Octavia Gone

by Jack McDevitt

  “Why do you say that?” asked Alex.

  “There was a period of about thirty hours during every orbit when they lost communication with everyone. When they got completely behind the black hole. That was when they disappeared. It’s hard to believe that was a coincidence.”

  “They had a shuttle,” said Alex. “I assume it didn’t have a star drive?”

  “That’s correct. Charlotte would take it to the place where they were expecting the cannon pods to surface, and she’d stay there for weeks at a time.”

  “Completely alone?”

  “Yes. There was too much travel involved to bring her back regularly to the station.”

  “And the shuttle had no star drive? And no hypercomm?”

  Denver shook his head. “I guess they saw no need for it.”

  Gabe didn’t look happy. “Do you have any idea at all if anyone had a reason to destroy the station?”

  “No. The common theory is that it was aliens. And I know that sounds absurd. But it’s all we have.”

  “Is there any possibility it could have simply exploded?”

  “DPSAR has gone over that again and again.” He shook his head. “They maintain it’s impossible.” He looked as frustrated as I felt.

  “You don’t really buy the alien theory, do you?” I asked.

  “No. I think it was Greene. I don’t know how he beat the lie detectors, but I suspect he managed it somehow. It’s the only explanation that makes any sense. It’s a pity they couldn’t find enough evidence to convict him. They didn’t even have enough to take him to trial.” He looked up at the clock centered between a pair of windows. “All right. I can’t imagine we have anything that will assist your search. If you can think of any way we might be able to help, let me know. Good luck. We have the program all set to run. You’ll be in the Housman Room.”

  “You’ve named it for him?” Gabe asked.

  “Oh yes. It seemed like the least we could do. Del Housman, like his three colleagues, gave his life in pursuit of scientific advance. And he contributed a major breakthrough in the process.” He got out of his chair, looking thoroughly annoyed. “Probably killed by a lunatic ex-boyfriend.” He closed his eyes momentarily. “Follow me, please.”

  • • •

  The Housman Room wasn’t much larger than Denver’s office. It was furnished with half a dozen chairs and a table. A young woman was waiting when we entered. We sat down, and Denver told us the show would begin in a minute or two and explained that the events portrayed were taking place two weeks before the Octavia team had located the wormhole. At that time, Harding and Womack were in the space station, Housman was in the cannon’s operational center, and Hill was millions of kilometers away in the shuttle. He turned to the woman. “This is Elizabeth Pope. She’s an associate and will take you through the program.” He introduced us and said that if he could help us in any way, we shouldn’t hesitate to stop by his office. Then he left.

  “Before we get started,” Elizabeth said, “does anybody need anything?” I’d have liked a gin and tonic but Alex would never have approved. This was serious business.

  She’d barely settled into a seat before the lights began to dim. A male voice welcomed us to Octavia. He informed us that they’d selected this black hole for the project because space-time continuities in the area had more fluctuations than would normally have occurred. He also mentioned that several thousand g-class suns would have been needed to provide its mass.

  The room grew dark and began to expand. Windows formed, and dim specks of light appeared outside and slowly brightened into stars.

  We were inside the space station. Two men were standing in front of a display that depicted Housman seated at a control board. “Rick Harding is the one in the white sweater,” said the narrator. “The other is Archie Womack. Rick’s responsibility is to maintain the operational equipment. Archie has dedicated much of his career to wormhole theory. At the time this was recorded they were still trying to locate the wormhole. They do that by launching probes from the cannon into areas that are deemed promising. The probes are small, not quite the size of coins. Charlotte Hill is in the shuttle several million kilometers away. The probes put out radio signals. Wormhole theory at that time indicated where the probes should emerge, which would be a considerable distance from where they’d be found if they were traveling in normal space.

  “The probes also detect and measure various conditions that would be expected inside a wormhole. Housman and Womack are trying to track the probes, although that is seldom productive because the radio signals tend to be disrupted by the conditions usually encountered close to black holes.”

  Housman looked out at his colleagues and shook his head. “Nothing yet.”

  The narrator continued: “Once they succeed in establishing that the wormhole exists, which they will do less than two weeks after the scene we are watching, they will be able to fire a different category of probes directly into the hole, and then attempt to find exits that will eventually permit us to determine the possibilities. Do the exits provide only shortcuts to distant places? Or will they permit entry into another universe?”

  It was hard to miss the growing frustration as the process continued, as thousands of probes were launched into the area that the researchers thought should have been home to the wormhole. The probes, however, did not get lost. They continued without vanishing and were eventually found by Charlotte at exactly the place they would have been if the wormhole didn’t exist.

  The interior of the shuttle appeared on the display. Charlotte was seated in the cockpit, obviously aware that she was being recorded. She swung around in her chair, facing the camera, delivered a smile, and raised her left hand to greet the viewers.

  • • •

  When the lights all came back, Elizabeth Pope stood and asked if we had any questions.

  “Elizabeth,” asked Gabe, “if they find the wormhole, what do they hope to learn from the probes? Other than entrances and exits?”

