Red Planet Blues

TWENTY-ONE





I’m sure my poker face cracked; that was quite a claim. “Really?” I said.

She nodded. “My mother was his daughter; his only child. And I’m his only grandchild.”

I’d seen photos of Denny O’Reilly. He’d been a white guy, and Miss Takahashi had exquisite Asian features. She’d obviously previously encountered surprised expressions like the one I must have been wearing. “My grandmother was from Kyoto,” she said. “And my mother married a man from Tokyo. Despite that, I was hoping I’d still have a little bit of the luck o’ the Irish in my genes. I thought I could retrace my grandfather’s steps and find the Alpha.”

“But you didn’t.”

“I didn’t.”

“And now you work here?” I raised my eyebrows. “Forgive me, but, well, if you’re Denny O’Reilly’s granddaughter, shouldn’t you be, you know, rolling in it?”

“My grandmother was his mistress, not his wife.”

“He didn’t leave anything to your grandmother?”

“He didn’t leave anything to anyone. He died intestate. And in the jurisdiction he lived in, that meant it all went to his actual wife. She had no children—and, for that matter, neither did Simon Weingarten. I’m the only surviving heir of either of them—except the courts did me out of my due.”

“Ah. And when you failed to find riches here, you had to get a job.”

“Exactly.” She gestured at one of the floor models. “Have you ever thought about transferring, Mr. Lomax? A man in your line of work, it might come in handy.”

“You on commission, Reiko?”

She smiled. “Sorry.”

“So, what exactly were you hoping I could help you with?”

“Well, like I said, I wasn’t sure if I needed a detective, or what. But someone broke into my apartment last week.”

“What did they take?”

“Nothing. But the place was ransacked. I called the police, and they took my report over the phone, but that’s all.”

“Do you know what the thief was looking for?”

She said, “No,” but I could tell she was lying.

There was still no one else in the shop. It was my turn to decide if I wanted to confide in her. “You asked if I had a case. I’m actually investigating an old one: the fate of Willem Van Dyke.”

Her eyes opened wider.

“I see you know the name,” I said.

“Oh, yes. He came to Mars on the second expedition with my grandfather and Simon. Horrible man; tried to sell all the fossils out from under them.”

“That’s what your grandfather said?”

“Yes. Why do you care what happened to Van Dyke?”

“I have a client who doesn’t like loose ends.”

“Was that him? Your client? Going into the back?”

I nodded.

“He looked in bad shape.”

“He’ll be okay.”

“What’s his name?”

“Rory Pickover.”

“That was Mr. Pickover? Wow.”

“Yeah. His face needs a little work.”

“I’ll say. Why’s he interested in this?”

“You know he’s a scientist, right? He wants to find any fossils from the Alpha that might have gone into private collections, and he figures Van Dyke might be the key to that.”

“Ah,” said Reiko. “Well, maybe I can help, too. The diary mentions some names.”

“Whose diary?”

“My grandfather’s.”

“He kept a diary of the second expedition?”

“Yes, I believe so. And of the first, as well. I’ve never seen those, but . . .”

“But what? What diary are you referring to?”

“There was one of the third mission.”

“Really?” I said. “But wouldn’t that have been lost when their ship burned up on re-entry?”

“No. My grandfather beamed it home to my grandmother just before he and Simon left Mars. Of course, they were going to spend the months of the return voyage in hibernation, and only thaw out to handle re-entering Earth’s atmosphere. But he broadcast the diary just before he left Mars—in terms of his conscious time, that was less than a day before he died.”

“And you have copies of this diary?”

“Well, a copy, yes. A bound printout of it.”

I felt my eyebrows go up. “On paper?”

“Uh-huh. My grandmother never wanted it to get out; parts of the diary are very personal, and you know how things take on a life of their own once they get online. But she wanted me to know where I’d come from, and who my grandfather had been. So about a year ago, just before she died, she had a bound printout of it made, then erased the files. I have the one and only copy.”

“And it’s here on Mars?”

She didn’t answer.

“Is it?” I said.

Another hesitation, then a small nod.

“That’s what the thief was looking for,” I said. There was no point in raising my tone to make it a question; it was obviously true.

She nodded again meekly.

“Does the diary reveal the location of the Alpha?”

“No. If it did, I wouldn’t be working here. But, as I said, he mentions some collectors he’d done business with in the past.”

“Who else knows about—”

Just then, the front door slid open, and an elderly man shuffled in. “Excuse me,” Reiko said, and she went over to speak to him. From what I overheard, he was a prospector trying to decide between spending the money he’d made from his finds either on transferring or on passage back home.

I pulled out my tab and looked at the encyclopedia entry on Denny O’Reilly, particularly the stuff on his personal life. There was no mention of a mistress, although he had indeed been married at the time he’d died, and that woman, who had been dead herself for a dozen years, had inherited his estate; she’d doubtless had the money to transfer at some point, but had been killed unexpectedly in a plane crash.

The elderly customer was looking at a sample body in the window display. The man happened to be black and the body was white, but its build was similar to his own.

Since she was still busy, and since Rory would probably be a while longer, I stepped outside onto the street and used my wrist phone to call Dougal McCrae.

“Hello, Alex,” he said from the tiny screen.

