Michael, the other pilots, and their passengers. And Shara. “Dot was something else,” Shara told me at one point. “She was the woman I'd want to have at my back if things went wrong.” Then she grinned at me. “Not that you wouldn't do in an emergency.”

It was a cool, crisp morning. The sun floated through a cloudless sky, and a strong wind was coming out of the north. The service was conducted in a small chapel on the outskirts of Andiquar. They couldn't get everybody inside, but those who couldn't make it simply stood around on the chapel grounds. When the service ended, the mourners filed out and milled about, talking in low voices, shaking their heads- she was so young, let us know if there's anything we can do, stay in touch.

I don't much like memorial services and good-byes. I get annoyed when someone goes on about how, well, they're in a better place now. Frolicking in the green pastures. It reminds me how good we are at pretending. My bedroom, when I was growing up, had a picture of two kids, a boy and a girl, crossing a rickety bridge over a swollen river. The bridge looks about to give way, but it's okay, because there's an angel hovering immediately behind the kids, arms outstretched, ready to step in if necessary. As I grew up, I came to realize there were no angels, and kids did fall from bridges.

Then I thought of Cori and Sabol, and of Dot risking her life to carry them back to the McCandless. Maybe, sometimes, there were angels.

Alex was quiet on the way back to the country house. We'd been together a good many years by then, and I'd come to take my life with him for granted. And I guess I took him for granted. He was easygoing most of the time, an ideal boss, sometimes moody, always ready to head off for lunch. And I loved him. As we settled onto the pad that morning, I realized that the day would come when I'd do anything to be back in that moment, to have him at my side again. Everything's temporary, he liked to say. It was why Rainbow Enterprises prospered, people trying to recapture a piece of the past. To hang on as best they can.

At about the same time the doctors told Melissa it was now safe for Cori and Sabol to mingle with the rest of the world, we got a call from Charlie. “We're coming home,” he said. He had made himself into a duplicate of Rod Baker, the vid action-adventure star. He was dressed like Rod, for the trail, with a blaster in his belt and a forest green canyon hat pulled low over his eyes. He looked great. “We're a few hours out from Skydeck. I was wondering if you guys would be up for a party tomorrow night? “

“Absolutely, Charlie,” I said. “I'll check with Alex. But I'll be there for sure. I take it the flight was successful.”