A thunderstorm swept in off the ocean that night, blurring the village lights and bringing high winds and lots of rain. I spent the evening going through the list of names associated with Robin, looking for anybody who might be able to shed light on what had happened to him. I made some calls but came away with nothing.

  I ran a search on Eliot Cermak. He'd been a self-employed interstellar pilot. CEO of Cermak Transport. Born in Templeton, on the Dimrok Plains, in 1326. Joined the fleet in 1348. He picked up a pilot's license in 1351. And rose through the ranks to command a destroyer. Retired, 1373.

  He launched Cermak Transport the same year, purchasing a yacht he christened Breakwater. (That would have been the vehicle that he and Robin were riding when they engaged in the Skydeck pursuit.)

  He prospered as an independent, hiring out to those with unusual destinations that the big carriers didn't serve. That meant he frequently carried research teams, and occasionally wealthy patrons who simply didn't like to travel with the general public.

  He formed several special relationships with CEOs and scientists, Robin among them. He was the pilot, in 1383, when William Winter was lost on the mission to Indikar. I looked up Winter. He'd specialized in ancient history, especially the Great Expansion, the period during which the first colonial worlds were beginning to take hold. According to the report, he and Robin were investigating the ruins of the Indikar outpost, which had been abandoned a thousand years ago.

  Cermak had red hair, and the vids revealed an easygoing confidence. The guy looked like a natural leader, and I'll admit that he impressed me. It wasn't hard to see the destroyer captain.

  I called Ramsay that night. (It was midafternoon back in Andiquar.) When I told him that Robin had lost four yachts, and that the yachts had been purchased apparently for the specific purpose of being taken out and abandoned, he literally gasped. “Are you sure?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Why, Chase? Why would he do that?”

  “I don't know.”

  “But you have a theory?”

  “Yes. They had to be part of an experiment.”

  “What kind of experiment?”

  “Probably something connected with his ideas about alternate universes.” I had a hard time delivering that line, but he was delighted with it.

  “Can you spell it out a little bit?”

  “Okay, look: I'm guessing. And I don't want to be quoted.”

  “That's fine. Consider yourself a reliable source.”

  “Not in this life, kid. But I think, and again I've nothing to back this up, I think he wanted to send the yachts into one of these alternate universes he was always talking about. And either he succeeded-”

  “Or they were blowing up.” He shook his head. Wrote something on a pad. “You really think that's what he was trying to do?”

  Hmm. What did I really think? The truth was, I couldn't imagine what else he might have been up to. “I wish,” I told him, “that we could go out wherever it was he'd taken them. And see whether they're still there.”

  “I assume there's no way to do that?”

  “None that I can imagine, Jack.”

  I went back and looked at the news accounts from the quake. It was Rimway's worst natural disaster, in terms of fatalities, in modern history, and the second worst anywhere in the Confederacy.

  Tens of thousands died, in an era when that wasn't supposed to happen. But somehow the pending quake, which would be an 8.0, escaped the notice of the monitors and came without warning. The inhabitants knew they were in a danger zone, but even though the temblors shook the area regularly, everyone had been assured that the technology would detect a major event well in advance. There'd be plenty of time to clear out.

  It hadn't happened that way. The earthquake had occurred with almost no warning. Worse, it had been near the surface, and it had triggered tsunamis that killed several thousand more in the immediate aftermath. The visual record was horrifying: people screaming and running while buildings collapsed and fires erupted. And finally, the waves.

  When it was over, when the medical teams had gone home and the funerals had been completed and the technicians had made their explanations, the stories of individual acts of heroism began to emerge. The names of many who'd risked, and sometimes lost, their lives to help others would forever remain unknown. But not all. And among those who stood out was Eliot Cermak. He brought my kids out. Right through the fire. Threw a blanket over them and got them clear of that place. I thank God he was there.

