Coming Home

by Jack McDevitt

  “Well,” Alex said, “sometimes things just don’t work out real well.”

  “Yeah.”

  “When do you expect to publish the memoir?”

  “What memoir?” I said. “This thing didn’t go anywhere. After all this running around, we needed to find something. All we have is a coffee cup.”

  He was obviously thinking that I’d been as upset by the outcome as he was. To a degree, I suppose he was right. But I shrugged it off. It wasn’t the first time I’d lost a narrative that had started out with an intriguing setup. There had been, for example, the discovery of the lost tomb of Michael Truscott, the bloody-minded Director of the Lenola colony. Truscott’s remains, when examined, turned out to be female. All kinds of theories had come out of the woodwork, including a faked death to mislead his numerous enemies after several assassination attempts. In reality, Truscott had been a woman. The truth was revealed by the discovery of a diary while Alex was looking in a different direction.

  Then there were the Lima Pearls, which had belonged to the beautiful theater star of the last century, Mora Volanda. She had been wearing them on the night she vanished, and there was some hope their discovery would lead to information on what had happened. But the investigation went nowhere. Mora’s fate remains unknown.

  And Allen Penrose, a beloved fourteenth-century physician, had gone with his wife and another couple to a resort in the Achean Isles, where all four had vanished. His personal belongings had become collectors’ items, and Alex had gotten involved when several reports surfaced that the doctor had been seen at the annual Spook Fest celebration in Malachia.

  * * *

  So we relaxed and talked about other things en route back to Rimway. I was still in a kind of trance, and I remember telling Alex that I was going to use my next vacation to go back to Earth and spend more time. Just hang out in the place where it had all begun.

  I wondered what Yuri Gagarin would have given for a ride in the Belle-Marie?

  Alex never really talked a great deal, but he was unusually withdrawn on the way home. He expressed concern about neglecting his clients and that a substantial amount of work was waiting for us. But it was more than that. I couldn’t decide whether it was Baylee’s unhappy end or the loss of the Apollo artifacts that hung over his head. Or possibly Gabe.

  He admitted he’d be glad to get back to the country house. “I’m going to bring Woody in to do some restoration work on the place,” he said. “I’ve kind of let it go a bit. I wouldn’t want Gabe noticing that when he walks in.” Then he waved it away. “I’m fine. Just tired.”

  We came out of jump a quarter million kilometers from Skydeck and checked in. The comm op was Josette St. Pierre, with whom I’d shared a few lunches. “Chase,” she said, “where’ve you guys been? They’ve been trying to reach you.”

  “Who has, Josette?”

  “John Kraus. The Capella’s back.”

  She passed me to her supervisor. “We don’t have much in the way of details,” he said. “They got hypercomm signals yesterday from her. Confirmed. So yes, it is back. Last I heard, we had no explanation, and no idea whether the situation would remain stable. But the big news is that after nineteen hours, it’s still on the surface. We’ve scrambled everything in sight. There must have been sixty ships left here in the last ten hours.”

  Hypercomm signals. That indicated, at least, that they were still alive. “Where are they?”

  “It’s a little farther out than last time. Do you want me to forward the data to you?”

  “Please.”

  There was a brief pause. Then: “Done.”

  “Thank you,” I said. “Where’s John?”

  “On the Isabella Heyman. It’s a yacht. He grabbed the first thing available.”

  “Roger that. And you have no idea how long it will stay up?”

  “They’re hopeful.”

  “Why?”

  “The last line in the message. It said: ‘Robert asked us to say hello.’” He paused. “They’re talking about Dyke. I assume you’re going, too?”

  “Yes,” I said. “Changing course now.”

  “Good luck, Chase. Skydeck out.”

  Actually, I hadn’t reacted yet. I opened the allcomm: “Alex? You there?”

  “More or less. What’s going on?”

  “Tie yourself in. The Capella’s back.”

  “Marvelous! Everything okay?”

  “Yes. There was a message from Robert Dyke. Apparently he came through.”

  “Beautiful.”

  “I guess we didn’t hear how long they might stay afloat?”

  “Negative.”

  Another ship, the McAdams, was just departing Skydeck on the same mission. We wished each other luck. I knew the pilot, Sally Turner. Not well, but enough to say hello whenever we met. She was serious and reserved, not given to getting carried away by any momentary emotions. But on that occasion, she sounded deliriously happy. Let’s go get them, baby.

  Optimism comes easily, I guess. It felt as if, during that first hour under way, we had it right this time. Everything would be okay. Time to raise a glass. Alex gave way to near jubilation. Maybe because it had all come out of the blue. Maybe because of that one line. Hello from Robert.

