Polaris

by Jack McDevitt

  The Meriwether platform is located in solar orbit around Meriwether A, which is the largest component of a triple star system. The other two suns, however, are so dim and so far away, they’re not distinguishable from distant stars. The station is, of course, an excavated asteroid. As we approached, lights came on, and a cheerful radio voice welcomed us.

  With the advent of the quantum drive, the outstations had all become essentially obsolete. A few were kept in operation to assist ultralong missions; but there weren’t many, and they were being maintained at a limited level. “Belle says Meriwether doesn’t get more than a half dozen missions a year,” I told Alex.

  “That can’t be enough to pay the upkeep,” he said. “I suspect they’ll be closing the place within a few years.”

  I put visuals on-screen. “It’s been here a long time.”

  “How old is it?”

  “Seventeen hundred years. It goes back to Commonwealth days.” I was running data across the monitor. “Says here it was originally a naval base.”

  There’d been a period early in the history of the Commonwealth in which warfare had flared sporadically between Rimway and her nearest neighbors, Inikonda and Chao Ti. It had been a three-way conflict, never all-out, with occasional alliances between two of the warring parties against the third.

  The station continued transmitting. “. . . to have you in the area. Please state your requirements.” The voice was male. Careful diction. Vague projection of superiority. Aristocratic.

  I submitted a list of needed supplies. Fuel. Water. We had plenty of food.

  “Very good,” said the station. “Follow the lights. You’ll be coming in through Bay Four.”

  “Thank you,” I said.

  “We’re pleased to help. Is there anything else?”

  Guide lamps came on around the curve of the rock. A portal was opening. Then more lights.

  I invited Alex to respond. He nodded. “Yes,” he said. “I wonder if we could get some information about the history of the station.”

  “Of course. We have a fully automated gift shop with several applicable volumes and VRs.”

  “Excellent,” Alex said. “By the way, this is Chase Kolpath, and my name is Alex Benedict.”

  “I am pleased to meet you both.”

  “May I ask your name?”

  “George.”

  We docked. The portal closed, the bay pressurized, lights came on, doors opened, and robots began attaching fuel and water lines to the ship. We climbed out. I could see several other bays, all empty. It looked as if we were the only ones currently at the station. Ahead, deck lights came on and showed the way to an exit ramp.

  We turned into a brightly lighted carpeted sitting room. An avatar was waiting. He looked authoritative, official, competent. “Hello, Mr. Benedict,” he said cheerfully. “Ms. Kolpath. It’s good to see you. I am Captain Pinchot.” He was tall and trim, white-haired, with craggy features and a congenial smile. He wore a white uniform with an arm patch, epaulets, decorations, and a sash. The patch depicted a torch and a motto in unfamiliar characters. He smiled politely and steered us toward a group of three armchairs, centered around a dark-stained table. He waited until we were seated, then joined us. “We don’t get much company here anymore.”

  His feet didn’t quite touch the deck. The station AI needed adjustment.

  Panels opened in the table, and we were looking at two glasses of red wine and a bowl of assorted cheeses and fresh fruit. “Please, help yourselves.”

  “Thank you.” I picked up a slice of melon. It looked just off the farm, tasted that way as well, and I wondered how they managed it.

  “Your ship will be ready in one hour, ten minutes,” he said. “To get to the gift shop, simply go out the door, turn right, and follow the corridor. It’s about a three-minute walk. Do you require any other assistance?”

  “No, thank you, Captain,” I said, trying the wine.

  “I regret I can’t join you.” The avatar graciously let me see that I’d gained an admirer.

  Alex crossed one leg over the other. “May I ask how old you are, Captain?”

  Pinchot was sitting ramrod straight. “The station has been here sixteen-hundred forty-one standard years.”

  “No. I mean you, Captain. How long have you been the operating intelligence here?”

  The avatar tapped his index finger against his lips, apparently deep in thought. “I was installed in 1321 on your calendar.” A little more than a century ago. “I was an upgrade.”

  “Are you familiar with the Polaris incident? With the loss of that ship?”

  “You mean with the loss of the travelers aboard her?”

  “Yes. I see that you are.”

  “I’m familiar with the details.”

  “Captain, we’re trying to determine what might have happened.”

  “Excellent. I hope you succeed. It was, certainly, a puzzling incident.” He gazed around the room. “One of the search vessels stopped here shortly after it happened. I’m not sure what they expected to find.”

  Apparently, someone else had been thinking the way Alex had.

  “You know who the seven victims were?” Alex asked. “The ones who vanished?”

  “I know their names. And I knew one personally.”

  “Really,” I said. “Which one?”

  “Nancy White.”

  “You’re suggesting she visited here?”

  “Yes. Twice.”

  “Physically?”

  “Oh, yes. She sat right there where the young lady is.”

  “I see,” said Alex. “Did you by any chance see her again after the incident?”

  “After the incident? Oh, my, no.”

  “Did you have any visitors at all during the time period, say, three weeks on either side of the event?”

  “We had one ship during that span. Did you wish specifics?”

  “Yes, please.”

