flights?”
“No. Not that I know of.”
“Nothing at all?”
“Well—”
“Yes, Henry?”
“It’s nothing really. I remember hearing that she’d quit after one of the tours. Came home and quit. I don’t know why. If I ever knew, I don’t remember. I don’t even remember who told me, though it was probably Som.”
“Okay. One more question, then we’ll get out of your way, Henry. Do you know Hugh Conover?”
“I know of him.”
“But you never met him?”
“Not that I can recall. He was an archeologist or something.”
“An anthropologist, I believe. I don’t guess you have any idea how we might reach him?”
“I don’t know. Try the directory?”
Robin Simmons called that night to ask if we could meet for lunch the next day. I liked Robin, and I said sure, thereby saving my life. And Alex’s.
Robin had started as a lawyer but decided somewhere along the line he preferred kids and classrooms. High-school level, where, he said, minds were still open. (“At least some of them.”) So he now taught courses in politics and history at Mount Kira. When people asked why he’d given up his legal career to teach, he claimed it was because the money’s better.
He had brown hair and brown eyes. He approached life casually and was a guy who would have been indistinguishable in a crowd, I guess, until you got to know him. But he was bright, and he had a sense of humor. I was beginning to think that I’d miss him if he went away.
I spent the morning doing routine stuff. Alex was working upstairs. At about eleven, Jacob announced that Expressway had arrived with a package.
Jack Napier was the local delivery guy. He came in with a box, something about the right size for a very long pair of shoes. He set it down on a side table, I signed for it, and he left.
The package carried a return address for Baylor Purchasing, which told me nothing. It had been sent to Rainbow, attention Alex Benedict. I left it where it was and went back to work.
A little while later, a car pulled into the driveway. Robin in his svelte black-and-white Falcon. Time to go. I looked at the package. Part of my job was to go through the mail and get rid of anything that didn’t really demand his attention. So I opened it.
It contained a pagoda. A label described it as a “genuine replica of the Ashantay Pagoda.” I wasn’t sure what a genuine replica was, but the thing was made of smooth black metal. It was gorgeous. The base had tiny windows and a doorway. Six balconies rose above it, with pent roofs, capped by a finial. There was an accompanying pamphlet: Congratulations, it said. You now own the Baylor prize-winning all-purpose air purifier. Operate as directed and be assured the air you breathe will be the freshest, purest that—
I took it out of the box and set it on my desk. But the moment it touched the wood, it activated. Lights came on in the windows, and I felt energy begin to pulse through it.
In fact, the interior, from the base to the top of the finial, lit up. The lights began to dim and brighten. The process accelerated into a chaotic display.
My head began to spin. And I was sucking in air. Then not sucking in air. My heart began to pound, and the office walls faded.
“Chase,” said Jacob. “Robin has arrived.”
I remember thinking about an exercise during training in which a virtual hole was punched into a ship by a meteor. Air rushes out. Tries to suck you along with it. What do you do?
What you do is faint.
“Chase,” said Jacob. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”
The floor rose and dipped, and I couldn’t get air. I tried to scream, but I don’t think I did anything except gag. Jacob was calling Alex, calling help, help, she’s down, something’s wrong.
A door opened and closed upstairs, and I heard Alex on the stairs. The office was getting dim, the walls closing in, darkness closing in. And I was suddenly far away and at peace.
Then I was outside lying on the ground on a
“No. Not that I know of.”
“Nothing at all?”
“Well—”
“Yes, Henry?”
“It’s nothing really. I remember hearing that she’d quit after one of the tours. Came home and quit. I don’t know why. If I ever knew, I don’t remember. I don’t even remember who told me, though it was probably Som.”
“Okay. One more question, then we’ll get out of your way, Henry. Do you know Hugh Conover?”
“I know of him.”
“But you never met him?”
“Not that I can recall. He was an archeologist or something.”
“An anthropologist, I believe. I don’t guess you have any idea how we might reach him?”
“I don’t know. Try the directory?”
Robin Simmons called that night to ask if we could meet for lunch the next day. I liked Robin, and I said sure, thereby saving my life. And Alex’s.
Robin had started as a lawyer but decided somewhere along the line he preferred kids and classrooms. High-school level, where, he said, minds were still open. (“At least some of them.”) So he now taught courses in politics and history at Mount Kira. When people asked why he’d given up his legal career to teach, he claimed it was because the money’s better.
He had brown hair and brown eyes. He approached life casually and was a guy who would have been indistinguishable in a crowd, I guess, until you got to know him. But he was bright, and he had a sense of humor. I was beginning to think that I’d miss him if he went away.
I spent the morning doing routine stuff. Alex was working upstairs. At about eleven, Jacob announced that Expressway had arrived with a package.
Jack Napier was the local delivery guy. He came in with a box, something about the right size for a very long pair of shoes. He set it down on a side table, I signed for it, and he left.
The package carried a return address for Baylor Purchasing, which told me nothing. It had been sent to Rainbow, attention Alex Benedict. I left it where it was and went back to work.
A little while later, a car pulled into the driveway. Robin in his svelte black-and-white Falcon. Time to go. I looked at the package. Part of my job was to go through the mail and get rid of anything that didn’t really demand his attention. So I opened it.
It contained a pagoda. A label described it as a “genuine replica of the Ashantay Pagoda.” I wasn’t sure what a genuine replica was, but the thing was made of smooth black metal. It was gorgeous. The base had tiny windows and a doorway. Six balconies rose above it, with pent roofs, capped by a finial. There was an accompanying pamphlet: Congratulations, it said. You now own the Baylor prize-winning all-purpose air purifier. Operate as directed and be assured the air you breathe will be the freshest, purest that—
I took it out of the box and set it on my desk. But the moment it touched the wood, it activated. Lights came on in the windows, and I felt energy begin to pulse through it.
In fact, the interior, from the base to the top of the finial, lit up. The lights began to dim and brighten. The process accelerated into a chaotic display.
My head began to spin. And I was sucking in air. Then not sucking in air. My heart began to pound, and the office walls faded.
“Chase,” said Jacob. “Robin has arrived.”
I remember thinking about an exercise during training in which a virtual hole was punched into a ship by a meteor. Air rushes out. Tries to suck you along with it. What do you do?
What you do is faint.
“Chase,” said Jacob. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”
The floor rose and dipped, and I couldn’t get air. I tried to scream, but I don’t think I did anything except gag. Jacob was calling Alex, calling help, help, she’s down, something’s wrong.
A door opened and closed upstairs, and I heard Alex on the stairs. The office was getting dim, the walls closing in, darkness closing in. And I was suddenly far away and at peace.
Then I was outside lying on the ground on a
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