by Timothy Zahn
Chandra flicked on her light, and she and Skoda followed.
Ten minutes later, they arrived.
Though exactly where they were was a bit more of a puzzle.
“Looks like some kind of archives,” Chandra said, looking around. “Could be this is one of the fabled Meerian library caches.”
“I always thought those were just rumors,” Skoda said, feeling his mood plummet. Books. Real, paper-and-plastic books. Not just old-fashioned, but the exact antithesis of easily-searched data. Judging by the books’ size, each one would probably take a solid hour to just leaf through once, let along examine, and there had to be at least five hundred of the things stacked on the rows of shelves. If the stargulls were looking for something specific, they were going to be at it a long time.
And that was just in this one room. If there were more of them, Skoda and Chandra could die of old age before they finished.
“Far as I know the Meerians never admitted their existence,” Chandra said. “Of course, if you’re going to set up doomsday data collections in case your civilization crashes you probably don’t want the rest of the universe to know about them. Ha—there!” She pointed suddenly. “See?”
Skoda followed her finger. Three of the stargulls had converged on one spot and were circling one of the books. “I’ll get it,” he said. “Do we have a translator?”
“Should be one on the ship,” Chandra said. “You get the book; I’ll head back and get it.”
“I don’t have a light.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Chandra glanced around, then went to a nearby reading table. A touch of a switch, and a small light came on. “There. I’ll be back in a minute.”
Skoda had the book on the table and was leafing through it when she returned. “Anything interesting?” she asked, turning on the goggles and slipping them over her eyes.
“If there is, the stargulls haven’t said anything about it,” Skoda said, moving aside. “Of course, who knows if they can even read Meerian script?”
“Yeah, well—wait a second,” Chandra interrupted herself. The stargull hovering over the book had dropped to the edge and was poking its wing at the book about midway along the side. “What do I do? Just turn to where he’s pointing?”
“Might as well,” Skoda said. “Unless the spot I opened to has something interesting.”
“Not really,” Chandra said, leaning a little closer. “It looks like the record of some business dispute.”
“Does this book have a title?”
Chandra turned the book up to peer at the spine. “Tunnel Archives: 7234 to 7236.”
Skoda nodded, trying to do the conversion in his head. The current Meerian year was 7278, which put this period…
Chandra got there first. “It ends about forty-nine years ago.”
“About a year after they found Earth,” Skoda said. “I wonder if we get mentioned.”
“We can check after we figure out what the stargulls want,” Chandra said. She flipped forward a few pages, then a few more. The stargull rose a little—
“Turn back a couple,” Skoda suggested.
Chandra nodded and did so. The stargull made a sudden circle, then bounced up and down over the page. “Looks like we’re here,” she said. “The Final…” She trailed off.
“What?” Skoda demanded, feeling a cold chill run up his spine. “The Final what?”
She looked up at him. Her eyes weren’t visible behind the translator goggles, but her cheeks and throat had gone suddenly tight. “The Final Solution to the Oessitah Problem,” she said quietly.
Skoda stared at her. Final Solution. The euphemism of choice for genocidal tyrants for at least two centuries. “Does that mean what I think it means?” he asked hesitantly.
“I don’t know.” Abruptly, she pulled off the goggles, as if the inability to read the words would make them go away. “You ever heard of these Oessitahs?”
“I don’t think so,” Skoda said. “But there are rumors the Meerians annihilated a race that learned how to navigate without their fancy hardware.”
“I always thought those were just scare stories,” Chandra murmured.
“Doesn’t mean they aren’t true,” Skoda said. “The big question is whether they’ll be willing to do it again.”
Chandra sucked in a sudden breath. “The McDerrys’ technique. Do they know about it?”
“They know enough to have locked everyone away,” Skoda reminded her. “I’m guessing they were going to take a good look at the Pathfinder and see what they could learn. Dropping His Grace down that shaft might have short-circuited that one, too.”