  A young woman described how he'd gotten her out of a burning building. A man who lived adjacent to him watched as he stood directing terrified victims onto higher ground. Ultimately, like Robin, Cermak had vanished.

  I called Alex and described what I'd heard and seen.

  “Where exactly was he,” he asked me, “when it happened?”

  “Caton Ferry.”

  “Caton Ferry-”

  “It was in the middle of the quake. On the ocean. Just northwest of Kolandra.”

  “Okay.” There was a long pause. “You want me to go there?”

  “I think it would be a good idea. They have some sort of memorial for Cermak. Let's see what else we can learn.”

  Jack McDevitt

  Firebird

  TEN

  I wish all the best for my brother. I ask only that I am able to stay a step ahead of him.

  — Josh Levins, Darkness Rules, 1398

  Aside from a few preserved sites, the only indication that Caton Ferry had been devastated by an earthquake and a tsunami forty-one years before is Memorial Park, which now occupies a substantial tract of land on the west side of the city, between the town center and the ocean. Everything else has been rebuilt, restored, replaced.

  At the time of the disaster, Caton Ferry had a population of about ten thousand. It's considerably more than that now, and like many of the coastal towns, it's become a tourist trap. It's anchored by Big Apple Construction and Kryzinski University, it has the most famous auto racetrack on the continent, and it's also the headquarters of three major churches. So much, the noted atheist Wendel Kavich commented a few days after the quake, for any claims on their influence with God.

  I checked into the Seaview Hotel, which borders Memorial Park, and changed into some casuals.

  The park consists mostly of closely manicured lawns, with clipped rows of hedges and clutches of shade trees. Two sites enclose wrecked buildings, protected by globes. Data boards at each site show pictures of the structures as they'd looked before the disaster.

  They have a theater that, twice daily, runs a documentary on the event, titled Day of the Hero. An L-shaped building houses a souvenir shop, administrative offices, and a museum.

  I wandered into the museum. It was filled with pieces of equipment used by firefighters and rescue teams during the quake. The AI that had coordinated the overall effort was on display and would talk with anyone who had a question or comment. I listened for a few minutes.

  “How did you feel,” a teenage boy asked, “to be in the middle of all that? Were you scared? Do AIs get scared?”

  “I was inspired,” said the AI, speaking with the voice of an older male, “by the heroic efforts of those who came to the rescue. And I am referring not only to the professionals but to the ordinary people who put their lives on the line to save their friends and neighbors. Was I scared? Yes. I knew we were in trouble.”

  “Were you scared for yourself?”

  “Yes. I was scared for all of us.”

  An older man described himself as having barely survived the experience. “I was in a staircase,” he said. “It collapsed, and I broke both legs. The place was on fire, and a young woman showed up and dragged me out.” He grinned and indicated a female companion. “I married her.”

  “Excellent choice,” said the AI.

  A guy in a Fleet uniform asked about preparedness. “How did it happen,” he said, “that everyone was taken so completely by surprise? Could the politicians have done more?”

  “We have the advantage of hindsight,” said the AI. “When you have that, you can always think of more things that might have been done. The real problem was that we thought there could not be an event of that magnitude that would not reveal itself in advance. The science failed.”

  Eighteen persons were recognized in the heroes' gallery. All had lost their lives during the earthquake. Their pictures dominated two walls. They were young and old, both sexes, some in uniform and some not. Among them was Eliot Cermak, handsome, gallant, and fearless in his pilot's silver and blue. His name was emblazoned below the photo, and his dates: 1326–1393.

  A booklet had been put together for the eighteen, photos and names on the cover, and emblazoned with the motto NO GREATER COURAGE.

  I picked one up and paged through it. It contained a brief biography of each person, and dozens of pictures, most of moments from their personal lives before the event. One of the Cermak photos showed him standing next to Robin.

  I bought a copy and took it back to the hotel.

  Cermak's parents had looked like serious people, the father not entirely comfortable smiling for the photographer, his mother lighting up the page. It was easy enough to see where he got his good looks.