  “Basically, the conditions of the passage. Does time run at the same rate in the wormhole? For example, would it be a good idea to take a book along? Is there anything in the experience that would endanger travelers? Are there conditions that would prevent electrical equipment from operating? We have a great deal to learn. We do not want to send manned vehicles into a wormhole until we know all the effects.”

  I was glad to hear it. There was no way anyone would ever be able to persuade me to fly into a wormhole.

  XI.

  We mourn the loss of those we love and care about, thinking of them as taken too soon, regardless of age. But it is the price of living. We are all taken too soon.

  —TULISOFALA, “MOUNTAIN PASSES,” TRANSLATED FROM ASHIYYUREAN BY LEISHA TANNER, 1202

  I’ve spent a lot of time on Skydeck over the years. You can’t help meeting techs, pilots, and physicists up there. Some of them eventually sign on with the Quantum Research Group, which had been a major player in the effort to solve the Octavia mystery. I ran some searches for QRG guys that I knew and found one, a communications specialist. I could recall actually seeing him just once, in one of the restaurants. But I’d spoken with him frequently by radio from the Belle-Marie. I brought up a couple of pictures and would not have recognized him. His name was Bill Abbate.

  Bill was listed currently as a telescope technician at QRG. I called him. An AI answered and explained he’d get back to me, and twenty minutes later he did. “It’s good to hear from you again, Chase,” he said, rising from a chair. He was tall and slim, with blond hair, a smooth complexion, and liquid brown eyes. “What can I do for you?”

  “Bill, I’d like to record this call if you’ve no objection.”

  “Uh-oh,” he said. “Is there a lawsuit pending over one of our dockings?”

  We both laughed. “My boss has gotten interested in the Octavia thing. Some friends had connections with a couple of the people who were lost when it disappeared. Did you guys ever come up with any k
ind of reasonable theory as to what happened?”

  “Feel free to record. And unfortunately, no. We literally spent years looking at it, Chase. We put together a lot of theories. We sent vehicles out there and orbited the black hole trying to come up with something. The only thing that was still there when we arrived was the cannon. The station and the shuttle were both gone. I was still working at Skydeck at the time, and for several years afterward we continued to struggle with it. When I moved down here, five or six years had passed. The level of frustration was off the charts. It was why Walton quit.” He was referring to the project director.

  “She ran the search?”

  “Yes. The people here tell me she always blamed herself.”

  “Why did she do that?”

  “QRG was tasked with leading the investigation. Everybody said she left because she’d been the boss, so she felt responsible. She’s the reason we never reactivated the program. Since we didn’t know what had occurred, she was concerned it could happen again.”

  “Walton’s running DPSAR now, isn’t she?”

  “Yes. We’re actually a branch of DPSAR. But you probably know that. Walton came out of it okay, as far as her career was concerned. Though I don’t think she ever got past it.”

  “What do you think happened, Bill?”

  “Hell, Chase, I have no idea. Maybe something exploded. It would have had to be when everybody was in the station because we never found any sign of the shuttle either. So something blew up, knocked them out of orbit or whatever, and they fell into the hole.”

  “Is that possible? You run that by anybody?”

  “Sure. I talked to some of the techs. They all claimed that it wasn’t possible, that there was nothing in the place that could have exploded accidentally. It could have happened if somebody had set the thrusters to overload. That would have blown a hole in the place. But it’s just ridiculous.”

  “So what does that leave?”

  “Aliens?” He sighed. “I don’t see what else it could have been. I know the Mutes deny being anywhere near it. But who knows? Maybe there was somebody else out there.”

  “Have you been there, Bill? Out to the black hole?”

  “No. I could have gone a couple of times. But I don’t want to have anything to do with the damned thing. Whatever did happen, I think it’s pretty obvious they got sucked in.”

  • • •

  I reported everything to Alex. He showed no interest in watching the visual record. “No point,” he said. “If there were anything odd going on, you’d have picked it up.”

  A book lay open on his desk. “What is it?” I asked.

  “Lost in the Stars. It’s a biography of Del Housman.”

  “You find anything of interest?”

  “He had a difficult childhood. He loved physics, and consequently he was one of those kids everybody in the schoolyard picked on.”

  “I think Gabe told us about that.”

  “Yeah. He was pretty smart. He had a passion for black holes right from the start. Got his PhD here, at Andiquar, started contributing articles to Cosmic and the Central Review. He was fifty-one when he applied for Octavia. He was passed over twice for more experienced people, but they got nowhere and they were about to close the project down when he got involved. Somehow he was able to persuade Lashonda Walton to stay with it. By then he’d made some serious contributions to quantum research and black hole theory.”

  “I assume he was responsible for Charlotte Hill getting the assignment?”

  “Yes, he was, Chase. They were friends. She set herself up by getting a license to operate the shuttle.”

  “Those things are pretty easy. If you can’t run a shuttle, they shouldn’t let you out by yourself.”

  “Whatever, kid.”

  “Do we know why he wanted to bring her along? Was there something sexual going on?”

  “Hertzog doesn’t think so.”

  “He’s the author?”