“Yeah, but not for long,” Chandra said grimly. “If they slaughtered the Oessitahs for horning in on their bottom line, we need to warn Earth.”
“We’re going to need proof,” Skoda warned. “More than just this.” He tapped the book.
“Agreed,” Chandra said, slipping the goggles on again. “There’s a system mentioned here. Chifofri. It looks like it was at the center of it.”
“Do we know which star that is?”
“I think we can figure it out,” Chandra said. “There’s a cross-reference to a coordinate listing. We should be able to match it to the Pathfinder’s charts.”
“And hopefully, there’s still some evidence lying around,” Skoda said, closing the book and tucking it under his arm. “Clock’s ticking. Let’s go.”
#
Skoda had never heard of Chifofri before, and all the way back to the ship he wondered how many thousands of light-years away the place might be and how many jumps it would take to get there. Even a good-sized ship like the Pathfinder didn’t carry unlimited resources, and once the alarm made it to every human and Meerian transfer station, there would be nowhere they could stop for refueling and reprovisioning.
It was a great relief when, after an hour hunched over the Pathfinder’s records and charts, Chandra announced that she’d found their goal. Moreover, it was only a little over eight hundred light-years away.
With the stargulls still milling around, Skoda got into the Sue Ann chair, and they headed out.
Five hours later, they were there.
“I’ve seen a lot of Meerian transfer stations,” Chandra murmured as they floated toward the dark structure framed against the starry background. “But I don’t ever think I’ve seen one this big. Or this old.”
“How do you know it’s old?”
“Those docking ports,” Chandra said, pointing at the display. “There are three—no; four—four different styles and sizes. Different styles of ship, with different docking collars. Nowadays they’ve got everything pretty well standardized.”
The computer at Skoda’s elbow beeped, and he swiveled around to look. “None of the planets in the system are livable,” he reported. “Looks like whatever we’re looking for is on the station.”
“Figured as much,” Chandra said. “Anyone aboard?”
“Uh…” Skoda looked over at the short-range sensor display. “Doesn’t look like it.”
“Too bad,” Chandra said. “Going to be a hell of a chore searching that whole place by ourselves. Might have been nice if we could ask someone.”
“You mean politely ask them to pack up the evidence of Meerian genocide for us?”
“Yeah, maybe not,” Chandra said. “Okay, the ship and station seem to be talking all right. Nice of the Meerians to keep their autodock software back-compatible. Here we go.”
“Good.” Skoda hesitated. “I don’t suppose McDerry happened to stash a gun or two aboard.”
Chandra turned raised eyebrows to him. “You’re joking, right?”
“I was just thinking of His Grace and his knife.”
“If it was a knife.”
“Fine,” Skoda growled. “Whatever. Let’s get in there and get this over with, okay? All these abandoned stations are giving me the creeps.”
There was, of course, no guarantee that the Pathfinder’s modern autodock system was completely compatible with the station’s,
and Skoda found himself gripping the arms of his chair for the final two minutes of the procedure.
The half-feared hull-crunching misjudgment didn’t happen. The Pathfinder locked up against the station with no more than the usual gentle thud, and Chandra again got the analyzers sifting the air.
They were standing by the airlock, counting down the last minute of the procedure, when the bridge hooted a warning.
The Pathfinder had company.
Chandra got to the bridge ten steps ahead of Skoda. “It’s a Meerian ship,” she said grimly, her eyes sweeping over the displays as she dropped into the pilot’s seat. “Doesn’t look like any freighter I’ve ever seen.”
“Military?” Skoda asked, taking the seat beside her.
“Do they have a military?”
“Who the hell knows?” Skoda bit out, trying unsuccessfully to decipher the data and schematics on the displays. “Where are they?”
“Coming in toward the other side of the station,” she said. “Another few seconds and they’ll be blocked from view.”
“Did they see us?”
“I don’t know,” Chandra said. “No obvious reaction, so maybe not. I guess the place isn’t abandoned after all.”
