Blowing it up wasn't likely to help. Still, there was always a possibility. “Can you make a copy of this one, Greg?” I asked.
He looked at it as if he might be giving away something I should be paying for. But he shrugged and directed the AI to make a print.
Then a surprise: a picture of Robin's house on Virginia Island. In fading sunlight. And a shot of the ocean, taken from the bluff. And one of Elizabeth, looking out to sea. All three pictures were moody, placid, somehow wistful. Taken at the same time of day.
Then we had Eliot lifting off in a skimmer. “That was the last time I saw him,” said Gregory. “It was my father's funeral. We had a memorial service, and afterward he left, went out to wherever it was with Chris Robin. He came back just in time to get killed by the quake.”
“Who took the picture?”
“My son Creviss. Creviss always wanted to be a pilot. Be just like his uncle.”
“Did he do it, Gregory?”
“No. He became a lawyer. Don't know which is worse.”
Jack McDevitt
Firebird
ELEVEN
The value of an object is whatever we assign it to be. It is not anchored in economics, but in the imagination.
— Timothy Zhin-Po, Night Thoughts, 10,002 C.E.
I was on my approach to the country house when Straight Talk started. Deryk Colter was their guest. Colter was an historian, tall and thin and passionate. He'd made a career of finding fault with Alex, and immediately after sitting down, he began going on about the sanctity of the past and how we could not seriously progress unless we learned from it. He was appalled at the dearth of historical knowledge by the general public. And he was particularly dismayed by those who understood the importance of looking back, of avoiding the same old blunders, but who nevertheless saw no contradiction in robbing humanity of its cultural heritage, of trampling it for profit. He was, of course, speaking of Alex. “The man is insufferable,” he was saying as I started down toward the landing pad. “He's trying to make Chris Robin look like an erratic genius who may have opened a door to other realities, then walked through it. The truth is that Robin probably wasn't paying attention to what he was doing and fell into the ocean. Anyone who's ever been out to Virginia Island knows how easily that could have happened. Maybe he had a little too much to drink. In any case, Benedict is not to be taken seriously. Not in this matter. And I don't mean to take anything away from his achievements. I grant him all that. But in the end, he's a salesman, and he can't be trusted.”
The host, Charles Koeffler, managed to look disconcerted. “What you're saying, Deryk, is that he'll do anything for money. Is that your position?”
I shut the thing off before Colter could answer. And I came down on the pad a bit harder than I might have. The AI quietly pointed out that he'd warned me several times about listening to talk shows while I was running the skimmer.
I grumbled something, climbed out, and walked toward the house, not sure whether I was more annoyed with Colter or with the AI. Jacob opened the door for me and said hello. I said hello back, went inside, took off my jacket, dropped my notebook on my desk, and wondered why I was living in a place with such a cold climate.
I was still getting settled when Alex came downstairs. He was smiling, looking as if he'd just left a party. “Welcome home, beautiful,” he said. “This place feels empty without you.”
I was in no mood for banter. “Alex, I don't know why you keep doing this. These guys are ripping us apart.”
“You mean Garland?”
“No. Has he been torching us, too? I was talking about Colter-”
“Yeah. Well, we're a pretty good target at the moment. But they're playing right into our hands. Giving us more traction. The interest in the Robin artifacts is going through the roof. By the way, we'll be running the auction in a couple of days.”
“What about your reputation?”
“I'll be fine. Chase, if you do anything creative, anything at all, you have to learn to live with critics. The charges aren't true. All I've done is bring to public attention the fact that Robin had some unusual preoccupations. And I reminded them that he'd disappeared. Those guys, Garland and Colter and the rest, this is their only chance to get out in front of an audience. Relax.”
“I don't think we should let them get away with it.”
“I'm not much interested in throwing mud. Our clients trust us. That's what's important.”
“That's not the only thing that's important.”
He grinned. “I'm glad to have you looking out for me.”
“I don't like being insulted by those idiots.”
“I know. Well, for what it's worth, I've arranged to be on Kile's show tonight.” He leaned against the wall and folded his arms. “Chase, not to change the subject or anything, but did you know that, the night of Robin's disappearance, the investigators were able to determine that only three skimmers left Virginia Island?”
“I hadn't heard that. But one would have been enough to carry him off. I assume they checked them out?”
“One was Cermak. The other two were locals, and the police were convinced neither could have been involved in his disappearance.”
“I can't see how they could make that determination.”
“From tracker readings. They wouldn't be definite, but they'd be close enough.”
“Did you pass it on to Ramsay?”
“I've been saving it. I'll use it this evening on the show.” He went into lecture mode: “Always have something new when you go on one of these things. Throws the critics off stride.” He eased himself down onto the love seat. “How was the trip?”
“I'm pretty sure Robin isn't an alien.”
“Sorry to hear it. I saw what you gave Ramsay. It was pretty good.”
“I thought about telling him how people used to see Robin walking the streets whenever the moon was full, but I thought I'd better let it go.”
“You get anything more on the lost yachts?”
“I don't know. Maybe. Greg Cermak, Eliot's brother, said that Eliot told him they'd taken the Firebird out two hundred billion klicks.”
“And-?”
“Two hundred billion kilometers takes them absolutely nowhere. It would be way outside the planetary system.”
“And of course Beta Marikon-?”
Beta Marikon, of course, is our nearest stellar neighbor. “Nowhere close,” I said. “They would simply have been in the pit.”
“You think the brother might have been mistaken?”
“Sure. Still, he seemed certain that was what Eliot had said.”
He thought about it. “Something to file.” He started for the door. “When you've a minute, come on back. I've something to show you.”
After I got organized, I followed him to his office in the rear. He poured coffee for me and got out some sticky buns. I settled into a chair. “I just hate the personal attacks,” I said.
“I know. Audree feels the same way. She thinks I should retire and just sit out here for the rest of my life.”
“You know, nobody 's really suggesting that. But we could lower our profile a little.”
