Fire With Fire

“Then you shouldn’t have any problem sharing the records of that conversation. Or a list of my financial transactions while on the Moon. Or any of the several other dozen data trails that any visitor to Perry City can’t help leaving.”

Nolan stopped walking, faced him with a small smile that was unlike any of those Caine had seen in the media: it was gentle, maybe a bit sad. “I’m sorry, Caine, I really am-but I have to ask you to wait one more day. We can’t risk having you dig around for those records now: there’s no way of knowing where they might lead you, or how pursuing any given line of inquiry might somehow compromise all the work we’ve done to bring together the Parthenon Dialogs. But tomorrow, when the Dialogs are over-well, then it will be safe for you to seek your answers.”

“C’mon, Admiral: if I wait another day, am I really going to be that much safer?”

“Yes, absolutely.”

“What? Why?”

“Because Parthenon has already started: we met in Athens for Day One this morning.” Corcoran started strolling back to where they had begun. “Tomorrow-Day Two-is the wrap-up, here at the Temple of Poseidon.”

Caine looked sideways. “I expected that I’d be at the first day’s proceedings, since the main item on the agenda was what I found on Delta Pavonis.”

“Most of which has already been presented. But the details you’ll share tomorrow are the capstones of the Dialogs. And will change everyone’s perspective yet again.”

“You know, that’s something I’ve never understood: after you had thoroughly debriefed me, what the hell did anyone have to gain by killing me? Would it have really have made such a difference?”

Corcoran shrugged. “You know how it is: it’s not just what is said; there’s the matter of how it’s said, and by whom. You are not just an eyewitness; you are an investigator whose writing makes the facts seem real. You breathe the life of human experience into lifeless data-and some people are scared of that.”

“So if I’m still at risk, why the hell did you bring me out here? Like the real Odysseus, I’m not a risk-taker if I don’t have to be.”

Nolan laughed. “Relax: all the Circes, sirens, and other monsters are far away from here. First, the tip of this headland is well beyond sniper range. Secondly, the slopes and crags around you are bristling with active intercept and denial systems: together, they can knock down anything from an incoming bullet to a missile salvo. But most importantly, no one could know that you’re in Greece-yet.” Nolan waved back toward the mainland. “So go use your freedom now, because you’ll be losing it again tomorrow. The world will want to know-and will find out quickly enough-who first brought them news of exosapients.”

Caine looked over at the serried ranks of low, white buildings that started four kilometers back from the base of the headland. His glance must have imparted his dubious opinion of an excursion there. Nolan urged, “Look, don’t waste this day: go do a little sightseeing. The view from the bluffs”-he waved in a vague northwesterly direction-“is spectacular.”

“And how am I supposed to get around?”

“The car you came in is still down at the bottom of the slope.”

“I think my driver’s license expired about fourteen years ago.”

“We’ve already taken care of that. Besides, cars are automated now-well, in most places. Should be here, although I think they may still be expanding the road sensor nets.”

“Guards?”

“Not needed-and they’d only draw attention.”

Caine looked up at the craggy, arid highlands Nolan had indicated. Well, maybe a quick drive would be fun-

“Oh, and on the way up, drop in on Richard and tell him his collarcom has apparently died.”

“Sure. Where is he?”

“At the Herakles Olympic training stadium, just a few kilometers out on the western coast road, near Legonia. The car will have it in memory.”

“The keys?”

“In the car. Tell Richard I’ll meet him at the villa, and will brief him at 1900. It’s where you’re staying also, so the car knows the way back home.”

Caine nodded, put up a hand in farewell.

Nolan returned the wave, smiled, and went back to inspecting the sea and the sky, framed between the same two columns.

Chapter Fifteen

ODYSSEUS

The car clearly knew where to go: at a word, it started itself and sped out of the Kapo Sounio national park, swerving briskly to the right as it came to the coast road. It plunged down into the town/hotel. Half of the buildings were faux reproductions of the ubiquitous whitewashed cottages of the Aegean, and all somewhat worse for the wear: clearly, this area had gone through the full cycle of boom and bust in the past few decades.

The vehicle, conspicuously large among the prevalent two-seater fuel cell econoboxes, weaved expertly through the streets, giving wide berths to the terrifyingly fearless pedestrians, who pushed their food carts and baby carriages within inches of the roadway. In an Irish accent, the vehicle started asking Caine if he wanted music, news, sport, weather-

And then bucked and screeched to a halt in the middle of the road, a red light pulsing urgently at the center of the dash.

Caine searched for a problem, found none, wasn’t even sure what all the gauges meant. “What the hell is wrong?” he asked, and then realized, Jesus Christ, I’m talking to a car.

Stranger still, it answered. “Road sensors inoperative in this region; please assume manual control.”

“But which way do I-?”

“All automated functions suspended. Road sensors inoperative in this region: please assume-”

“Oh, all right”-and, foot on the brake, he fumbled for the shifter. Expecting more resistance-it was a digital sliding switch now, not a mechanical gear selector-he over-shifted into low gear: the car jumped forward, then banged down into a crawl.

Horns-from behind and in the cross-street he had just blocked-registered local reactions to his driving abilities. As Caine eased into the next gear-the car shuddering forward against the still-locked brakes-locals turned to look. They were joined by a few tourists, distinctive in their sundresses, sports jackets, sunglasses. One man, very tall, smiled a little.

Caine grimaced a smile back at him, advanced the gear switch, realized he still had his foot on the brake, and lifted it. The car seemed to hop forward, rushing him swiftly away from the scene of embarrassment.

In the rearview mirror, the tall tourist with the sunglasses was still looking after him. And was still smiling…

CIRCE

Still smiling, the tall man turned to resume his journey, found his way blocked by a squat and rather hirsute local who was shaking a half-hearted fist after the fleeing vehicle. “Tourist,” the local snorted, and then, noticing the attention of the tall-and obviously foreign-man, looked up with apologetic eyes.

The tall man kept looking, kept smiling, the wraparound sunglasses a bar of black opacity. The local smiled, shrugged an apology, and moved off, with one backward glance at the tall man-who had not moved, but who kept watching him. The squat local disappeared quickly into a cluster of oncoming pedestrians.

Turning on his heel, the tall man resumed his measured walk to the corner, turning into the narrow side street. Genuine cobblestones-older than most of the repro buildings that now flanked them-wobbled down toward the sea, some buildings tilting inward over them, some away. He shifted the bag of groceries he was carrying to his left arm, reached into his right pocket, produced a keyring festooned with real keys: toothed, mechanical, archaic