  Here he was lined up in front of the Cardwell Elementary School with the other first graders. And at about age twelve in a beach picture with his father. And playing palmball with his older brother, Gregory. They had him at his high-school prom, embracing a gorgeous brunette who was smiling complacently at the picture taker.

  Then Cermak at Kryzinski University. And on vacation. Posing with the family at a wedding. There were two pictures from flight school. Another returning from his first solo. He was beaming, and I remembered how that had felt. It is still, so many years later, one of the proudest moments of my life.

  And two more pictures of Cermak with the Fleet, where he rose to the rank of lieutenant commander.

  And, finally, Cermak standing beside the Breakwater, on one of the docks at Skydeck. And the one with Robin, who was identified as a “world-famous physicist.” Robin looked a trifle pretentious, self-important, while Cermak was simply a guy on top of the world.

  The older brother, Gregory, still lived in the area. There was no indication of a profession, so I assumed, correctly as it turned out, that he had settled for the basic security allotment. When I called and told him I was doing research on Eliot, he couldn't keep the annoyance out of his voice. “It's a long time ago,” he said.

  I wondered whether he was jealous of the attention that Eliot had received. Still jealous, after forty years? “That's why we need to do the research,” I said. “I was wondering if there was more material available about your brother that I could look at? We'd like to get a sense of who he really was. And of the family that could produce somebody like him.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The world knows he's a hero, but they've never really gotten a good image of the man.”

  “I don't think I have anything that would be of use to you. Nice to talk to you-”

  “No, wait. Don't break off. This is important, Mr. Cermak. And I'd be willing to pay for access.”

  “Really? How much?”

  I gave him a number. It was a minimum amount, but it's always easy enough to increase the offer if necessary.

  “Okay,” he said. “I'll do what I can. But payment up front, please.”

  “Let's see what you have to offer first.”

  “What exactly are you looking for?” His tone softened a bit. Not much, but enough.

  “Do you have anything that belonged to him? Correspondence? Diary? Anything like that?”

  He had to think about it. “There's a diary. I have a lot of stuff, actually. My wife never throws anything out.”

  “What else?”

  “Pictures. A lot of pictures. And an award he received. In high school, I think it was. I don't have any correspondence.” He couldn't think of anything else. “Mostly pictures,” he said. “And a notebook.”

  “When can we talk?”

  I doubted that Gregory Cermak had ever looked much like his brother. Where Eliot could have been a leading man, Gregory might have been a guy who'd spent most of his time hanging out in the woods. He had hard, almost immobile, features, and he was irritable and impatient. He introduced me to his wife, Vella, who seemed beaten down, then made it clear that she must have other things to do.

  He didn't have much to tell me, mostly stories about him and Eliot growing up together. His resentment of his brother came through loud and clear. Eliot had been selfish. “Though maybe I shouldn't say that.” The other kids in school hadn't liked him as they had Gregory. “He was always whining about something, but please don't print that. The only reason I'm saying it is so you can understand he wasn't really what everybody thinks now.”

  “Greg,” I said, “how do you account for his actions during the earthquake?”

  “Look, Chase,” he said, “I'm not saying he was a bad person. If I said that, I'm sorry. It's not what I meant. I just wanted you to understand he was as human as everybody else. He ran into buildings and pulled kids out while everybody else ran in circles and screamed that he'd get himself killed. Which is ultimately what happened.” He said it as if it demonstrated his brother's bad judgment. Then his tone changed: “I like to think that if I'd been there, I'd have done the same thing.”

  “You weren't there?”

  “No,” he said, in a tone that suggested I wouldn't believe him. “I was on a job.”

  “Did you ever meet Robin?”

  “Chris Robin? Not really. I saw him at a distance once or twice. I don't think I ever actually talked to him, though.”

  “Did they come down from the Skydeck on the shuttle?”