  We listened while Captain Pinchot gave us chapter and verse. The vessel had been returning from the Veiled Lady and docked seventeen days before the Polaris incident. “En route to Toxicon.”

  Alex looked thoughtful. “When was Nancy White here?”

  “In 1344. And again in 1362.”

  “Twice.”

  “Yes. She told me the first time that she would come back to see me again.”

  “She must have been quite young. The first time.”

  “She was about nineteen. Scarcely more than a child.” Something mournful had entered his aspect.

  “Tell us about it,” said Alex.

  “She and her father were passengers aboard the Milan, which was returning from a survey mission. The father was an astrophysicist.”

  Alex nodded.

  “He specialized in neutron star formation, although the mission was a routine survey effort.”

  “Just see what’s out there.”

  “Yes. There were six of them on board, not including the captain. Like the Polaris. They’d been out five months and had stretched their supplies until they were exhausted.”

  “So they stopped here before going on to Indigo,” I said.

  “Indigo was closed down at the time, Ms. Kolpath. Undergoing maintenance. This was all there was.”

  “What did you talk about?” I asked. “You and Nancy?”

  “Nothing of consequence. She was excited because she had never been off Rimway before, and her first flight had taken her so far.”

  “And she came back to see you years later. Why do you think she did that?”

  “Actually we maintained contact during the intervening years, and in fact right up until the time she boarded the Polaris.”

  “Really? She sent messages from Rimway?”

  “Oh, yes. Not often. But occasionally. We stayed in touch.” The avatar looked from Alex to me. He seemed lonely.

  “May I ask what you talked about?”

  “What she was doing with her life. Projects she was involved in. There were practical advantages for he
r. When her career as a popularizer of science began to take off, I served as a symbol for some of her presentations.”

  “A symbol?”

  “Yes. Sometimes she used me to represent an advanced life-form. Sometimes a competitor. Sometimes an indispensable friend. I served quite well. Would you care to watch one of the shows?”

  “Yes,” I said. “If you could make a copy available.”

  “We have several selections in the gift shop,” he said. “Priced quite reasonably.”

  It occurred to me that one of the books, Quantum Time, was dedicated to a Meriwether Pinchot. “That’s you, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.” There was no missing the note of pride in his voice.

  “Captain,” Alex said, “the Polaris passed close to this station during the final flight. She must have thought of you.”

  The avatar nodded. “Yes. In fact, I had two messages from her.”

  “I don’t suppose either of them shed light on what happened?”

  “Unfortunately not. The last time I heard from her was shortly after the event they went to observe. After the neutron star hit Delta Kay. She described it to me. Told me it was ‘compelling.’ That’s the word she used. Compelling. I would have thought witnessing the destruction of a sun called for a stronger reaction, but she was never much on hyperbole.” He looked momentarily wistful. “That was a good many hours before Madeleine English sent that last message.”

  “What else did she have to say?”

  “Nothing out of the ordinary. On the way out she’d told me how anxious she was to see the collision. To see the neutron star actually destroy Delta Karpis. She said she wished I could be there with her.”

  Alex looked at me. He was finished. “Captain,” I said, “thank you.”

  “It is my pleasure. I don’t often get to sit down with guests. People come so seldom, and they don’t have time to talk. Fill the tanks, recharge the generators, thank you and good-bye.”

  “Well, Captain,” I said. “I want you to know I’m pleased to have met you, and to have had a chance to spend a little time with you.”

  “Thank you, Ms. Kolpath.” He beamed. Even the uniform got brighter.

  It was good to be out of the Belle-Marie for a bit, and we decided to spend the night. There was a suite of rooms in an area the AI referred to as the Gallery. He showed us to them, chattering the whole way. “I have a wide choice of entertainment, if you like. Drama, athletic events, wild parties. Whatever you prefer. Or, we can simply sit and talk.”

  “Thanks, Captain,” I said.

  “The parties sound intriguing,” said Alex.

  “You may design whatever guests you wish. We also have an inventory of historic figures, if you’d like to participate in some stimulating conversations.”

  Tea with Julius Caesar.

  “The keys for your rooms are at the doors. Please be sure you return them before you leave.”

  The keys were remotes. Alex reached into a pocket, produced the one we’d found at Evergreen, and compared them. They didn’t look much alike.

  I collected mine, aimed it, and pressed the open function. The door folded to one side, revealing a living room. Alex showed the duplicate to the avatar. “Captain,” he said, “sixty years ago, would this key have worked on this station?”

  The captain examined it and shook his head. “No,” he said. “Setting and design are quite different.”

  I stuck my head into my apartment. Lush curtains, polished furniture, chocolate on the coffee table. A large bed piled high with pillows. Private washroom and tub. Not bad.

  “If you elect to stay five days or more,” said the avatar, “the fifth night is free.”

  “It’s tempting,” said Alex, not meaning it. The weight of centuries and the sense of decline pressed on the place. Furthermore, Meriwether felt remote. On Belle, we could be a couple hundred light-years from anybody else, but you didn’t notice it. In the outstation, though, you knew precisely where you were. The nearest person was one hell of a long way off, and you were conscious of every kilometer. Alex saw me grinning. “What?” he said.

