Seeker

by Jack McDevitt

  “Probably not.”

  “Chase, I think they found the Seeker.”

  “The space station? But she said it had lights.”

  “A child’s memory.”

  “I think she’d remember if it had no lights. I think that would be a striking feature.”

  “She might have been looking at reflections from their navigation lights.”

  “All right. But if they did—and I don’t for a minute believe it—they would also have found Margolia.”

  “Not necessarily.”

  I was on the sofa, and I felt the air go out of it as I leaned back. “It’s only a cup,” I said. “They could have got it anywhere. It might have been lying around for thousands of years.”

  “In somebody’s attic?”

  “More or less.”

  He tried to smother a laugh, then gave up.

  “If they found the Seeker, why didn’t they find Margolia?”

  “I don’t know. That’s a question we’d want to answer.”

  “Why didn’t they report finding the ship?”

  “If they had, Survey would have owned it. And everybody in the Confederacy would have been out there poking around. I’m guessing the Wescotts didn’t want that. And if they discovered it later, on their own, they could claim it for themselves.” He looked excited. “So we proceed on that assumption. First thing is to find the Seeker. Which is going to be in one of the systems they visited.”

  “Their last Survey mission,” I said. “How many planetary systems were involved in that last flight? Do we know?”

  “Nine.”

  “Well, that should make it simple enough. Margolia will be a terrestrial world located in the biozone. Nine systems will take a while to look at, but it can be done.”

  “I don’t think it would be that easy.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because if we’re right, the Wescotts knew where the Seeker was. Yet they apparently had to make a number of flights. No landfall, though, according to Delia. So they didn’t find the lost colony. Why not?”

  “Beats me.”

  “It suggests the colony isn’t in the same system as the Seeker.”

  “Maybe they found the place and just didn’t let Delia out of the ship.”

  “Don’t you think they’d have said something if they’d come across Margolia? Discovery of the age? There’d be no reason to sit on that. No, I think, for whatever reason, the Seeker and Margolia aren’t located in the same place.”

  “That means we’d be hunting through nine planetary systems for a ship?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, we can do that, too. But it would take some time.”

  “Chase, we can’t even be sure they made the discovery on the last mission. They might have found it earlier and thought it a good idea to do nothing for a while. After all, how would it look if they left Survey prematurely, then a couple years later, or whatever, they make a major discovery in one of the systems they’d recently visited officially?”

  That would pile up the numbers. “How many systems did the previous mission visit?”

  “Eleven.” He went over to the window. It was a cold, gloomy day. And a storm was approaching. “We have to pin things down a bit. I think what we need to do is talk with the Wescotts.” He folded his hands together and braced his chin on them. “Jacob?”

  “Yes, Alex?”

  “Be good enough to get us Adam and Margaret Wescott.” Since they were long dead, he was of course referring to their avatars, which might or might not exist.

  Even if no avatar were available, it was possible for a reasonably competent AI to cobble together what the records implied about a given individual and create a personality, within a given margin of error.

  For almost three thousand years, people have been constructing their own avatars as “gifts” to posterity. The net is full of them, mostly creations of men and women who’d lived their lives and moved on to the hereafter leaving no other trace of their existence than their natural offspring and whatever they’d installed in cyberspace. This latter type of avatar was of course notoriously unreliable, because it tended to be a wish-fulfillment ideal. It was usually the embodiment of wit, or virtue, or courage, constructed of qualities its original never approached. I doubt anybody has ever put an avatar into the system without improving it substantially over the original model. They even look better.

  Neither Margaret nor Adam had submitted an avatar, but Jacob told us he had enough information on both to provide credible mock-ups.

  Margaret blinked on first, near the door. Her black hair was cut short in a style long since abandoned. Clearly a woman of the nineties. She stood looking around like the person in charge, which was a good thing when you were a pilot and might run into problems a thousand light-years from home. She wore a dark blue jumpsuit with a shoulder patch marked Falcon.

  Adam appeared moments later in the center of the room. He was formally dressed, red jacket, gray shirt, black slacks. He was in his midforties, with a long face and a set of features that looked as if they didn’t smile much.

  Alex did the introductions. Chairs appeared for both avatars, and they sat down. There were some comments about the weather, and how nice the office and the house looked. That sort of thing happens all the time. Obviously it’s of no significance to the avatars, but Alex seems to need the process to get into the right frame of mind. He’s used avatars on several occasions to confirm or negate data regarding the existence and/ or location of various antiquities. But there’s a method to it, and if you ask him, he’ll tell you that you have to go the whole route, accept the illusion you’re talking to real people and not just to mock-ups.

  The country house was positioned atop a low hill, where it got a lot of wind. We were getting strong cold gusts out of the northeast, rattling windows and shaking trees. There was a taste of more snow in the air. “Storm coming,” said Margaret.

  The trees were close to the house, and on some days the wind was so bad that Alex worried that one of them would come down on the roof. He said something to that effect to Margaret and moved on to the missions. How long had Adam been employed by Survey?

  “Fifteen years,” Adam said. “I was part of those projects for fifteen years. I held the record for most years in the field.”

