Firebird by Jack McDevitt Page B

it.”
    “Okay. I'm glad to hear it. If I can help in any way—”
    “Sure, Shara. I'll tell him you called. We'll let you know if you can do anything.”
    “Thanks.” She started to disconnect, but hesitated. “One more thing about Robin?”
    “Yes?”
    “I don't suppose his notebook's included among the artifacts? Or the house AI? I didn't see either listed.”
    “No. We don't know what happened to the notebook. Elizabeth deleted the data banks in the AI so she wouldn't be tempted to bring him back.”
    “I can understand that. Chase, if you come across a journal, a diary, anything like that, I'd like to know about it.”
    “Okay.”
    “It could have some very valuable stuff in it.”
    “I'll ask his sister-in-law. Maybe she knows something more than she's told us.”
    “Good. If you come up with anything, can I persuade you to call me first?”
    “Sure, Shara.”
    I called Karen Howard. “No,” she said. “He did have a notebook. Used to carry it around with him a lot. But it wasn't among the stuff that came with the estate.”
    “You're sure?”
    “I'll check and get back to you.”
    I'm not sure why, but I didn't much feel like going back to the mundane administrative tasks I'd been working on all day. I sank into my chair and found myself thinking about Gabriel Benedict, Alex's uncle, who'd hired me to work for the archeological team he'd led. I'd spent most of my time then in the field at his sites rather than in an office. But when we were at home, this had been our headquarters, and I'd been behind the same desk. There was a scratch across one side of it, where he and one of his colleagues had gotten careless and bashed a spade into it. The damaged side was now set against the wall so no one could see it.
    There was a picture of Gabe and me on the bookcase. He had a trowel in one hand and a bone in the other. I was leaning on a spade. He'd been more than a boss. He'd been a friend. I spent three years with him, ferrying him and his colleagues to remote locations around the Orion Arm. I'd known, of course, that civilizations rise and fall, that cities enjoy their time in the sunlight, then, for a variety of reasons, sink into obscurity and, eventually, into the ground. Everybody knows that. But I hadn't understood the implications until Gabriel Benedict had hired me on as transport director—the title was a gag: I was the pilot for the Fleury Archeological Initiative, named for Ann Fleury, who'd put the organization together in an effort to maintain the integrity of historical sites, to see that they were properly managed, and to keep them safe from exploiters.
    That, of course, meant people like Alex. And, ultimately, me.
    It was the reason Gabe was so disappointed in his nephew. Alex never knew his parents. Both had been historians. His mother died giving birth to him. She was one of three women in the entire world to die that year during delivery. His father died a year later while touring the ruins of Kashnir when he was attacked and bitten by a storm of dragon bees. The infant, left temporarily in the care of Gabriel and his wife, Elaina, stayed with them.
    Elaina was long gone by the time I met Gabe. She'd run off with someone. Don't know who. I never heard the details. I can't imagine how she could have done any better than Gabe.
    So Alex grew up, as he liked to say, in dig sites. He inherited the family's passion for history. But instead of following in Gabe's footsteps, he'd decided there were plenty of artifacts out there for everybody. There was a serious market for antiquities, especially those that could be linked to an historical personage or event. And Alex saw no reason he shouldn't cash in on it.
    Shortly after I began working for Gabe, I heard that he had a nephew. When I asked, innocently, whether Alex had any interest in archeology, Gabe's face had darkened, and he'd shaken his head. “No,” he'd said. “None whatever.”
    I didn't ask again. His colleagues filled me in on