“Where, actually, will I be?” asked Belle.
I produced a chip and inserted it. “Here's your destination.”
She needed a moment to retrieve the data. Then: “It's in deep space. In the pit.”
“Yes.”
“So what am I looking for?”
“You're going to the launch point for the Firebird. The protocol is included with the new data. Go out to the designated area and wait. You'll be watching for the yacht to appear. And when it does, if it does, you may get a radio signal. Do as wide a search as you can. All we want you to do is determine whether it shows up. If you don't see anything after two weeks, proceed to the next observation point. And so on. Continue until we recall you. Okay?”
“Yes. What are the odds of success?”
“We don't know.”
“You'll get permission for me to depart?”
“That's done.”
“Okay.”
“If you see it, Belle, try to get pictures. Close-ups as much as possible.”
“Very good, Chase. I'll do what I can.”
“I know you will. Something else we need. If you can, get the times of arrival and departure. As precisely as possible.”
“Okay. Anything else?”
“Yes. Try to communicate with it. We think the AI isn't active, but it won't hurt to try. And if anything happens, let us know immediately, okay?”
“Absolutely.”
“One other thing. Charlie asked if he could go along.” I pulled the beige box out of my pocket and started to install him into the comm system.
“You might have asked first.”
The response startled me. “You have a problem with him?”
“No. In fact, I'll enjoy the company. But that's not the point.”
“I'm sorry if I offended you, Highness.”
“Chase-” She sounded hurt. “You're sending me out for who knows how long. If you're going to provide company, at least check with me first. Is that really asking too much?”
Alex was not optimistic. “It's a long shot,” he told me. “But at the moment, it's all we have.”
Belle reported in the first morning. An ordinary radio transmission would have taken more than a week to get to us. So Belle used hyperlink, which works best when you stay with text transmissions.
1717. Negative on the Firebird.
I asked how things were going with Charlie.
1727. Charlie's fine. Fine. We've been discussing human rationality. I never cease to be amazed at the incredible stupidity of many of those who function as leaders. And the willingness of so many to lend support. How else explain the wars, the cruelty, the economic collapses, the religious conflicts?
I thought about asking her how, if she was right, she explained the rise of civilization out of the general turmoil. But I let it go. “Okay. Tell Charlie we said hello.”
When Alex read it, he wondered whether we'd made a mistake sending Charlie along. “I've never heard her talk like that before. I wonder if he's a negative influence.”
“Don't know,” I said. “I wouldn't have thought Belle was that impressionable. She does seem to have changed since we brought Charlie back.”
“She's not the only one.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Have you talked with Jacob recently?”
The hunt for the Firebird became the center of life at the country house. Alex slipped into automatic, taking good care of clients as he always did, but his heart wasn't in it. I waded through the administrative stuff and tracked down a lost gravesite, thereby putting Alex on the trail of the murder weapon used by the infamous Catman during his tenth-century homicidal spree, and discovering in the process who he really was. But that's another story.
Meanwhile, Jacob relayed the same routine calls, clients looking for a lost book, or who'd agreed to sell a chair in which a famous literary figure had once sat and who wanted to know its actual market value (never mind how the official listings read). Or from the local Sigma Club asking whether Alex would be willing to speak at a luncheon and, if so, what his honorarium might be.
I thought the big moment had arrived when Jacob interrupted a dental checkup. But it was something else entirely. He'd heard a report of a white Lance skimmer colliding with the side of a building. And he was concerned it might have been me.
By the end of the week, I'd begun not to think about it so much. When another week passed, I told Belle to move on to the second site, which was at a distance of 1,066,000 kilometers. “Down the line,” which quickly became our catchphrase for failure.
TWENTY-SIX
We talk about reality as an aspect of group theory, evolutionary redundancy, the gravitational hologram, dream interpretation, human behavior, and God knows what else. If we really want to grasp truth, the hard facts, we have to do the math. That's where the reality is. Everything else is wish fulfillment.
There wasn't much to be done while we waited, so Alex decided to launch his Villanueva effort, which, very quickly, became the save-the-boxes campaign. He kicked it off at a press conference and followed with an appearance on the Kile Ritter Show. Ritter was an oversized guy with thin gray hair, fat cheeks, and a permanent grin. His opinions never fell short of absolute conviction and tended to be delivered with the unwavering certainty of a guy in a pulpit. His guests expected to be bullied and even shut out of the conversation unless they could match the aggression. Ritter liked aggressive people. If you didn't hit back, you could expect your on-air time to go away.
The show's intro ran segments depicting guests arguing with him, throwing things around, and stomping off in a rage. There had even been an incident in which a prominent politician had tried to hit him with a chair. Ritter was loud, occasionally abusive, and thought of himself as a crusader for decent behavior.
Alex liked him.
In fact, off the set, they got along quite well. They shared an interest in antiques, and in history, and took each other to lunch at least once a month. They even attended many of the same social events.
Alex was dressed casually, in a dark blue sport shirt and iron gray slacks.
The show began as it always did, with Ritter welcoming his guest at what seemed to be the front door of his home. He introduced Alex as “a man who needs no introduction.” Then they sat down in armchairs on opposite sides of a small round table, obtained for him by Alex years before. It had been part of Aria Chan's set, when she famously warned Michael Delarosa to avoid the war with the Mutes.
Alex described the Villanueva experience.
Ritter shook his head disapprovingly and looked occasionally surprised, pretending he hadn't been briefed prior to the show. When Alex finished, he wanted to know why we'd gone there.
“Just doing some historical research,” Alex said. “Would you like to come with us next time?”
Ritter's laugh was at least part snort. “How many of these things are there?” he asked, referring to the AIs.
“We don't know. Probably not very many. Not after all this time.”