“Or else one of His Grace’s pals put a bug up someone’s rear and they high-tailed it here to get rid of all the evidence,” Skoda said. “How the hell did they guess—?” He broke off as a pair of stargulls popped in through the bulkhead and came to a halt in front of him.
“How did they guess what?” Chandra asked.
Skoda took a deep breath. “We were wrong,” he said. “I was wrong, anyway. His Grace wasn’t attacking me because of McDerry’s new navigation method. He wanted me dead—wanted us dead—because we’d seen the stargulls.”
“That’s crazy,” Chandra protested. “What do the stargulls have to do with anything?”
“You don’t get it,” Skoda said. “The Final Solution to the Oessitah Problem, remember?” He pointed to the stargulls. “That’s who they are. They’re Oessitahs.”
Chandra inhaled sharply. “You mean they’re…ghosts? That’s impossible.”
“Is it?” Skoda countered. “We’re able to disassociate from our bodies. Is this really any different?”
“But we’re the only species that can do that.”
“Who says?”
“The Meerians—” Chandra broke off. “Right. The Meerians. Damn them.”
“Never mind that for now,” Skoda said. “We need to figure out what we’re going to do. If they dock and destroy the evidence, we might as well have saved ourselves the trip.”
He frowned as that phrase suddenly struck him. Saved ourselves the trip…
Chandra was talking. “What?” he asked, breaking out of his train of thought.
“I said if the stargulls can get us to the evidence fast enough, we might be able to beat them to it,” Chandra said.
“And then get it back to the Pathfinder before they run us down?” Skoda countered. “I don’t think so. But here’s a question. We took three jumps to get to that archive system. But it was only about nine hundred sixty light-years from Bashan Station, which means we could have done it in one. So why take those extra ten hours? Especially since it’s clear the stargulls really wanted us to get hold of that book?”
“How should I know?” Chandra growled. “Maybe they took the scenic route.”
“It’s simpler than that,” Skoda said. “I think they don’t have the same range we do. They couldn’t do all nine-sixty at once, so they had to take us on a path they could handle.”
“And so we got here too late to do anything.”
“Exactly,” Skoda said. “But the Meerians don’t know that.”
She frowned. “What are you talking about?”
“Don’t you see?” Skoda asked. “The Meerians don’t know the stargulls are navigating for us. If we were traveling and navigating on our own—and assuming they know about McDerry’s twin-navigator system—we should have gotten here ten hours ago.”
Her eyes widened as she finally got it. “And we would already have whatever we were looking for.”
“Exactly.” Skoda looked at the analysis display. The air in the station was a little musty, but breathable. “Can you open a signal to that ship?”
“Sure,” Chandra said, looking around the board for the proper control. “What are you going to say?”
“Still working on it. Make it fast—I have to do this before they dock.”
“Okay.” There was a double chime, and Chandra pointed at the microphone. You’re on, she mouthed silently.
Skoda braced himself. “Hello, Meerians,” he called. “This is Nathan Skoda—sorry; its Nathan Detroit now. I assume you’ve heard of me?”
No answer. Skoda looked at Chandra, got a shrug in return. “Hello, Meerians,” he began again.
“Hello, Navijgator Skoda,” a familiar voice came back. Familiar, dark, and cold. “Ij am surprijsed by your presence.”
“Really,” Skoda said, a chill running up his back. “I’m surprised that you’re surprised, Your Grace. You didn’t think we’d come here as soon as we knew?”
“What exactly do you thijnk you know?”
“No need to think,” Skoda said. “We’ve already got the proof. Got to run—see you back at Earth.”
He motioned, and Chandra clicked off the microphone. “Now what?” she asked.
“I head in; you head out,” Skoda said. “With luck they’ll assume we’re both aboard with the genocide evidence and try to follow you or run you down. If you can get them into the tunnel, I’ll have at least ten hours before anyone can get back here. Hopefully, that’ll be enough time.”