“Hey, Mac. Did you guys investigate an incident at the home of a Reiko Takahashi recently?”

He looked away from the camera. “Two secs.” Then his freckled face turned back to me. “Yeah, a B&E. Kaur handled it. Strange; nothing taken.”

“What can you tell me about Miss Takahashi?”

He looked off camera again. “No wants, no warrants. Life-support tax paid in full. Came here three months ago. Works at NewYou—you’ve met her, remember?”

I nodded. “Thanks, Mac. Talk to you later.”

“One thing while I’ve got you, Alex.”

“Sure.”

“We’ve had a couple of missing-persons reports.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. A woman named Lakshmi Chatterjee and a man named Darren Cheung. Logged out of the dome, but apparently never returned. They rented a Mars buggy, and she rented a surface suit; the rental firm wants them back.”

“I can imagine so.”

“Same log shows that you and Dr. Pickover went out shortly before them.”

“I brought my suit back.”

“With a cracked helmet.”

“Shoddy workmanship,” I said.

Mac looked at me dubiously.

“Anyway,” I said, “I’ll let you know if I see them.”

“You do that, Alex.”

I nodded, shook the phone off, and started to head back inside. I was startled by the door sliding open before I’d reached it—it was the old man, coming out. “What did you decide?” I asked amiably.

He narrowed his eyes, as if wondering what business it was of mine. But he answered nonetheless. “I’m going home.”

He didn’t look like he was in good enough shape to hack the gravity on the mother world. “Really?” I said.

“Yup. Going back to Lunaport. No damn fossils anywhere there; I’ve had my fill of dead things.”

I nodded; he’d do fine there. “Bon voyage,” I said. I’d once made the effort here on Mars to see Luna without a telescope; it’s about as bright as Mercury is as seen from Earth’s surface, which is to say not very bright at all. I squeezed past the old codger and went inside.

“Sorry you didn’t make a sale,” I said to Reiko, jerking my thumb toward the front door.

“So am I,” she replied. “Sure I can’t interest you?”

I looked at her pretty face and thought that she interested me just fine. But what I said was, “About your grandfather’s diary . . .”

“Yes?”

“The thief didn’t find it. I trust you’ve got it somewhere safe.”

“Oh, yes.”

“Here at NewYou?”

“No.”

“Then where?”

She compressed her lips, and the color went out of them.

“Reiko, if you want me to investigate this, you have to trust me.”

She considered. “There’s a writer here, doing an authorized biography of my grandfather. She’s got it.”

I seriously doubted we had more than one writer, but I asked anyway. “Who?”

“Her name’s Lakshmi Chatterjee. She’s staying at Shopatsky House.”

“I thought she was doing a book about the B. Traven,” I said.

“What’s that?” asked Reiko.

It occurred to me that being a writer—or even just claiming to be one—was a great cover. You could tell people you were doing a book on just about anything, and they’d take you into their confidence. Still, if Lakshmi had the diary already, she obviously wasn’t the one who’d searched Reiko’s place. “Who else besides Lakshmi knows about the diary?”

“No one. At least, no one here on Mars. Lakshmi promised to keep it a secret.”

At that moment, Pickover came out of the back room. His face had been repaired, and although there were still two rips in his favorite shirt, I had no doubt that whatever damage there’d been underneath had also been fixed. He was followed by Horatio Fernandez. The two of them went over to the cash station to settle up.

“Okay,” I said to Reiko. “I’ll see if I can figure out who broke into your place, and, if I do, I’ll lean on them a bit—make sure they leave you alone in future.”

“Thank you, Mr. Lomax.”

“Alex. Call me Alex.”

She smiled, showing the perfect teeth again. “Thank you, Alex.”

Pickover was finished. I said goodbye to Reiko, and he and I headed outside. As soon as the door slid shut behind me, I turned to him. “You okay?”

“Good as new,” he said.

“Did he put a tracking chip in, do you think?”

“I watched him like a hawk—easy to do when someone is working on your face. I don’t think so. But I’ll get myself checked, as before.”

“Good, okay. Don’t forget.” I paused, then: “Here’s a shocker for you. Miss Takahashi is Denny O’Reilly’s granddaughter.”

“Oh, really?”

“No,” I said, unable to resist. “O’Reilly.” I waited for him to laugh—but I guess he was only laughing on the inside. “Anyway,” I said. “Yes, she is. Her grandmother was Denny’s mistress. That mechanical ticker of yours ready for another shock? There’s a diary of Weingarten and O’Reilly’s last voyage. Denny transmitted it to Miss Takahashi’s grandmother before they left Mars.”

Rory’s plastic face lit up almost—almost literally. “Oh, my God! If he recorded any paleontological details—I have to see it! There’s no known record of what they’d found on the third expedition. Who knows what treasures the Alpha yielded that were lost when their ship burned up?”

“Don’t sweat it,” I said. “I’ll get it for you. It’s at Shopatsky House, and, as we both know, the position of writer-in-residence is now vacant. I’ll go retrieve it.”

“And what about me?” asked Pickover.

I smiled my most reassuring smile. “Go home and clean some fossils. I’m going to swing by my office, then head out to get the diary. This shouldn’t take long.”