According to the spokesperson, it is deemed far more likely it was an experimental spacecraft and that its origin will become apparent within a short time. No one, however, could explain why it did not respond to repeated queries.
The private yacht was the Breakwater , owned and operated by Eliot Cermak. It was, unfortunately, unable to overtake the intruder. Pictures taken by Cermak indicate that the unknown ship simply accelerated well beyond the yacht's ability to stay close.
An investigation is under way.
“Cermak?” I said. “The same one who was ferrying Robin around?”
“Yes.”
“Do we know whether Robin was in the Breakwater at the time?”
“No. But I'd bet on it.”
“You don't believe in coincidence?”
“No.”
“But you think he was present for two sightings.”
“I didn't say that was a coincidence.”
“How could he possibly have known in advance?”
“I don't know, Chase. Answer that, and we'll be a step closer to finding out what happened to him.”
Alex made two more public appearances over the next few days, and was interviewed by the Celestial, a magazine that specialized in sensational stories. When I suggested he was playing into his critics, he told me it was product enhancement, and it was an essential part of the business.
It was working. Interest in the Robin artifacts continued to mount. Karen Howard got excited when she saw what was happening, and she called, insisting that we hold the auction while the demand was high.
“We're not ready yet,” Alex told her. “Give it some time.”
“Are you sure, Mr. Benedict?” She did not sound comfortable with the idea.
“Everything's going our way, Karen. Let's just be patient for a bit longer.”
“All right. I'm sure you know what you're doing.” Her tone suggested that was hardly the case. “When do we plan on holding the auction?”
“We're watching the market. I'll let you know when we're ready to go.”
A few minutes later, Shara Michaels called. She blinked on in front of my desk, wearing a blue lab coat. “How's the big sale going?” she asked.
“Which one is that, Shara?”
“Robin.”
“Pretty well. Did you want to put in a bid for something?” Shara, of course, was a physicist.
“To be honest, I'm tempted.”
“Really?” That seemed out of character. There are two kinds of collectors: those who hope to acquire an artifact in order to make a profit down the line, and those who have a sentimental interest in the object. Shara didn't fit readily into either category. “Why's that?”
“I've been watching Alex. On the talk shows—”
“And—?”
“He makes Robin sound much more intriguing than I'd ever thought. I wouldn't mind having something of his around the apartment. To remind me to keep an open mind, maybe.”
“He is pretty good at that. Selling a story, I mean.”
“I guess. Did you know that Robin believed in a second life?”
“A lot of people do.”
“But not many physicists.” She looked at me as if I were a bit slow-witted. “He ran experiments to try to determine whether the mind, the soul, whatever, survived the death of the body. He was morbidly aware of his mortality. Couldn't stand the thought of dying.
“There were other things as well. He thought there had to be highly advanced civilizations scattered around the galaxy. He spent a lot of his time trying to find a way to communicate with them.”
“Sitting in a room with a transmitter?”
She laughed. “Actually, yes. A hyper system of some sort. He was hoping to find a way through the borderlands.” That was a reference to transdimensional space-time, which was still not well understood. “Look, what I'm trying to say is that you guys should be aware that, obscured in all the eccentricities, the guy was a genius. But that's not the reason I called—Chase, I'm worried about Alex. He's taking a lot of criticism right now in the media. Is he okay?”
“He's fine, Shara. I think he's used to
The private yacht was the Breakwater , owned and operated by Eliot Cermak. It was, unfortunately, unable to overtake the intruder. Pictures taken by Cermak indicate that the unknown ship simply accelerated well beyond the yacht's ability to stay close.
An investigation is under way.
“Cermak?” I said. “The same one who was ferrying Robin around?”
“Yes.”
“Do we know whether Robin was in the Breakwater at the time?”
“No. But I'd bet on it.”
“You don't believe in coincidence?”
“No.”
“But you think he was present for two sightings.”
“I didn't say that was a coincidence.”
“How could he possibly have known in advance?”
“I don't know, Chase. Answer that, and we'll be a step closer to finding out what happened to him.”
Alex made two more public appearances over the next few days, and was interviewed by the Celestial, a magazine that specialized in sensational stories. When I suggested he was playing into his critics, he told me it was product enhancement, and it was an essential part of the business.
It was working. Interest in the Robin artifacts continued to mount. Karen Howard got excited when she saw what was happening, and she called, insisting that we hold the auction while the demand was high.
“We're not ready yet,” Alex told her. “Give it some time.”
“Are you sure, Mr. Benedict?” She did not sound comfortable with the idea.
“Everything's going our way, Karen. Let's just be patient for a bit longer.”
“All right. I'm sure you know what you're doing.” Her tone suggested that was hardly the case. “When do we plan on holding the auction?”
“We're watching the market. I'll let you know when we're ready to go.”
A few minutes later, Shara Michaels called. She blinked on in front of my desk, wearing a blue lab coat. “How's the big sale going?” she asked.
“Which one is that, Shara?”
“Robin.”
“Pretty well. Did you want to put in a bid for something?” Shara, of course, was a physicist.
“To be honest, I'm tempted.”
“Really?” That seemed out of character. There are two kinds of collectors: those who hope to acquire an artifact in order to make a profit down the line, and those who have a sentimental interest in the object. Shara didn't fit readily into either category. “Why's that?”
“I've been watching Alex. On the talk shows—”
“And—?”
“He makes Robin sound much more intriguing than I'd ever thought. I wouldn't mind having something of his around the apartment. To remind me to keep an open mind, maybe.”
“He is pretty good at that. Selling a story, I mean.”
“I guess. Did you know that Robin believed in a second life?”
“A lot of people do.”
“But not many physicists.” She looked at me as if I were a bit slow-witted. “He ran experiments to try to determine whether the mind, the soul, whatever, survived the death of the body. He was morbidly aware of his mortality. Couldn't stand the thought of dying.
“There were other things as well. He thought there had to be highly advanced civilizations scattered around the galaxy. He spent a lot of his time trying to find a way to communicate with them.”
“Sitting in a room with a transmitter?”
She laughed. “Actually, yes. A hyper system of some sort. He was hoping to find a way through the borderlands.” That was a reference to transdimensional space-time, which was still not well understood. “Look, what I'm trying to say is that you guys should be aware that, obscured in all the eccentricities, the guy was a genius. But that's not the reason I called—Chase, I'm worried about Alex. He's taking a lot of criticism right now in the media. Is he okay?”
“He's fine, Shara. I think he's used to