“Very good, Chase. You're a natural for this business.”
TWO
Science is an investigation into reality, how atoms interact and biological systems develop and stars give heat. Myth is also an investigation into reality, but into a reality of a different type: It informs us of the deepest desires and fears of the subconscious mind. The place where we really live.
Karen Howard lived in a plush estate in Westmont Park, where Mt. Gordana was just visible in the west when the light was right. The storm had finally subsided, and the skies had cleared, but the entire world was buried in snow. As we settled toward the ground that evening, we were instructed by a deep baritone to identify ourselves and state our business. “Rainbow Enterprises to see Ms. Howard,” I said, giving the system a code word that had been issued to us earlier. A ring of lights came on around the landing pad. The lights weren't necessary because it wasn't quite dark yet, but they did add a sense of luster to the place.
The house resembled an Itaki temple. Towers rose above both wings, and I found myself expecting to hear chanting as we touched down. The voice, still speaking through the comm link, welcomed us to Howard Manor and invited us inside. We got out of the skimmer and started along a sheltered walkway.
The windows were sedately illuminated, and a viol played wistfully. More lights came on. The front door opened, and a young woman greeted us, took our jackets, and showed us into a large sitting room. “Ms. Howard,” she said, “will be with you shortly.” The room possessed an elegant sterility: window curtains that might have been employed as ceremonial robes, ivory-colored ornamental shelves supporting vases filled with year-round flowers, a red carpet that looked as if no one had ever walked on it. It was a room to admire but not one in which you could relax and kick off your shoes.
We'd been there only a couple of minutes when Ms. Howard walked in. She inspected Alex and said hello to him. Then she smiled condescendingly at me. “It is nice to see you again, Ms. Kolpath.”
We exchanged a few pleasantries. Alex commented on how well kept the grounds were, presumably apparent to him under the snow cover. Howard took a moment to admire his scarf, and suggested that we all make ourselves comfortable. We sat down on a sofa while she took a large, padded armchair. “Chase tells me,” Alex said, “you have some items connected with Christopher Robin.”
She looked momentarily as if that fact had slipped her mind. “As a matter of fact, Mr. Benedict, I do.” Sidewise glance at me. “I take it you're in a position to represent my interests?”
Alex fell back on his charm. “Of course,” he said. “We'd be delighted.” His tone conveyed a sense that we were all friends, that whatever had gone before was of no concern, was part of a misunderstanding, and that he would find it gratifying to assist her. “I wonder,” he continued, “if it would be possible to see the materials?”
Some of the stiffness drained away. “Certainly, Mr. Benedict,” she said. “Please follow me.”
We went out into a central corridor, turned toward the rear of the house, and entered another, smaller, room. The objects had been placed on a dinner table, arranged with the Carpathian hat as the centerpiece. Plaques, lamps, framed pictures, books, paintings, the wedding ring, the diamond-studded comm link, a bust of a bearded man (Adam Karvenko, I learned later, who'd connected quantum theory with consciousness), and some electronic gear. And, of course, the books.
Alex circled the table, examining the objects, using a magnifying lens on some, lifting others so he could study them from different angles.
He took a long look at the wedding ring. “The names will help,” he said, “and especially the inscription.” Alex lifted the cover of one of the books. Mirabeau's The Social Abstract. Comments were printed in precise characters in the margins: Exactly!! And Out of context. And I'd love to see the documentation for that.
He paged through Hai Kallei's Lost in the Shadows, smiling at Robin's comments. Dumb. And Tribalism will always be with us, despite your assertions. And Sometimes I wonder if we deserve to survive.
In a collection of science essays, Alex, admiringly, read one comment aloud: We are like the seas. Tides come in, go out. Our shorelines wear down and drift away, but in the end, the substance does not change. Neither technology nor accumulated wisdom has any fundamental effect on who we are.
Baron's Cosmological Constant was also filled with commentary. Sounds good, but the logic is confused. And If this is so, the world is even more illusory than we thought. Alex smiled. “Did you know him very well, Ms. Howard?”
“Not especially,” she said. “I didn't especially like him.”
“Why is that?”
“He thought he was better than everybody else.”
Alex nodded. Isn't that the way of the world? He put the book down and looked up at the picture of the interstellar that Howard had shown me at the country house. It hung directly opposite the entrance, making it the first thing you'd see coming into the room. “This is exactly the way he'd placed it in his own house,” she said.
Alex examined it from several angles before turning to her. “Ms. Howard, what about this? Did it have a special meaning of some sort for Professor Robin?”
“Not that I'm aware of.”
Alex turned back to the picture. Shook his head.
“What's wrong?” I asked.
“I've seen it before somewhere.”
I didn't recognize it. The superluminal looked retro. Too thick through the hull. The two odd characters near the main hatch. Individual portals on the bridge rather than the wraparound.
“So what do you think, Mr. Benedict?”
Alex smiled pleasantly. “We'll be happy to assist you, Ms. Howard. I doubt there'll be any trouble moving the ring, or the plaques. The books should be okay. Photos are always a difficult sell, because they are not single items, if you get my meaning. But I think we can do reasonably well.” He hesitated. “Ms. Howard, I'm going to ask you to be patient, however. It might be possible to increase the value of these items if you'll allow me some time.”
“Time to do what, if I may ask?”
“I won't be sure until we learn more about Professor Robin.”
He remained quiet until we got up into the night sky and had started home. It was not yet dark, but we had a crescent moon directly overhead. “There are some speculations about this guy,” he said.
“Like what?”
“Are you aware there's a Christopher Robin Society?”
“No. I didn't know that. Is that really so? What is it? A society of physicists?”
“Physicists, historians, enthusiasts.”
“Okay.”
“They meet monthly at Sanova.”
I knew the tone. “We're not going, I hope?”
“Why not?”
“What would be the point?”
“Who better to drum up interest in Robin artifacts than people who have a passion for his work?”
“But aren't we talking about physics? How do you get collectors passionate about physics?”
“Chase, we're talking about alternate universes and black holes.”
We were passing over the Melony. Fireworks were being launched from one of the casinos. Somebody celebrating something. “Alex?”
“Yes, Chase?”
“A lot of people have disappeared. Why does Robin draw enthusiasts? What are they enthusiastic about?”
His eyes caught some of the light. “Robin worked at the edges of science. He was interested, for example, in
