Seeker by Jack McDevitt Page B

hostess, which is standard in most of the better restaurants, and human waiters, which of course is not. They also had a piano player.
    The tables were well supplied with jasmine candles. Walls and tables were dark-stained wood. Prints in the style of the last century provided a sense of nostalgia. I noticed a couple of senators with their spouses (I assumed) across the room. One, a well-known champion of corporate benefits, recognized Alex and came over to say hello.
    Amy walked in a few minutes later, looking around as if she were lost. Then she spotted us and strode briskly over. “Good evening, Mr. Benedict,” she said, still taking in her surroundings. “This is really nice.”
    Alex rose, pulled her chair out for her, and said he was glad she was pleased. She said hello to me and sat down.
    She wore a pressed lavender suit and seemed to have had something of a makeover. Her hair was pulled back and in better order. Her eyes were more alert, and she stood a bit straighter than she had at the office. She wasn’t at ease, but that of course was the reason we were there. The Hillside was the place Alex used when he wanted to put a client on the defensive. Which is to say, when he wanted something he wasn’t sure he could get.
    She went immediately to business: “Chase said you have good news for me.”
    That was her imagination at work. Alex looked at me, read my face, and smiled. “The cup is associated with a famous, and very early, interstellar,” he said. “We think it’s reasonably valuable.”
    “How much?” she asked.
    “We’ll have to let the market decide, Amy. I’d rather not guess.” He produced a chip. “When you get time, complete this document. It will establish your ownership of the property.”
    “Why do I have to do that?” she asked. “It’s mine. It was given to me.”
    “And possession is ninety percent. But disputes have a way of appearing in these cases. It’s a formality, but it might save problems later.”
    She was annoyed, but she took it and dropped it in a side pocket. “I’ll get it back to you tomorrow.”
    “Good,” said Alex. “As soon as you’ve done that, we’ll put the cup on the market and see what happens.”
    “All right.”
    He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “Now,” he said, “while we don’t know its precise value, we should establish a minimum bid.”
    “How much?”
    He gave her a number. I’ve been through these things before, but it took my breath away. It was more than I’d been able to earn so far in a lifetime. Amy’s eyes squeezed hard shut and I saw a tear run down her cheek. I may have been getting a little damp myself.
    “Wonderful,” she said, with a breaking voice.
    Alex beamed. He was the picture of philanthropic content. It was so nice to be of assistance. Our cut, of course, would be the standard ten percent of the eventual sale price. I knew him well enough to be aware that his minimum bid was conservative.
    I thought for a minute she was going to come apart. Fluttering handkerchief, brave smile, giggle, and an apology. Sorry, it’s such a shock.
    “Now,” said Alex, “I want you to do something for me.”
    “Of course.”
    The waiter arrived, and we took time to order, although Amy was no longer paying much attention to the menu. When he was gone, Alex leaned across the table. “I want you to tell me where it came from.”
    She looked startled. Fox and hounds. “Why, I told you, Mr. Benedict. My ex-boyfriend gave it to me.”
    “When would that have been?”
    “I don’t know. Several weeks ago.”
    Alex’s voice dropped even lower. “Would you be kind enough to tell me his name?”
    “Why? I told you, it belongs to me.”
    “Because there might be more of these objects around. If there are, the owner may not be aware of their value.”
    She shook her head. No. “I’d rather not do that.”
    Breakup city. Alex reached across the table and took her hand. “It could mean a great deal to you,” he said.