Charles Sheffield - The Peacock Throne

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THE PEACOCK THRONE

Charles Sheffield

A DF Books NERD’s Release

First published in Isaac Asimov's Science Fiction Magazine, February 1996

Peter Cook died a few weeks ago. I never met him, and I didn't catch the announcement, but when a

friend mentioned it to me the next day, casually over dinner atThe Pines of Rome , I felt an odd visceral

shock. Cook was just about my own age. He was one of the people who defined my sense of what is

funny, starting way back with the “Beyond The Fringe” review and continuing right through his disastrous

(and un-funny) appearance as a TV butler. The last time I actually saw him in a movie was his cameo role

as an ancient clergyman in “The Princess Bride.”

The dinner conversation that night swirled on at once to other things, but Cook's death lingered at the

back of my mind. I can see no reason for that. Everyone must die, sooner or later. But I suspect that if

Peter Cook had not died, and if I had not for that reason been for the next few days somewhat

preoccupied with intimations of mortality, the rest of this might not have happened.

But I was, and although I was busy when the phone rang and I would normally have allowed my

answering machine to take over, my residual sense of unease took over instead and I picked up the

receiver.

“Christopher Dutton?” said a quiet male voice.

“Yes."

“A mutual friend suggested that I give you a call. If you have some free time in the next couple of days, I

would like to take you to lunch or to dinner."

There is no such thing as free time. It is our most precious and irreplaceable commodity. Supposedly

there is also no such thing as a free lunch. It did not seem a good idea to offer these trite thoughts to a

stranger. Instead, I said, “Who's the mutual friend?” And, when he told me the name, “OK. What else

did he say?"

“That you tend to have your own agenda."

“Don't we all?"

“I think so.” He laughed. “I can live with that."

“I'll have to look at my calendar. Can I call you back?"

“Sure.” He gave me a number and added, “My name is Roland Pierce."

“I'll call you in a few minutes."

I would, but only after I had made another call or two. The 351 prefix on his number already told me a

lot, but I wanted to cross-check. “Convergence of evidence,” it's called. You view something from

several different directions, sniff its perfume, prick your finger on a thorn, and decide as a working

hypothesis that it is probably a rose.

Roland Pierce was a more difficult case. Was he a rose, or not? Our mutual friend was away in St.

Petersburg (Russia, not Florida) and could not be reached. Two agency friends that I called had not

heard of Pierce, but they promised to make internal phone calls and network the name.

I waited, not patiently, for a reply. You can theoretically reach anyone in the world by three

person-to-person-to-person calls, but that fact is misleading. Make the wrong calls, and you will bounce

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Charles Sheffield - The Peacock Throne

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