  “How much of that time,” Alex asked, “did you actually spend in the ship?”

  He looked at his wife. “Almost all of it. We did a mission a year, on average. A mission generally lasted eight to ten months. Sometimes more, sometimes less. Between flights, I usually accepted academic and lab assignments. Sometimes I just took the time off.”

  “Obviously, Margaret, you weren’t always his pilot. You’re too young.”

  She smiled, pleased with the compliment. “Adam had been making the flights for four years before he showed up on the Falcon.”

  “That was your ship all along?”

  “Yes. I had the Falcon from day one with Survey. I was in my second year with them when I met Adam.”

  “On our first mission together,” Adam said, “we decided to get married.” He exchanged glances with her.

  “Love at first sight,” Alex said.

  Adam nodded. “Love always happens at first sight.”

  “I was fortunate,” said Margaret. “He’s a good man.”

  Alex looked my way. “Chase, when you were with Survey, did you ever think about marrying any of your passengers?”

  “Not a chance,” I said.

  He grinned and turned back to Adam. “You say nobody has spent more time than you in Survey’s ships. Fifteen years out there, usually with only one other person on board. Nobody else is even close. The runner-up is at eight.”

  “Baffle.”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “Emory Baffle. He was the runner-up.”

  “Did you know him?”

  “I met him.” Adam smiled. “He was a hard worker. And I know what you’re thinking. You and Chase over there.”
>
  “What are we thinking?”

  “That we’re antisocial. But it’s not so.”

  “Never thought it was,” I put in.

  “Look. The truth is, I liked company. We both did. Especially Margaret. But I had a passion for the work.”

  Margaret nodded. “He was the best they had.”

  Most pilots don’t stay long with Survey. You go in, get some experience, and go elsewhere. Money’s better in other places, and you get more company. Long flights with, at best, a handful of people on board can be wearing. When I was working for them, I couldn’t wait to transfer out.

  “Were you both skiing enthusiasts?” Alex asked.

  “I was,” said Margaret. “God help me, I talked him into going to Orinoco—”

  “The ski resort?”

  “Yes. We’d been there before. A few times. For how little skiing he did, he was quite good at it.”

  “What actually happened at Orinoco?”

  “It was an earthquake. It was ironic. They were putting out avalanche advisories, telling us to stay off the slopes. Conditions were bad. But the quake hit instead.”

  “No advance warning?”

  “No. They’d never had a problem there, and nobody was paying attention, I guess.”

  “How long had you been retired from Survey at that time? When the accident happened?”

  “Six years.”

  “Why did you leave?”

  They looked at each other. And here was the crunch. If the Wescotts had been hiding something, they’d not have made it available on the net, and the avatars wouldn’t know.

  “We just decided we’d had enough. We were ready to stop. To go home.”

  “So you pulled the plug.”

  “Yes. We settled down in Sternbergen. It’s outside Andiquar.”

  Alex sat quietly for a moment, drumming his fingertips on the arm of the sofa. “But within a short time after leaving Survey, you were making more flights.”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  Adam, who’d been quietly watching Margaret field the answers, took that one: “We missed the old days. We both loved going out alone like that. You know, until you’ve cruised past some of those worlds, you don’t really know what it means. We started feeling earthbound.”

  “It looks,” said Alex, “as if you started feeling earthbound right after you moved into Sternbergen.”

  Margaret grinned. “Yes. It didn’t take long.”

  “We discovered,” said Adam, “we couldn’t just go out and sit on the porch. We both loved what we’d been doing for a living. We missed it.”

  “Then why not come out of retirement? Let Survey pay the bills?”

  “Yeah,” said Adam, “we could have done that. But I think we liked just being able to do things at our own pace, without clearing projects with anyone. Without needing permission. We had the resources to do what we wanted, so that’s what we did.”

  “I think, too,” said Margaret, “we wanted Delia to see what was out there.”

  “She was very young.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Too young to understand.”

  “No,” said Adam. “She was old enough to see how beautiful it is. How tranquil.”

  “She could have gone along on the Survey missions.”

  “Actually, she did,” said Margaret. “She made two with us. But we felt it was important to be able to manage our own schedule.”

  Alex looked from one to the other. “Is it possible you were searching for something?”

  “Like what?” asked Margaret.

  “Like Margolia.”

  They both laughed. “Margolia’s a myth,” she said. “There’s no such place.”

  “No,” said Alex. “It’s not a myth. It happened.”

  Both of them protested that we couldn’t be serious.

  “When you were running the Survey missions,” Alex continued, “did you ever discover anything unusual?”

  “Sure.” Adam lit up. “We found two suns closing on each other in the Galician Cloud. They’ll impact in less than a thousand years. Something else, too, during, I think, the next mission—”

  “Hold it,” Alex said. “I’m talking about artifacts.”

  “Artifacts?”

  “Yes. Did you ever come across any artifacts? Anything from another age?”

  “Once.” Adam’s features clouded. “We found an abandoned lander one time. At Arkensfeldt. It was from a Dellacondan ship. Couple centuries old.”

