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