  “I could use a good party.”

  Markop III was hardly worth a visit. But we went anyhow, because Alex insisted on being thorough.

  It was an attractive world, lots of blue water, fleecy white clouds, herds of big shaggy creatures that made great targets if you were into hunting. The weather through the temperate zones was almost balmy.

  If it was inviting, however, it was also potentially lethal. Unlike the vast majority of living worlds, its viruses and disease germs loved Homo sapiens. So you couldn’t drop a group of people onto the surface and expect to retrieve them unless you took a lot of precautions. That fact certainly ruled out tourist spots, and with them, hotels.

  There was no talkative AI this time to tell us whether anything out of the ordinary had happened. Markop III had more land space than Rimway, 180 million square kilometers, much of it concealed by forest and jungle.

  There had been a settlement at one time. That was ancient history, in the extreme. Four thousand years ago. The records are sketchy on details, but the Bendi Imperium established a colony there, and it lasted about a century before the plagues began to get ahead of the medical people. They eventually gave up.

  We weren’t really equipped to do a major planetary scan. But we went into low orbit and took a long look. We spotted some ruins. A couple of long-dead cities, so thoroughly buried in jungle that no part of them was visible to the naked eye. In remote areas that might once have been farms, we saw walls and foundations.

  We spent three days in orbit. There was nothing that looked like a viable shelter.

  TWeNTY-THree

  There’ll always be a Rimway.

  —Heinz Boltmann

  (During an address to the Retired Officers’ Association, in the early days of the Confederacy, when survival seemed problematic.)

  Terranova, the new Earth, was well named. It orbited a nondescript orange star, it had a twenty-one-degree axial tilt, its gravity was a fraction of a percent below standard; it had an oversized airless moon, and there were a pair of continents that, seen from orbit, resembled Africa and the Americas.

  The most remarkable aspect of the planet was that terrestrial life-forms integrated easily with the biosystem. Tomatoes grew nicely. Cats chased the local equivalent of squirrels, and the temperate zones proved to be healthful places for human beings.

  But the critical piece of information for us was that the Mangles had a system of satellites in place, and it had been up and running over a century. Nobody came or went without their knowledge, and it didn’t take long to find out there had been no activity during the target time period. The Polaris had not gone there.

  The only noteworthy event during our visit to Terranova occurred when a piece of rock got too close and had to be taken out by the Hazard Control System. The HCS consists of a black box mounted on the hull that detects and identifies incoming objects and coordinates the response, which is delivered by one or more of four particle-beam projectors.

  The rock at Terranova was strictly a one-beam operation. It was only the second time in my career that we actually used the device.

  Serendipity was the fourth world in the Gaspar system, and our last candidate. It was effectively a collage of desert broken by occasional patches of jungle near the poles. A few small seas were scattered across the surface, isolated from each other. The equatorial belt was boiling hot and bone-dry, its vegetation consisting mostly of purple scrub. Even the local wildlife avoided the area.

  Gaspar was a yellow-white class-F star. According to the data banks, the three inner worlds were all pretty thoroughly cooked. The sun was in an expansion cycle, getting hotter every year, and would soon burn off whatever life still clung to Gaspar IV. Serendipity. Soon seemed to be one of those cosmic terms, which really meant several hundred thousand years.

  The life-forms were big, primitive, hungry. Not dinosaurs, exactly. Not lizards at
all. They were mostly oversized, warm-blooded, slow-moving behemoths. Their considerable bulk was favored by the low gravity, which was about three-quarters of a gee.

  The world was called Serendipity because everything had gone wrong on the discovery flight. The ship had been the Kismet, a private vessel operated by fortune hunters functioning several decades before the Confederacy established guidelines for exploration. Like requiring a license before external life-forms could be introduced into a biosystem.

  A field team member was killed by one of the behemoths. Walked on, according to the most popular version of the story. Another had stepped in a hole and broken his leg. A marriage had disintegrated into a near-violent squabble. And the captain suffered a fatal heart attack the day after they arrived. In the midst of all that, the Kismet’s Armstrong engines died, so they had to be rescued.

  From orbit, we looked down at a surface that was dust brown and wrinkled, dried out, cracked, broken. Lots of places were emitting steam. Serendipity had the usual big moon that seems to be a requirement for large, land-based animals, and its skies were almost cloudless. It had a breathable atmosphere, and there were no pathogens known to be dangerous to humans. If you wanted to hide someone for a few weeks or months, this would be the perfect place. Except where would a hotel key fit in?

  “I was hoping we’d get lucky,” said Alex.

  “Doesn’t look like it. This place is primitive. Does anybody live here at all?”

  He grinned. “Would you?”

  “Not really.”

  “We’re here,” he said. “Might as well do the search. I’d guess we’re looking for a cluster of modules. Some sort of temporary shelter. Anything artificial.” He was visibly discouraged.

  I told Belle to run a planetwide scan.

  We passed over a miniscule sea and back over desert. The place was so desolate and forlorn that it had a kind of eerie beauty. When we crossed the terminator and slipped into the night, the ground occasionally glowed with ethereal fire.