  “I don’t think that’s what we’re looking for.”

  Adam shrugged. “With a pilot and a passenger on board.”

  “You had, in your home, a drinking cup that we were able to date from about the twenty-eighth century, terrestrial calendar.”

  They replied simultaneously, Adam saying he knew nothing about an antique cup and Margaret saying it wasn’t so.

  “We think it was in the bedroom. At your home in Sternbergen.”

  “Not that I can recall,” said Adam.

  Margaret shook her head vehemently. “I’m sure I’d know if we’d had anything like that.”

  “Let it go,” said Alex. “It apparently wasn’t included in your programing.”

  Which to my mind proved that the Wescotts knew they had something to hide. They’d put it up there in tribute to themselves, but apparently no mention of it was made outside the house.

  Shortly before closing time, Jacob informed me a visitor was approaching. “Descending now,” he said.

  There was no one on the appointments calendar.

  “Who is it, Jacob?” I asked.

  “It’s Mr. Bolton. Calling for Alex.”

  I went to the window and looked out. The storm that had been threatening all day had finally arrived. Light snow had begun falling, but I knew it was going to get worse. “Patch it here, Jacob,” I said. “He’s busy at the moment.”

  A black-and-yellow corporate vehicle drifted down out of the gray sky. The BBA logo was displayed in heavy yellow letters on its hull. I hit the intercom. “Boss,” I said. “Ollie Bolton’s here. Making for the pad.”

  He acknowledged. “I see him. Be right down.”

  An image formed in the office. Bolton, seated in the back of the aircraft. “Hello, Chase,” he said, cheerily. “It’s a pleasure to see you again.”

  “Hello, Ollie.”

  “I apologize for dropping by without warning. I happened to be in the neighborhood.”

  I mentioned earlier that Bolton possessed the kind of gravitas that you associate with the occasional serious political leader. He never forgot a name, and he had a reputation for being both methodical and persistent. He was, an associate once told me, the kind of guy you wanted to have on your side when things weren’t going well. Still, there was something about him that put me off. Maybe it was a sense that he thought he could see things that people around him were missing.

  “What can we do for you, Ollie?” I said.

  “I was hoping to have a few moments with Alex.”

  “I’m right here.” Alex strode into the room. “What are you up to, Ollie?”

  “Not much. I was sorry I didn’t get a chance to talk with you at the Caucus.”

  I was still standing by the window. The skimmer touched down and a door opened.

  “To be honest,” said Alex, “I thought you had your hands full fending off the true believer.”

  “Kolchevsky? Yes, and unfortunately we shouldn’t take him lightly. He’s been in touch with me since.”

  “Really? About what?”

  “He’s pushing legislation to put us out of business.”

  “I’ve heard that before.”

  “I think he’s serious this time.”

  “He won’t get anywhere,” said Alex. “We both satisfy the public’s taste to own a piece of history.”

  “I hope you’re right.” The Bolton image blinked off, Bolton himself climbed out of the aircraft, pulled on a white-brimmed cap, and started
leisurely up the walkway, pausing to frown at the threatening skies. He tugged his collar up, glanced in my direction, waved, and proceeded to the front door, which opened for him.

  Alex met him, brought him back to the office, and poured him a drink. “Social call?” he asked.

  “More or less. I wanted you to know about Kolchevsky. We need to present a united front.”

  “I don’t think there’s too much to worry about. But sure, I’m with you.”

  “To be honest, Alex, there’s something else. I was on my way back to my place when an idea hit me.”

  “Okay.”

  “It involves you.”

  They sat down on opposite sides of the coffee table. “In what way?”

  Bolton glanced in my direction. “It might be best if we talked privately.”

  Alex waved the idea out of the room. “Ms. Kolpath is privy to all aspects of the operation.”

  “Very good.” Bolton brightened. “Yes, I should have realized.” He complimented the wine and made a comment about the weather. Then: “We’ve been in competition for a long time, Alex. And I can’t see how either of us benefits from that situation. I propose an alliance.”

  Alex frowned. “I don’t think—”

  “Hear me out. Please.” He turned his attention to me. “Mr. Benedict has a flair for locating original sites.” He took a deep breath and cleared his throat. “But Bolton Brothers has the resources to exploit that capability to the fullest. If we were to combine Rainbow Enterprises with BBA, we’d have far more financial muscle to work with. And you’d have a Confederacy-wide network of researchers behind you. None of them is in your league, of course, but they could do the grunt work. It would be to everyone’s advantage.”

  Alex sat quietly a moment. Then: “Ollie, I appreciate the offer. But the truth is, I prefer to work on my own.”

  Bolton nodded. “I’m not surprised you feel that way. But why don’t you take some time? Think it over? I mean—”

  “No. Thanks, Ollie. I like having my own organization. And anyhow, you don’t need me. You seem to be prospering nicely.”

  “It’s not so much what I need,” he said. “It’s just that I’d enjoy working with you. Side by side with the best in the business.” He sat back. “I need not mention there’d be an appropriate position for Chase.”