  We slipped into transdimensional space, which cut us off from the rest of the universe. We spent time entertaining ourselves as best we could. Alex buried himself in his books while I watched comedies and played chess with Belle. As we drew closer to our destination, I realized there was a good chance we’d be met by the news that the Capella had been swept under again. Alex was obviously weighed down by the same concern. But we both remained optimistic.

  As we approached the end of our jump, I started a mental countdown. Couldn’t help myself. Two hours until we arrive.

  One hour.

  Alex kept checking the time, too, although he tried to hide what he was doing. He liked to think of himself as a rationalist, always in control, not given to emotions. But it was all a show.

  He was back and forth on the bridge. He’d come up, sit down, say something of no consequence, get back on his feet, and disappear. I’d hear voices in the passenger cabin, somebody doing a historical analysis of the City on the Crag or the Maven War, then it would cut off and be replaced by soft music, then it would go silent. A few minutes later he’d be back on the bridge. When finally I told him to relax, he got annoyed. “I’m fine,” he said.

  Eventually, Belle spoke: “Four minutes to end of jump.” It was almost a whisper. She understood the mood.

  Alex, who was beside me, didn’t move except to activate his harness.

  * * *

  Standard procedure when you complete a jump is first to determine where you are in relation to your destination. Not this time. “Find out if they’re still there,” Alex said.

  I sent out a broadcast signal: “This is the Belle-Marie. To anyone who can hear me: What is the status of the Capella?”

  Alex straightened his harness.

  Belle said, “I am trying to establish our position, but I will need more time.”

  “It’s okay, Belle,” I said. “Let us know when you have it.”

  I listened to the air moving through the life-support system. And to the hum of the drive unit. And to the silence roaring out of the speaker. “It’ll probably take a while,” I said.

  I couldn’t make out Alex’s answer.

  Then, finally: “Belle-Marie, this is the Falcon.”

  “Hello, Falcon. What’s the situation?”

  “The Capella’s still up.” We both raised a fist. Clasped hands. If I could have reached Alex, I’d have kissed him. “They’re transmitting. I don’t think anybody’s actually reached them yet, though.”

  “That’s okay. As long as they’re still on the surface.”

  “Welcome to the party.”
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  “Chase,” said Belle, “we’re getting something from them now. From the Capella. Sounds like Captain Schultz.”

  It was, indeed: “To anyone arriving in the area: We are awaiting assistance. Robert tells me he believes we have stabilized. But we cannot be certain. McAdams, we are glad to see you. First boats have launched.”

  “Chase,” said Belle, “I’ve located the source of the transmission. I’m putting it together with information from the Falcon. You will be happy to hear we are only eight hours out.”

  “Okay,” I said. “Let’s move.”

  * * *

  We listened while the Dorothy Viscidi picked up seventeen people and pulled away. The McAdams was closing. We caught a glimpse of two lifeboats through its scopes. The cabin lights in one were still on, but we couldn’t see whether anyone remained inside. The Akim Pasha was coming in behind the McAdams. An hour later, the Vertigo arrived and pulled alongside to take people directly out of the airlock. We heard Captain Schultz’s voice, assuring someone that everything was proceeding quite well. “The Bangor,” she said, “the Carol Rose, and the Zephyr are all less than a few hours out.”

  The Bangor was a cargo vessel that should be able to take off close to three hundred. The others were all yachts. Like us.

  Alex was having a difficult time. I knew he wanted to talk with Gabe. Ideally, he’d have liked to pick Gabe up and take him home in the Belle-Marie. “It would be a nice ending,” I said.

  “Yeah, it would, Chase. But stuff like that only happens on HV.” He collected a cup of coffee, asked if I wanted some, and came back and sat down. “When you write this, you could arrange to have it happen.”

  “Nobody would believe it, Alex. Even if we did run into the lifeboat carrying him, I wouldn’t be able to write it that way.”

  * * *

  We were getting pictures from everyone who was close to the Capella. We watched the Vertigo pull away. The Capella’s cargo deck opened, and another lifeboat escaped. Ninety minutes later, the Rose moved into position to take people directly out of the airlock. They were still at it when the Zephyr rendezvoused with one of the lifeboats. Then, after another hour, it was Bangor’s turn.

  Captain Schultz returned to the radio: “When the Bangor leaves, we will be down to 2106 passengers and crew. I’m happy to report we still have stability.”

  “That doesn’t mean much,” I told Alex. “When it comes time to get swallowed, there’s not much warning. Not from what I’ve seen.”

  The rescue units continued to arrive, one or two every hour. Then, suddenly, there were six, including a fleet cruiser, which took off another three hundred.

  There were no Mutes this time. And nobody coming from a distant port. There’d been no time for anyone much farther away than Skydeck to arrive on the scene.

  Eventually, we got close enough to think about contacting Gabe on his link. Alex tried, waited, and shook his head. Still out of range.

