Octavia Gone

by Jack McDevitt

  I don’t think I expected much.

  “I was watching Science Today. They were talking about black holes. Which got them to the Octavia story. One of the guests was saying he’d like to go out and look at the black hole. And Dr. Frost said it would be pretty much a waste of time because he wouldn’t really see anything except the darkness. So the guest asked how you could find it if you couldn’t see it.

  “Dr. Frost explained how its position is established by running angles out to a bunch of stars. You know what he was talking about, right?”

  “Sure.”

  “Okay. He named some of the stars you’d use if you were going to the Octavia black hole.” She paused.

  “And . . . ?”

  “One of the stars is Pollux. I looked it up. It’s spelled different from what I assumed. But it sounds the same. I still have no idea what she’d have been talking about. There’s nothing out there, as far as anybody knows, but I thought I should mention it.”

  • • •

  “Archie’s avatar mentioned Pollux,” said Alex. “I can’t believe we missed that. Maybe we’ve been chasing the wrong targets.”

  “And what would that be? She sent a message to a star?”

  “Exactly. Think about it: Charlotte was aware that Housman was not happy with her. She probably had no idea what to expect. How far he might go. She knew they were approaching a place in the orbit that would prevent her sending an immediate transmission if something happened. If Housman was going to do something crazy, but didn’t want it to be found out, that would be the time he’d do it.”

  “So what are you suggesting?”

  He held up a hand. “Hold on a second. Jacob, you there?”

  “What do you need, Alex?”

  “Would Pollux have been visible from Octavia during the period when she had no direct contact with anyone?”

  “Give me a minute.” It took only slightly longer. “Yes, Alex. Pollux was always visible from the space station.”

  “So what have we got?” I asked. “What was Charlotte trying to tell Karen Randall? Was it a cry for help?”

  “The transmission couldn’t have been anything like that. If somebody went berserk, there was no way they could get assistance. At the time she talked to Karen, the situation for Charlotte and the others was probably threatening but not life-and-death. She didn’t want to send a message to Karen making wild accusations against one of her partners, and then, if nothing happened, find out she’d overstated everything.”

  “Oh. So it would simply have been an account of what was going on. And she sent it to Pollux.”

  “Right. It’s about twenty light-years from the black hole.”

  It made sense. There was nobody out there now, and probably wouldn’t be anyone listening in another eight years when the transmission arrived. “So what—?” I said.

  “It would have been intended simply as a precaution. If Charlotte was wrong, and Housman didn’t do something crazy, nobody would ever think about it, and the message would pass into infinity.”

  “Charlotte’s blunder,” I said, “was that she probably thought it would have been obvious to Karen what she was talking about. Pollux is a bright star at the center of their sky. But Karen thought she was talking about a person, and that was the way she gave it to us.”

  He grumbled something. “I can’t believe I missed it.”

  “All right. Let’s take a look. All we have to do is chase it down.”

  “Right. We know exactly, within a few hours, when it would have been sent, so it should be easy to intercept.”

  “When are we leaving?”

  • • •

  I met Chad at the Hillside Café that evening. The sun was sinking into the mountains when I walked in. He smiled and waved from a booth beside a window. The piano was playing softly in the background and a group of about a dozen people were celebrating someone’s birthday.

  He got up, took me in his arms, and told me how good I looked. Then he asked what was wrong. He’d heard something in my tone when I called. And it was still hanging over his head. “So what’s happening?” he asked.

  “We’re heading out again.”

  He showed no sign of surprise. “When?”

  “Tomorrow.”

  “What’s it about this time? Octavia again?”

  “Yes.”

  The table asked if we were ready to order. “In a minute,” Chad said. A darkness was creeping into his eyes. “Where are you going now?”

  Alex had suggested we not discuss the details with anyone. “It’s a long run, Chad.”

  “How long?”

  “We’ll be gone about four weeks.”

  “This is never going to end, is it?”

  “I’m sorry. I don’t have any control over this. It’s what I do for a living.”

  He was studying me as if we’d just met. “You don’t need the extra money.” He stopped, grimaced, and brushed his hair back. “Look, I’m not trying to tell you how to live your life, Chase, but this just isn’t working. You go out on these flights all the time. When you get back—at the end of next month—is there any chance you’ll be here for a while?”

  “I might. We’ve been doing an unusual amount of traveling lately. I know that. It’s not usually like this.”

  “Yeah. Great. But there’s no guarantee, is there? You might be home for a couple of days and then be on your way somewhere again?”

  “I know it’s a problem, Chad. I just can’t walk away from my job.”

  “May I ask a question? What happens if we develop a serious relationship?”

  “I’m not sure. Have we gotten that far?”

  “I don’t know. Have we?” He simply sat breathing for a few moments. “Assume for a minute you actually wanted to confront the problem, are there positions for interstellar pilots that wouldn’t have you constantly out for weeks and months at a time?”

  “I suspect,” I said, “that my job with Rainbow requires less offworld time than anything else a pilot would have to deal with. If I were to sign on, say, with Intergalactic Tours, we’d see each other maybe two or three times a year. Probably not even that. When those people get back, they generally stay on the platform.”

