Echo by Jack McDevitt

the end, nothing else matters.’ That’s not verbatim, of course. But it’s what he said.”
    Betty Ann brought in the drinks. The coffee tasted good. Cold air was leaking into the cabin. Basil saw me wrap my arms around myself. He got up, threw another log into the fire, poked the flames, and drew the curtains. “That always helps,” he said.
    Alex obviously liked the munson. He tasted it, scribbled some notes. Revisited his drink. Closed the notebook and used it to project a holo of the tablet. “Did you ever see this ?”
    Basil grinned. “Yeah. Sure. He had that in his office.”
    “Did he ever tell you what it was?”
    “He said it was from an old settlement somewhere in the Veiled Lady. I don’t remember where.”
    “But it was a human settlement?”
    “Sure. Of course.”
    “Did he say that? Human? ”
    Basil pulled at his beard. “It’s been a long time,” he said. “It’s hard to remember exactly what he told me. But he sure as hell would have been jumping up and down if there’d been aliens. And I wouldn’t have forgotten.”
    “Okay. Thanks.”
    “Alex?” He hesitated. “Do you, uh, know something I don’t?”
    “Not really. We’re just trying to pin everything down.”
    “Well, I can tell you there was something unusual about it. About the tablet.”
    “What’s that?”
    “I don’t really know. But he had a special cabinet built for it. It wasn’t on display, like his other stuff. He had it locked away most of the time.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Tell you the truth, I’d forgotten about it. Is it valuable?”
    “That’s one of the things we’re trying to find out. It was found in the garden by the current occupant of the Rindenwood house.”
    “You mean our house.”
    “Yes.”
    “In the garden?”
    “Yes.”
    Basil shook his head. “I just don’t know.”
    “The last time you saw it, it was in the cabinet.”
    “Yes.”
    “How long did he have it? Do you know?”
    “Not long, I don’t think. I don’t remember seeing it before I was in college. He got it just shortly before he died. Two or three years, I guess.”
    “Basil, do you have any idea how it might have wound up in the garden?”
    “My fault, probably.”
    “How’s that?”
    “I didn’t see much of my father after I left home. I got back now and then. But neither of us was really comfortable. When he died, I inherited the property. And I sold it. I recall inviting the buyers—I think their name was Harmon, something like that—I invited them to keep any of the furniture they liked. I didn’t really have a place for it. And I guess the cabinet was one of the pieces they kept.”
    “You weren’t interested in the tablet?”
    “I don’t think it ever even occurred to me. I just wanted to get the sale over with.”
    Alex finished his drink and put the glass on the table. “That was excellent.”
    “Do you want some more?”
    “No, thanks.” He closed his eyes for a moment. “Basil, we can’t find any record of his missions. Of where he went, what he did. He says somewhere that he’d marked a lot of places as empty if anyone was following up on his work. But there’s no indication of any such record. Did he keep a journal? Anything that might help us trace his activities?”
    “Sure. My father kept the logs from his flights. A record of everything, as far as I know. Where he went. What he saw. Pictures. Charts. Impressions. All kinds of stuff.”
    “Marvelous,” Alex said. “Would you let us see it?”
    “I don’t have it.”
    “Who does?”
    “A friend of his. Hugh Conover.”
    “How did Conover get it?”
    “I gave it to him.”
    “Why?”
    “He asked the same question you just did. And I couldn’t see that they had any value. At least not to me.”
    “When would that have been, Basil?”
    “It was right after he died.”
    “Okay. I don’t guess you happen to know where I can reach this Conover?”
    “No. I haven’t seen him for twenty years.”
    “Okay. He