  “Yes. Sorry. No, if there’d been an affair, there would have been no way to keep it from Harding and Womack. They were both asked about it in communications from home. And both said nothing was going on. Neither showed any inclination to duck the question.” He took a long look at me. “Why do you ask?”

  “Idle curiosity, I guess. Just looking for something that might explain an eruption. Maybe an affair with one of the others.”

  “Could be,” Alex said. “But it seems unlikely. She was young and beautiful. Why would she want to get involved with one of those older guys? No, I just don’t buy it. By the way, if you’re interested, I watched Hertzog getting interviewed on one of the Science Today programs. It was recorded about seven years ago.” He paused. “It has some emotional moments.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Hertzog obviously felt a lot of sympathy for Housman. They were longtime friends. He says that Housman was determined to make an impact on scientific progress. Discover something that mattered. Hertzog’s one solemn wish is that Housman could have lived long enough to find out he’d won the Exeter.”

  • • •

  Alex changed his mind the following day and listened to my conversation with Bill Abbate. When he’d finished he asked me to contact him again.

  Bill was out somewhere, so I set up a call for the next morning. His AI got back to me and said that he’d be in our area next day, and was it okay if he dropped by at about nine?

  I was on the porch when he arrived precisely on time. “I couldn’t resist taking advantage of an opportunity to spend some time with Alex,” he said.

  “You’ve met him before. When you were working on Skydeck.”

  “I know. But that was just writing tickets. It isn’t quite the same as this. I’ve always thought I’d like to be part of one of his investigations. I don’t want to do it all by phone. Does he have any idea yet what happened?”

  “If he does, he’s keeping it to himself.” Jacob opened the door. “Come in. I’ll let him know you’re here.”

  Alex already knew about his visitor. He walked into the office before we’d even gotten settled. “Good to meet you, Bill,” he said. “I appreciate the material you’ve already given us.”

  “I wish I could be more help, Dr. Benedict,” Bill said.

  “Call me Alex. The most difficult part of this business is that we never got a transmission from Octavia. It’s hard not to conclude that someone set up an attack and chose his timing carefully.”

  “That makes sense to me.”

  “Can you think of any reason why someone, anyone, would have wanted to do that?”

  “The only one I can think of with a motive is Reggie Greene.”

  “Could a bomb have been planted on the station by a visitor? Did they get visitors?”

  “Supply vehicles went out there periodically. I understand the delivery people were all questioned and eliminated as possible suspects. If anybody else showed up out there, we’d have known about it.”

  “Could a bomb have been built into the station by someone?”

  “It couldn’t have gotten past the inspections. Look, Alex, as far as I know, no one has turned out to have any kind of motive other than Charlotte’s old boyfriend.”

  “Would you like a drink, Bill?”

  “Absolutely.” He looked my way. “Can you put together a valo delight, Chase?”

  Alex wanted a golden quibble, and I settled for some dark wine. When I came back with them, Alex was asking about the standard response that would have occurred if an unexpected vehicle showed up close to the station. “They report it immediately. Including an ID if they succeed in making one.”

  “By hypercomm?”

  “Yes.”

  “There were no reports of another ship during the period leading up to the disappearance?”

  Bill shook his head. “The last vehicle they had contact with was the Prendel. It was a supply ship.”

  “Did the crew on the Prendel report anything unusual?”

  “No.” />
  “Suppose someone showed up when they were all asleep?”

  “It wouldn’t matter. An alarm would have gone off before anyone could have gotten near them.”

  • • •

  Chad was moving increasingly into my life. My schedule was flexible because I periodically spent weeks on the bridge of the Belle-Marie, and I’d never made an issue of it. Consequently Alex had no reservations about allowing me whatever free time I needed, as long as I didn’t get ridiculous about it. On his side, Chad had no problem with scheduling because he owned the Collectors’ Library. So we spent a substantial number of mornings wandering along the Riverwalk, afternoons on the beach, and evenings at theaters and the Magisterium Dance Hall in Salazar. It was a good time.

  He was easy to talk to. The guy had a sense of humor, and he was willing to listen when I brought up the Octavia. I know he got bored because he didn’t think a solution was possible. But when I got started on the subject, he let me go on, asked a few questions, and in the end inevitably commented that sometimes things just happen. “It’s not a perfect world, Chase.” He made it clear that if there was anything he could do, I shouldn’t hesitate to ask. But that he’d be happier if I just let the damned thing go.

  I recall thinking that the day would come when I’d walk past those restaurants and beaches and wish that I hadn’t let him get away.

  XII.

  The most common cause of plans going wrong and operations collapsing can usually be traced to a communication breakdown. The secret to management success, in peace or war, is to explain strategy in clear terms, and to listen. Acquire those two skills, and fate will be kind.

  —CHRISTOPHER SIM, MAN AND OLYMPIAN, 1206

  We got a call from the Action Network. A small, balding man with a carefully trimmed beard blinked on in my office. He was seated at a display. A dark brown jacket hung on a hook directly behind him. He identified himself as Benjamin Hollingsworth, the producer of The Morning Report. “May I speak with Alex Benedict, please?”