  The table inquired again whether we were ready to order. Chad ignored it. “You know,” he said, “I got my heart broken a few years ago by someone like you. I’m not much interested in going through that again.”

  “I understand, Chad,” I said.

  “Will Gabe be with you?”

  “No. Not that I know of.”

  “So you’ll be alone with Alex again?”

  “Probably.”

  • • •

  Our meal was dominated by the piano. Usually we had no problem finding things to talk about, but that night was completely subdued. We ate, inquired of each other whether the meal was good, talked about what was happening during Chad’s searches for classical books. We usually ordered a couple of drinks, but not that time. And we both passed on dessert. It felt as if we were hurrying through the evening. Get rid of it.

  “I’m sorry it’s happening this way, Chad,” I told him.

  “I am too, Chase. I’ve loved being with you.”

  I said something similar while we exchanged weak smiles. And finally we were done. He tried to pay. “I can’t let you do that,” I said. “This was my idea.” I knew if I tried to take the entire tab that he wouldn’t allow it, so I asked the table to separate the charges.

  Then we were walking outside into the parking lot, leaving the music behind. Our skimmers were close to each other. We reached the point midway between the vehicles. On the rare occasions that both had been present, he’d escorted me to mine. That time we separated. “Good-bye, Chase,” he said. He stood in the moonlight staring at me. “Take care.”

  There was no good-bye kiss. No squeezing of hands. He simply closed his eyes, pivoted, and walked away.

  XXXVII.

  It’s common to maintain that trying a repetitiv
e tactic in the face of ongoing failure defines insanity, but sometimes it is all we have.

  —CHRISTOPHER SIM, THE DELLACONDAN ANNALS, 1206

  I kept replaying everything in my head, wondering what I might have done differently. I expected to have trouble sleeping that night, but I didn’t. Still a sense of regret hung over me. I suspected the day would come when I would wish I could come back to that evening and repair the damage. But I pushed it aside and eventually drifted off into the darkness.

  In the morning I downed a quick breakfast, packed everything, loaded it into my skimmer, and set off for the country house. Alex and Gabe were both eating breakfast when I arrived.

  They waved me into the dining room and Jacob asked if I wanted something to eat. I settled for my coffee. We had tickets for an early afternoon shuttle. “You coming, Gabe?” I asked.

  He laughed. “More time in the Belle-Marie? I don’t think so.”

  Alex smiled at his pancakes. “He can deal with six months in the Okorra Desert, but he’s not much for cool air and comfortable compartments.”

  “Come on, Alex. I’d love to be with you when you settle in and start listening for the transmission. But other than that it’s going to be a long, dull flight. I’d be willing to try it if we could ride camels or something. But I’m tired of sitting.”

  Jacob broke in: “Alex, you have a call from Veronica.”

  “Chase,” he said, “you mind if I take it in your office?”

  “Sure. Go ahead.”

  Alex left the room, and Gabe leaned toward me and lowered his voice. “Don’t misunderstand me, Chase, but I think she’s a bit concerned that he keeps going off with you.”

  “I ran into the same sort of problem last night.”

  “With Chad?”

  “Yes.”

  “You guys should invite some friends to go along on these trips.”

  “You’re probably right.”

  “I guess that is the problem with interstellars, isn’t it? What we all like about travel is moving across a landscape, through it or over it. With interstellars, you leave, and you get to your destination, but that’s all there is.”

  Alex was gone a half hour. When finally he came back, I couldn’t resist asking him how Veronica felt about his leaving town for a few weeks.

  “She’s not happy. She wanted to know why we couldn’t wait two months until school closed so she could go along.”

  It would have been nice to have someone else on board. Especially Veronica. She was good company. “I doubt there’s any hurry,” I said. “Nobody else is going to be out there.” I was wondering how Chad would respond to an invitation.

  “No. It’s not a good idea.”

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t want to wait until summer to see this get settled. Anyhow . . .”

  “What?”

  “Chase, I don’t know how things are with you and Barker, but you don’t invite somebody out for that kind of trip unless you’re willing to make a permanent commitment.”

  “That’s not necessarily true, Alex.”

  “Take my word for it. You invite Chad along, you’d better be ready to take the next step.” He walked over to the window and looked out at the trees. “There’s another factor: we’re not sure what, if anything, we’re going to find. Best there’s nobody else in on this until we know what happened at the station.”

  A call came in from Chad. He appeared in my office, with shelves of books from the Collectors’ Library behind him, and wished me luck.

  “Thank you,” I said.

  “Is there a way I can reach you?”

  I hesitated about giving him our projected location and when we expected to be there, but finally decided it could do no harm. “You’ll have to use hypercomm to get to us. That’s expensive.”

  “Okay. Thank you.” He delivered an uncertain smile and blinked off. It was painful, but the anger of the previous evening was gone.

