Today, the word itself, Villanueva, is shorthand for catastrophe.
Felicity, encountering too much resistance from the dust, lost her orbital velocity and went into a death spiral. It plunged into one of the oceans. People at that time still depended on farming, but the farms didn't survive. Eventually, they tried to escape, but it was much too late. Emergency supplies and equipment were shipped in. When, three centuries later, the world came out of the cloud-a small one, by cosmic standards-no one was left.
And something odd had happened: Civilization on the world had been high-tech, of course, by the standards of the time. It had been powered by the most advanced kinds of automated systems then known. From today's point of view, of course, they were primitive. But that may have played in their favor. They were simpler, and therefore more resistant to the pressures imposed by deteriorating climatic conditions. So that it's not entirely correct to say that no one was alive when the world emerged from the far side of the cloud.
The technology was still in place and still functioning. The maintenance systems had, according to contemporary accounts, upgraded themselves. The problem, as Marcy Lee observes in Last Days, was that nobody thought to turn off the lights.
I know that doesn't sound like a problem. But a salvage team, sent in after the event, encountered resistance of an unexpected kind. The technology, apparently, didn't want to be shut down. Several people were electrocuted, and a technician died when a power train broke loose and fell on him. The “accident” was reportedly accompanied by a spoken warning, over the comm links belonging to the team, that they were trespassing and should leave immediately.
Later efforts met with similar results. Stories surfaced of would-be scavengers landing on Villanueva and either becoming the victims of seeming accidents or disappearing altogether. A team sent in to destroy the data- control system was locked in an underground chamber. When they attempted to blow a hole in the door, the place collapsed on them. It was all straight out of one of Vicki Greene's horror novels. Eventually, the authorities decided the rational course was to cordon the place off, and they did just that. Villanueva was declared out of bounds, and satellites were established warning travelers that any who went groundside did so at their own risk.
Even Alex, though he had no doubt that the right Villanuevan artifacts would bring good money, had never considered a salvage attempt.
When David Lisle signed off, Alex remained motionless in his chair, his arms folded, his eyes half-closed, lost in thought.
“Alex,” I said, “we have no idea what we'd be looking for.”
“The churches, Chase.”
“Which means what? We're talking about a civilization which, from its very beginning, knew the end times were coming. Knew when they were coming. When the place finally collapsed, they had a billion people. I wonder how many churches there were?”
He got up and walked over to the window. Lovely day. “Chase, I don't expect you to get involved with this one. In fact, I won't allow you to. I'm going to hire somebody for this. I'll find somebody who's got a little combat experience.”
I laughed. There might have been a touch of bitterness there. If so, I'm not sure where it came from. That he was including me out, or that we were going to go off and do something crazy. “And who would that be?” I said. “Marko Banner?” The big devil-may-care leading man who specialized in whacking his way out of impossible situations.
“It's out of the question, Chase. Sorry.”
“Alex, it's an exercise in futility.”
“I know it seems that way. But I can't just give up on it. Something very big is going on here.”
I let my head fall back and closed my eyes. “My God, Alex, you have no idea what you're even looking for.”
SIXTEEN
People always find something to worry about. The Nile's going to rise. An asteroid's coming close next year. We're going to make a mess of the atmosphere. It's always something. But sometimes they have a point.
Music is so intrinsically a part of the human experience, that it is hard to imagine our lives without it. How much are we indebted to the first person who beat on a drum, who carved out a pipe, who noticed that strings make pleasing sounds?
I probably didn't help my cause by mentioning that if we were ever going to head out on an idiot's ride, Villanueva would be the place to go. There was no way Alex could back down after that. He was already going through a list of candidates to sit beside him on the mission. He'd need a pilot, of course. Not me, because I'd cause too much trouble. He didn't offer an explanation but just tried to laugh it off. “The bottom line, Chase,” he said, “is that if things go wrong, I wouldn't want to be responsible for something happening to you.”
And, to tell the truth, I'd have been happy to stay out of it. But I was afraid he'd get himself killed. “Look, Alex,” I said. “I think this is crazy. I won't hide that. Because we don't have enough to go on. We don't have a clue what we're looking for. But that doesn't mean I'll step aside while someone else goes in my place.”
He glanced at his calendar with the sort of expression that he uses to suggest I've forgotten who's boss. “Chase,” he said, “you don't have a say in the matter.”
“Sure I do. Leave me behind, and I won't be here when you get back.”
He barely blinked. “Then you'll have to leave, Chase.”
“This time, I won't come back.”
He took his time about answering. We were in the conference room. “Look,” he said, “this thing is just too dangerous.”
“Then call it off. At least until we know what we're doing.”
“How about if we put it off for a couple of days? Have you ever seen The Firebird?”
“Not really. They lost it forty years ago.”
“No. I'm talking about Igor Stravinsky.”
I'd heard the name. “The sculptor,” I said.
“He was a composer.”
“Sure. But no, I haven't. It's a ballet, isn't it?”
“Yes.”
“I don't much care for ballets.”
“Doesn't it strike you as odd that Robin would give his yacht the same name?”
“As what?”
“The ballet.”
“Oh.” I guess I shrugged. “Not really.”
His gaze went to the ceiling. He was operating in the company of children again. “Chase-”
“It's a coincidence.”
“Father Everett told you he loved the classical composers. Naming his yacht Firebird was a tribute to Stravinsky.”
“Okay. So what?”
“Maybe nothing. Maybe something more.”
“How do you mean?” I looked at him. “You're not suggesting there's actually a point in going to watch this thing, are you?”
“They're performing at Central this weekend.”