“Okay,” Chandra said. “Where do you want me to go?”
“I don’t care,” Skoda said. “Someplace a few light-years out, probably—anywhere you can get to without me. As soon as you hit it, turn around and come back.”
“Right.” She didn’t seem convinced, but she was smart enough to see that it was their best chance. “Be careful.”
“You, too,” Skoda said, heading for the bridge hatchway. “As soon as I’m off, get the hell out of here.”
Chandra had the hatch open by the time Skoda got back to the airlock. He grabbed her equipment pack from the deck beside the hatchway and went through at a dead run, slapping the closing switch as he passed the outer door. Five seconds later, the deck beneath his feet bucked slightly as the Pathfinder disengaged from the hatchway and pylons. “Good luck,” he murmured under his breath, looking around.
He was in a bare corridor, gray metal with bits of silver metal highlights at a handful of points, as if someone had tried to make the station more livable but had run out of interest by the time he got to this end.
There were no viewports or other displays he could see. Whatever was about to happen out there, whether Chandra and the Pathfinder made it out okay, he would have no way of knowing about it.
No way of knowing, and no way of helping.
He clenched his teeth and put Chandra out of his mind. She was on her own. He had his own job to do.
He was looking around, trying to figure out which way to go, when the lights went out, dropping him into total darkness. Apparently, the station was programmed to keep the docking port lights on while a ship was there, then turn them off again when it left. Popping the catches on Chandra’s pack, he reached in for her flashlight.
And cursed under his breath, his hunting fingers coming to a halt as he belatedly remembered she’d taken it out during their last trip and plugged it in to recharge.
Leaving him in total darkness, and with no light.
He paused, frowning. Actually, now that he focused again on his surroundings, he realized the darkness wasn’t quite total. Again, the stargulls appeared as softly glowing blobs of light. One of them, in fact, was making a slow circle about five meters ahead and to his right.
Once again stepping in to guide him wherever he needed to go. He set off towa
rd the circling light, walking at a brisk pace.
Five steps later he staggered back as he walked face-first into something solid.
He cursed again, much more feelingly, wincing as he rubbed his chin. For a moment he’d forgotten that the stargulls were a psychic phenomenon, that they weren’t giving off the kind of actual light that would illuminate a nearby object. Without the slightest bit of reflection to warn him, he’d walked straight into the wall.
“Yeah, funny,” he growled.
The stargull was still hovering there, chest high, directly in front of him. If he wasn’t supposed to follow it…
Of course. Carefully reaching out to the stargull, he felt around that part of the wall.
And as his fingers touched a slightly protruding stud, the lights again came on.
Of course there would be a manual control.
He sighed. Nothing like a little pain to drive home a message. “Fine, I’ll be more careful next time,” he said. “Where to?”
The stargull was already on the move. It reached a T-junction twenty meters ahead and turned left. Taking the cue, Skoda followed.
The station was a maze of corridors, compartments, hatches, and narrow stairways, and within the first five minutes Skoda was completely lost. Fortunately, the stargulls seemed like they knew where they were going. A couple of the larger corridors had automatic lights that came on when he entered. For the rest, he relied on the stargulls to mark the light switches for him. There were a few false starts, one or two short backtracks—
And then, suddenly, they were there.
Skoda stopped in the hatchway, his hand resting on the light switch he’d just pressed, staring into the vast high-ceilinged chamber stretched out in front of him. Starting about twenty meters away and filling the rest of the room were tiered rows of dark, coffin-sized cylinders. Each cylinder rested on its side in a sort of high-tech cradle, linked to it by a set of tubes, power lines, and data cables. A line of buttons was indented into the cradle’s front surface, protected from accidental bumps by a hinged transparent cover. There were no indicator lights or mechanical sounds to show what the cylinders were or whether they were even still operating.
A dozen of the cylinders, seemingly picked at random, had stargulls floating over them.