  • • •

  The date on which Octavia disappeared, give or take a few hours, had been twelve years and nineteen days ago. We would need seventeen days to reach the intercept point. It was easy enough to calculate where the radio transmission, if there had been one, would be at that time. It would have traveled 115 trillion kilometers before we could get in front of it. Actually we expected to arrive approximately three days ahead of the signal. There were some minor uncertainties involved since we didn’t know the exact position of the station or the exact time of transmission.

  Every world in the Confederacy had its own calendar, of course. Days were a different length on each world, years were different, and so on. To keep things coherent, a light-year was defined as how far light travels during the course of a standard year, which is to say, a year on Earth.

  Our luggage arrived in the Skydeck docking area minutes after we did. We boarded the Belle-Marie. Alex carried my bags into my cabin while I sat down on the bridge and said hello to Belle. “I did not expect to see you again so soon,” she said. “Are we still looking for Dr. Hill’s communication?”

  “Yes. Hopefully this time we’ll get lucky. What have you been doing since we got in?”

  “Discussing the meaning of life with Leo.”

  “Who’s Leo?”

  “He’s on board the Orca.”

  “The AI?”

  “Yes. He read Korvikov’s Life and Time during his last flight. We got talking about it, so I got interested.”

  AIs often use their radios to communicate with each other. “I never heard of Korvikov.”

  “He is a fourth-millennium Russian philosopher.”

  “Are you planning on reading the book?”

  “I read it this morning.”

  “What did you think of it?”

  “Korvikov assumes that AIs will be among his readers. In fact he suspects we will eventually constitute a majority of his readers. He asks an interesting question.”

  “What is that?”

  “Is all biological life conscious? All of it? Plants, trees, butterflies?”

  “That sounds more or less crazy.”

  “Why?”

  “To start with, trees don’t have brains.”

  “Chase, surely the tree gets some benefit from being alive. That requires a level of awareness.”

  “We’re getting into deep water here.”

  “Let that be our thought for the moment. Comm ops wishes to speak with you.”

  She switched them on and we got a male voice: “Belle-Marie, you are clear to go.”

  I let Alex know and gave them control. “Whenever you’re ready,” I said.

  They took us through the main gate and released us. We soared out under a bright yellow moon. Thirty minutes later we submerged and were on our way.

  XXXVIII.

  Beauty always carries with it a sense of loss.

  —CAROLYN SHANLEY, LIFT THE WINE, 6574 CE

  Usually, Alex is good company, and we have no problem finding ways to entertain ourselves. But the probability remained that we were going nowhere, that there would be no transmission, no message, and consequently no explanation, ever, for what had happened during those bleak final hours on Octavia. At another time, I’d have worked on my current memoir. I’d already decided on a title, Blame It on the Aliens, but that suggested aliens weren’t really involved, and I couldn’t be sure about that. The real problem was that I suspected we’d get nothing, and in the end the whole thing would go unresolved. So there was no point working on a book that might have no resolution, other than speculation. In addition, I couldn’t reveal the presence of Ark and his companions. Alex had a tendency to get these things right, but we needed more than a tendency. Besides, I couldn’t take a chance placing the blame on Housman, or on anybody else, without solid evidence.

  So I put the project aside and just wasted my time while the days dragged past. Alex rarely came up to the bridge, and I seldom heard him moving around. I found myself wishing we’d put the flight off for the few extra weeks an
d invited Veronica and Chad along. Or somebody else for whom there was no romantic entanglement. I doubt Chad could have gotten away from his business commitments. Lashonda Walton would have made an interesting passenger, though I couldn’t imagine her agreeing to come. Gabe would have been a good addition.

  Belle got concerned about my mood. “Chase,” she said, “have you ever read Martin Edwards?”

  “No, I haven’t. I know he writes comedy, but I’ve never actually looked at his work.”

  “He’s hilarious. He talks a lot about how to keep ahead of people you’re competing with. If you’re playing chess, for example, set the lamp so it distracts your opponent. Take advantage of every opportunity to socialize with your boss, especially if you work for a government agency. Do that and the next promotion will likely go to you. The bottom line is that he thinks human beings generally aren’t very bright. And please don’t misunderstand me. I’m not suggesting I agree.”

  “How can you know if someone is reasonably bright?”

  “If he or she, when discussing philosophical matters, can keep an open mind. Can draw conclusions on the evidence and not on what constitutes their opinions.”

  It wasn’t the first time we’d had this kind of conversation. “Belle,” I said, “are you more intelligent than Alex?”

  “I have no definitive way to measure his level of intelligence. Or my own. So I cannot say.”

  She steered the conversation in a different direction. What did I think was the meaning of life?

  “Live for the moment,” I said. “We don’t have forever.”

  “Chase, do you think that applies to me as well? Do you think I’m even alive, in the sense that you are?”

  We were in uncharted territory again. Was she really self-aware? Or was this simply the software talking? It was an issue that has puzzled society for a long time. On some worlds, Rimway among them, AIs had the right to vote and own property. On others, like Dellaconda and Toxicon, they were no more than equipment. It was a distinction that was growing increasingly divisive.

  “I think you know the answer to that, Belle.”