  “Yes. Eliot's skimmer was at the terminal. He took Robin home and then rode back to Caton Ferry.”

  “He wasn't very lucky, was he?”

  “No.” I saw a hint of regret.

  “What about the yachts? You know he and Robin lost some yachts?”

  “I heard about that, yes.”

  “Do you know anything about them?”

  “Not really. I joked with Eliot about them. What were there? Three?”

  “Four.”

  “Okay. Yeah. They'd just take them out somewhere and dump them.”

  “And you've no idea why?”

  “Eliot said they were junk. They were just using them for experiments.”

  “Did he say what kind?” He shook his head. “How about where they went? Did he ever-?”

  “No. When I asked Eliot about it, he laughed it off. They bought them, or rather Robin did, and I think they deliberately took them out and got rid of them. But I don't know. Eliot was never inclined to tell me stuff.”

  “And you've no idea where?”

  “No.” He bit his lower lip. “I remember he said something about one of the yachts, the Firebird, I think it was. The last one.”

  “Yes?”

  “I remember asking Eliot, just before he left, where he was going. And he said, 'Just for a spin.' I asked him what he meant, and he said two hundred billion klicks. He shrugged, like it was just around the corner.”

  “Two hundred billion. You sure?”

  “Yeah.”

  “It wasn't million?”

  “No. It was billion. It stuck in my mind because usually he'd say he was headed for Toxicon, or the Moon, or wherever. But that time, no. It was just two hundred billion klicks. I remember telling him it sounded like a long walk.”

  That couldn't be right. Two hundred billion kilometers would take you absolutely nowhere. Well outside the planetary system, but it would deposit you in the pit. In interstellar space.

  “What about the Breakwater?” I asked.

  “It got junked.”

  There were pictures, holograms, even a bust of Eliot sculpted, according to Gregory, by a girlfriend. In school, Eliot had been at the top of his class a few times, and he had framed certificates to testify to it.

  I picked up the diary. This was where I expected, hoped, to find everything laid out, explanations of what he and Robin were trying to do. Maybe I'd even get a sense of what had happened on that final fatal night. So I opened it, in Gregory's presence, and made no effort to disguise my disappointment. It covered only his junior and senior years in high school. Mostly it was a record of love affairs and occasional conquests.

  “We did it,” he reported at the beginning of one entry. “I never thought Molly would go along. She always went just so far and backed off. But we did it. O happy day-!”

  Damn.

  O happy day.

  So we went through the pictures. I didn't know any of the people in them, except of course Cermak and Robin. And Gregory. Gregory agreed to identify everybody, provided I increased the remuneration. Remuneration might not have been in his vocabulary, actually. “This is taking up my time,” he said by way of explanation. “And I should warn you up front that some of these people, a lot of them, actually, I don't know.”

  Whatever Eliot had been, Gregory was not. He grumbled that I wasn't moving fast enough. He ignored Vella when she arrived with some muffins and fruit juice. She'd probably been attractive when she took her place with him at the altar. He rolled his eyes a lot and didn't seem able to get comfortable in his chair.

  Nevertheless, he helped and I made notes. “This was Dr. Farley, the family physician. That was one of Eliot's girlfriends. Yolinda Something-or-other. Don't know who this one is. Oh, yes, that's Talia, his first wife.”

  “He was married?”

  “Twice. The other one was, um-” He pushed back in his chair, opened the door to the living room, and called to his wife. “Vella, what was the name of Eliot's second wife?”

  “Akri,” she said.

  “They divorced him?” I asked. “Both wives?”

  “Talia did. Akri, I think, just let the marriage lapse.”

  “Sorry to hear it.”

  “It hardly matters now.”

  And here was the picture of Cermak and Robin that had been in the book. And a few more. A couple with Cermak and Akri. One showing Robin sitting in the right-hand seat in a cockpit. “The Breakwater?” I asked.

 

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