Fall of a Cosmonaut

might be some things of special interest that you and Tikon Tayumvat might miss.”

“Such as?” asked Karpo.

“Such as? I don’t know such as till I see it. It would hurt nothing if I joined you, and it might yield something,” Vanga said earnestly. “I wish to help.”

It was at that point Karpo had agreed. It was a moment later that Tayumvat entered the office and said, “Nothing in his office or his laboratory that will help you find a murderer. He appears to have been engaged in some interesting though probably flawed research. Some of his notes are in his computer, though they tell little. He was working on whatever it was for several years, though I see no evidence that he has written anything. I’ve read his other articles. He is not one to delay. I’d say he is, or was, one to publish a bit before it was prudent to do so. And yet … nothing.”

“He had changed his way of thinking about publishing,” said Vanga. “He didn’t want to write anything till he was certain. He thought he might be two years from even beginning to write. He consulted me frequently. I assured him that support for his work would continue.”

“He may have something written at his home,” said Karpo. “You will accompany us to examine his papers?”

Tayumvat nodded and said, “Vanga … Andrei Vanga? You are Andrei Vanga.”

“Yes,” said Vanga.

“I read your article on dream states among the mentally ill. Journal of Psychic Research.”

Vanga smiled.

“That was twenty years ago at least,” said the old man. “It stunk. You write stinking articles with flawed research and results, and they put you in charge of all this. What have you written since? Something better, I hope, or better nothing at all.”

“I’ve been busy keeping this facility alive, raising money, finding …”

“You burned out,” said Tayumvat.

“No,” Vanga shot back. “In fact, I am almost ready to present a new and, I believe, major report on my research.”

“I hope it’s better than the last one,” said Tayumvat.

“I believe it is,” said Vanga. “Shall we go?”

“You are going?” asked the old man.

“He is going,” said Karpo.

“Then see to it that he stays out of my way and touches nothing,” said Tayumvat, turning toward the door. “Let’s go. Time is something I, Tikon, will not knowingly waste.”

They had barely opened the door when Nadia Spectorski appeared, arms folded over her white lab coat. “I would like a few minutes of Akardy’s time,” she said.

“I must …” Zelach began, feeling the panic he had anticipated.

“We have been told to cooperate with your research,” Karpo said. “Zelach will stay, Nadia Spectorski.”

Tayumvat, who had been walking slowly in front of them down the corridor, turned and looked at her. “Spectorski? Image projection?”

“Yes,” she said.

“Don’t trust the English,” he said. “They find what they want to find. You find what you want to find. You rely too much on the English in your articles. To know someone can play card tricks is not to know how they play these tricks, and the real question is, When is a trick not a trick?”

“I agree,” she said as Zelach stood listening, hoping that they would return with evidence from the dead man’s apartment that Nadia was the murderer.

“Then write better articles,” said Tayumvat, resuming his walk down the hall.

That had been an hour ago. They had been driven in the unmarked car Karpo had asked the Yak to sign for.

The first impression was that the dead scientist’s apartment on Petro Street had been ransacked, but even a cursory examination by Karpo confirmed that the man had simply lived like a child. Papers were piled on the floor. Books were scattered about. Every chair was full of books and papers. The air was heavy with dust, and two open boxes of raisins sat on the table on which a computer rested.

“Stay out of my way,” the old man said, surveying the chaos. “It will go faster.”

“I would like to help,” said Vanga.

“And I would like you not to help,” said Tayumvat, pronouncing each word slowly and distinctly as if he were giving orders to a child who was being told what to do for the third time.

The old scientist started in one corner of the room, picking up books, examining them, riffling through the pages, and making comments to Karpo and Vanga.

“Unidentified Flying Objects,” he said at one point, looking at a paperback book. “I wrote about this. Carl Jung wrote about this. Do you know what I wrote?”

“That the objects were not aliens but humans from the future,” said Vanga.

Tayumvat paused and looked at Vanga. “Yes, yes,” he said. “So, I am not completely forgotten. It is common sense. The ships come in two forms, saucers and cigar-shaped objects. My conclusion …”

“… is that they come from two different periods in the future. The cigar-shaped ones are not as far advanced as the saucers,” said Vanga.

“Correct. And why do these creatures have two arms, two legs, two eyes? Because they are evolved humans. Why would creatures from some distant galaxy look like us? Answer,” he said, looking at a pile of papers, “they would not. And why do they abduct humans and examine them? Because they want to find out about their ancestors, us. And,” he continued, going through more books, papers, and journals, “why do they avoid contact with humans?”

“Because they do not wish to alter history,” said Vanga.

“No,” said Tayumvat. “Don’t you understand Einstein? Time is already determined. Even if they were to come back and destroy us all, the time that is already in motion would continue. The time they affect would go on separately. If I can figure this, out, they can.”

“You believe this?” asked Karpo, watching Vanga carefully.

“No, I do not believe we have visitors from the future,” said Tayumvat. “I believe, however, that if these creatures do exist, my explanation is infinitely better than the theory of alien visitors. My great-grandson has one of those T-shirts, hideous, black with white letters. It says, Star Trek Is Right. What’s this?”

The old man was examining a notebook with the spirals on top. Vanga took a step toward him. Karpo held out a hand to stop him. Vanga stopped.

“Notes about people whose dreams have been scientifically proved to foretell the future,” said Tayumvat, flipping through the pages. “Interesting, the future foretold is not necessarily their own.”

“Yes,” said Vanga. “He was working with me on such a project.”

“All anecdotal,” said the old man, flipping quickly.

“We have hard research results,” said Vanga.

“I’d be interesting in seeing it,” said Tikon Tayumvat, with undisguised skepticism.

“I’ll be ready to publish soon,” he said.

“And the dead man? …”

“Bolskanov,” Karpo supplied.

“Bolskanov,” Tayumvat continued. “Your publication will include his name as co-author?”

Vanga had not considered this. He looked at the old man and then at Karpo. “He just did some of the research, under my direction. He has done none of the writing. Of course I will give him credit. I will dedicate the paper to him.”

“Let’s ask him for his side of this tale, which I have heard all too often,” said the old man, turning his back on Vanga now and continuing his search. “Oh, yes. This Bolskanov is dead. He cannot speak for himself. But perhaps I can speak for him.”

“What are you suggesting?” asked Vanga with great indignation.

“That it is convenient for you that the man is dead.”

“And you are suggesting that I killed him because I wanted to steal his work?”