Time Travelers Never Die - Jack McDevitt [9]
“I see how that turned out.”
“He can be a difficult man, Dr. Shelborne. He told me it was unlikely to occur, but just on the off chance—I think that was his exact phrasing—just on the off chance he dropped out of sight, I was to call you and put this in your hands.” He opened a side drawer and took out an envelope.
“How long ago was this?”
“It was in June. Four months ago.” He handed the envelope over. “I don’t believe we’ve ever had a request quite like this before.”
Shel’s full name was printed on it. Adrian George Shelborne. He looked at the lawyer and opened it. Inside he found a metal key and a note in his father’s handwriting.
Adrian, the key is for a rental mailbox at the local UPS. Inside you’ll find three Q-pods. Destroy them. I don’t simply mean you should throw them away. But take them apart. Hammer them flat. Throw them into a fire. Then weigh them down and drop what’s left into the ocean.
Don’t say anything to anyone about them. Even Jerry is not to know. Just destroy them and forget them. Nobody else knows they exist. Keep it that way.
You and Jerry are now the owners of Swifton, with about 70% of the stock. You guys will do what you want, but I advise you to keep it. Put Markeson in charge. You can trust him.
The two of you will also inherit the bulk of the estate. I’ve arranged for modest contributions to a couple of charities. Again, handle the details however you like. I want to thank you for being the son that you were. You’ve given me more pleasure over a lifetime than I could ever have hoped. I’m sorry your mother could not have lived to see who you became. Have a long and happy life.
Jerry will be getting a similar letter, but without the Q-pod details.
Love.
THEY looked like ordinary Q-pods. A little wider, maybe, than the standard devices onto which people loaded books and music and movies. Each had a power pack attached. One thing caught his attention: There was no corporate logo. The units had been assembled privately.
He took out a plastic bag and placed the Q-pods into it, then rolled it up so no one could see what was inside. He closed the mailbox, walked out of the UPS store and back toward the parking lot.
It was raining. Several people charged past, trying to get to a bus without getting wet. Down near the intersection, brakes screeched, and there was a burst of profanity.
If his father had wanted the Q-pods destroyed, why hadn’t he done it himself? In any case, what the hell was on them that he was so worried about?
He pulled out of the parking lot, turned south on Cavalier Avenue, and hit the red light at the first intersection. The windshield wipers rolled back and forth, clearing the rain. A bus pulled up alongside. While he waited for the light to change, he opened the bag and removed one of the Q-pods. It did not impress him. More compact units were available. He was about to turn it on when the car behind him beeped. The light had changed.
He rolled through the intersection, steering with his right hand. With his left, he flicked open the lid. The screen glowed and black letters appeared: ENTER ID.
Best wait until he got back to the office. He laid it on the seat beside him and turned on the radio.
HE put the Q-pods on his desk. Picked up one. Went back to ENTER ID. Spaces for seven characters appeared.
He poked in michael.
The Q-pod blinked. INVALID ID.
He tried swifton.
INVALID ID.
What else? His father had gone through a phase of using their cat’s name as a code word for everything. He tried it. Clemmie.
INVALID ID.
He kept at it until he ran out of ideas.
HE talked to Jerry that night. Jerry agreed they’d hold the stock, as long as the growth potential was reasonable. But he’d want to look at the earnings statements before committing himself.
In the morning, Shel visited Swifton Labs. His father’s company. Everybody was jittery about the future.