Echo by Jack McDevitt Page A

what do you think?”
    “Alex,” I said, “they’ve opened the door.”
    We got Brian’s voice: “The money sounds pretty good, Doug. Maybe we ought to—Oops!” Something tumbled out into the sky and began a long fall toward the ocean. “Damn,” said Brian. “Dropped it.”
    “Chase, get a fix.”
    “Already done, Alex.”
    The container disappeared into the dark.
    Alex stared at the radio. “How could you guys be so dumb?”
    “Look, Benedict.” Doug’s voice had acquired an edge. “I’m sorry I couldn’t give you what you want. I really am. But it’s gone now. So I guess that’s the end of it.”
    They were making a long turn, starting back toward the mainland. I was still staring down at the sea.
     
    So we rounded up Audree again, and, accompanied by a pair of Environmental Service specialists, we went back out a couple of days later on the Shanley , one of the agency’s all-purpose vehicles. To get the Shanley , Audree had filed a statement alleging that an archeological “object” was believed to be lying on the ocean floor.
    There was nothing in sight that morning except sea and sky. When we got into the area, we descended to an altitude of about a hundred meters and began scanning.
    The cabin was a tight fit for five people. I was used to the relatively ample accommodations of the Belle-Marie , or, for that matter, any starship. Even the smallest of the superluminals would have been downright spacious contrasted with the APV.
    The specialists were Kira Quong, the pilot, and Bailey Anderson, who oversaw the search and retrieval systems. Bailey was a big guy with a good smile whom I immediately liked. Kira was almost as tall as he was, one of the tallest women I’ve ever seen. They were the last two people on the planet you’d want to cram into that cabin. Other than size, Kira was the polar opposite of Bailey, intense, businesslike, no visible sense of humor.
    “If you’re going to dump something offshore,” Kira said, “they picked a good spot. The ocean’s fairly deep here. A bit over four kilometers.”
    We stayed in the air, circling the site while Bailey tried to find the packing case. “The currents are strong in the area,” he said. “It could have drifted a long way before hitting bottom.” His attention was entirely focused on his screens while he flipped switches and adjusted contrasts. “Do you guys,” he asked, “have any idea how much the case weighed?”
    “It needed two guys to lift,” said Alex. “I’d guess probably a couple of hundred pounds.”
    “It should have gone directly to the bottom,” I said.
    Bailey shook his head. “Not necessarily. In these currents, even a brick could travel a fair distance.” He touched a pad, and the screens went dark.
    “How can you see anything?” I asked.
    “Anything artificial down there will light up.”
    “Anything?”
    “Well, anything you’d make a packing case from.”
    “There’s something now.” In fact, two blinkers had appeared on the screen.
    Bailey tapped his finger on one. “Probably wreckage from a boat. Looks like a spar. That one is a piece of electrical equipment, I think.” He studied the picture, made more adjustments. “Yeah, that’s got to be what it is. In any case, it’s not a box.”
    “What if it’s buried in the sea bottom, Bailey?” I asked.
    “Won’t matter. We can see through the mud.”
    Kira looked up from her station. “No question about that,” she said, in a flat voice. “If it’s covered with mud, Bailey will see it.”
    Alex looked my way and signaled to be careful. It looked as if we had a broken relationship here. The disquiet in the craft picked up, there was some glaring back and forth, and Bailey’s smile became strained.
     
    We circled the area for more than an hour. “It takes time,” Audree said. “If it’s there, we’ll find it. It’s just a matter of patience.”
    Blinkers appeared continually on the display. Bailey studied each one, shook his