headed for Villanueva. “How hard can it be?” the pilot said, responding to a reporter's question.
I tried to reassure Alex that there wouldn't be many who would make the effort. “People aren't that dumb,” I said.
He was slow to answer. “I wish I'd stopped to think before I mouthed off. But there's no going back now. Whatever happens, I'm going to have to live with it.”
I knew what was going to happen. We both did. I was trying to keep us separated from the responsibility, but there was no way to do that. I'd been worried before he went on Mia's show that he would get carried away and do something like that. Maybe I should have raised a red flag. Though I'm pretty sure if I'd done so, it wouldn't have mattered. He'd have gone ahead anyhow. But at least my conscience would have been clear.
The reality was that I didn't know why I hadn't said something. I still don't know. Maybe it was out of a sense of supporting him at a difficult time. Or maybe I believed he would do the right thing. Whatever it was, I wished then, as I do now, that I'd come forward.
The first Villanueva casualties showed up on the news at about the same time. Two guys had gone down into one of the cities and hadn't been heard from since. Their lander was still visible, on a riverbank, being disassembled by a small army of machines. The machines were pulling everything apart, cutting into the hull, and carting off the pieces. Then, gradually, the exposed interior simply went away. It took about a week before all traces of the vehicle were gone.
Everybody blamed Alex. Or almost everybody. Even his supporters somehow managed to deepen the wound. Harley Evans, identified as someone close to him, commented that if young people choose to risk their lives, they should do it for a just cause and not simply to make money. I knew what he meant, but it didn't come out as intended.
I don't think, in all the years I've known him, I've seen Alex more subdued. I avoided the subject, but the media were all over it, and I could see the effect it was having on him. Audree came by regularly, and he put on a good face for her, but she knew what he was going through, maybe even better than I did. “I'm sorry you guys ever got involved in this,” she told me when we were alone. “I can't see any benefit from it. And, to tell you the truth, I think you and Alex should just let it go.”
I told her about the black-hole tracks.
“That has nothing to do with the AIs. You could have stopped him, Chase. Why didn't you?”
“You know how he is, Audree. He wasn't going to listen to me. And, anyhow, I'm not sure I don't agree with him.”
“Come on, Chase, there was no way you couldn't see what was going to happen.”
“Audree, you weren't there when Charlie begged us to help him.”
“I wish I had been,” she said. “If I'd been there with you, I'd have shut this down.”
I tried to imagine Alex backing off because Audree, or anybody else, tried to warn him away from a project he'd set his mind to. It just wasn't going to happen.
We needed a lander. The missile on Villanueva had done too much damage to the old one. Ordinarily, shopping for something like that would have served as a diversion. This time, though, I expected him to tell me to take care of it, but he said no, he wanted to make sure I made the right choice. And, for a moment, his manner softened because we both understood he didn't know a damned thing about quality in a space vehicle.
The leading manufacturer at that time was Steele Industries. Their closest display center was in Pasqual County, which was about two hours away. We could have simply managed the purchase without leaving the country house. But he needed to get out, so I stressed the importance of actually sitting in the vehicle and taking it up.
We flew to Cantaka, in the heart of Pasqual County, and visited the Deep Sky Emporium. They'd have sold us one of their premier models if they could, but we had no need of cushioned seats and silver-plated controls. We took Gabe with us and installed him briefly in each of the models under consideration. In the end, his opinion counted more than anyone else's.
The salespeople still resist allowing customers to do that. They claim there's a danger to the onboard software, but once they realize that the sale hinges on their cooperation, they tend to go along with it.
We spent two days looking at the inventory before finally settling on a black-and-white Coyote. I liked it. It cost more than we'd expected to spend, but it was a solid vehicle. Gabe was ecstatic, though I think it was primarily because he was getting a home.
Meantime, Belle had begun reporting. As I expected, everything was negative. No Firebird. Everything quiet so far.
When we got back to the country house, I called Shara. She asked how Alex was doing, and I was able to tell her he seemed better. I thought he'd come to realize that he'd followed his conscience, and that was all he could do. “You'll like the new lander,” I added.
She asked what kind we'd gotten, and looked pleased when I told her. “Must be nice,” she said, “to have that kind of money.”
I wasn't going to touch that. “The reason I called, Shara, is that I've been looking at the target area for the Firebird. It's big. If it doesn't broadcast, we won't have much chance of finding anything that small.”
“I know.” She was in her office at the university. “I've been going back over the numbers. You're right. It's a lot of space to cover. But you expect it to put out a signal, don't you?”
“Alex is hopeful. But we're not counting on it.”
Jacob pardoned himself. “Chase, you have a transmission from Belle.”
I excused myself and tried to tamp down my heartbeat. “Let's see it, Jacob.”
1121. I think we've acquired the target.
We keep champagne stored in back. We celebrate a lot. Any kind of excuse, and we pop the cork. When I passed Belle's message to Alex, I'd waited for him to go back and get a bottle.
But he made no move to do so. It was, of course, possible that he'd forgotten. But that wouldn't have been at all like him. Alex lived for celebrations. Raise a glass and feel good about yourself or your friends whenever the opportunity permits.
Finally, I went back myself and brought a bottle out.
“No,” he said. “It's premature.”
I realized at that point that finding the Firebird was only the beginning of what he was hoping for.
THIRTY-ONE
The problem with patience is that it takes time. There's usually a payoff, if anyone is still around to receive it.
The time of the sighting, 1121 hours, was of course our time. What Alex liked to call country-house time. A second message followed moments after I showed up with the champagne:
1127. It just jumped in. Have gone to intercept course.
Then another:
1129. Target vehicle is under power. Am attempting radio contact. Range approx 600 km.
And:
1134. No response to radio call. Or to blinking light.
Alex got up from his chair and moved closer to the display. The view from the Belle-Marie appeared. A sky full of stars. A marker blinked on. This one.
1139. Location as indicated. No details yet.
I sat back. Tried to relax. “We're lucky,” I said. “I didn't think we'd find it this easily.”
“Why not?”
“There's so much empty space.”
“You're saying we just don't have the coordinates down to a sufficient degree.”
“Not exactly. I'm saying that when you're talking about the pit, open space for billions of kilometers in all