  And then, finally, it was our turn: “Belle-Marie, you’re next. We’ll be launching another boat in about thirty minutes. They will provide a signal. Just follow it in and take as many off as you can. What is your capacity, please?”

  “Ten,” I said.

  “Very good. Take on ten, then depart immediately. And thank you for your assistance.”

  FIFTY

  Do not remain long from home.

  —Homer, The Odyssey, c. 800 B.C.E.

  “Hello, Belle-Marie. This is Case Harley on Lifeboat 11. We’re glad to see you.” It was a happy voice. The lifeboat was only a dim blinker on the navigation display. “We’ll be ready to go when you get here.”

  “We’re about forty minutes out,” I told them. “How many of you are there?”

  “Nineteen.”

  “We can only take ten.”

  “We know that. They told us. There’s somebody else coming in behind you.”

  By then we’d heard that another forty people had been rescued from the Capella. And that the Silverton was approaching it, as well as another yacht. The Silverton was a transport and would be able to accommodate almost two hundred passengers. Of course, the critical news was that the Capella, then nearing the end of her fifth day, was still on the surface.

  I couldn’t resist trying for Gabe. “You don’t by any chance have anyone named Benedict on board, do you?”

  I heard Harley asking, heard the silence.

  “Negative,” he said. “Sorry.”

  “That’s okay. It was a long shot.”

  We also received an update from John Kraus: “So you’re aware: Robert Dyke managed the fix. He describes it as temporary but says it will probably hold. There’s no way to be certain, though. So time is still of the essence. We have a sufficient number of vehicles coming in, but we’ll need at least another two days to get everyone off. We appreciate the efforts of everybody who has helped. If you need to reach me, I’m on the Heyman.”

  Lifeboat 11 gradually brightened. It took shape, and we could make out individual lights, some on the hull, others in the cabin. “Can we do anything to help?” asked Harley.

  “Just sit tight. We’ll take care of everything.”

  They were coming in our general direction, and we’d been braking for almost two hours. “Chase,” said Belle, “I see the backup yacht.”

  “When will they be here?”

  “In another hour.”

  And Harley again: “Do you guys know what happened? Is it really 1435?”

  “Yes, Case. The Capella got caught in a time warp.”

  “But we’ve only been on board a few days.”

  “Sit tight, Case,” I said. “We’ll have you guys off in ten minutes.”

  * * *

  We drew alongside. When we were in position, Belle signaled the lifeboat, and the connecting tube activated. It expanded across the approximately forty meters separating us and used its magnets to secure itself to our airlock. “Everything’s in place,” Belle said.

  I opened both hatches. The tube was flexible, so I couldn’t see all the way across. “Okay, Case,” I said. “You can send your people through the airlock. Ten of them. If you can, try to keep families together.”

  “Of course,” he said. “They’ll be right over.”

  * * *

  They came into the passenger cabin, looking tired and frightened. There were three elderly couples, one with two kids, a boy and a girl, both about twelve or thirteen. They told us they’d decided to take the grandchildren for a “space ride.” “Bob and Mary must be frantic,” they said. The parents, I assumed.

  The other two passengers were both women, traveling alone. One, whose name was Sally, had been headed to the City on the Crag to join her journalist husband, who’d been working on a documentary. “I haven’t been able to reach him,” she told us. “I’ve no idea even how to begin.”

  The other, Juanita, had been on a business trip and appeared to be in a state of near shock. “I can’t believe I’ve lost eleven years,” she said.

  We got everybody situated as soon as they were on board. I told them we’d be belting down shortly and that we’d stay that way for about forty minutes. Alex played the engaging host while I went onto the bridge and got us disconnected, talked briefly with the incoming yacht that would take off the rest of the people on the lifeboat, and said good-bye to Case Harley, who’d stayed behind. Then, finally, we were ready to move. Alex gave his cabin over to the two kids though one of them came up to sit with me on the bridge. When everyone was settled, we pulled away and began to accelerate.

  I overheard some of the conversation as we moved out of the area, how glad they were to be off the lifeboat, while one of the women mentioned it was the same thing they’d said as they left the Capella.

  “I’ll sue their pants off,” said one of the men in an angry voice.

  “Well, I’ll tell you one thing,�
� said another male, “I’m never getting on one of those damned things again.”

  It didn’t much matter who was speaking; the comments were all the same, how their children were now in their forties or fifties, whether Aunt Lucy was still alive, what had happened to their homes, how hard it was to believe that Janet would now be fourteen, for heaven’s sake.

  One of them, a tall, worried-looking male, demanded assurances that when we made our jump, we wouldn’t get stuck again. When I told him it would be okay, he asked how I could be certain.

  “We have a different kind of drive,” I said. “Besides, we’re nowhere near the time/space area that’s damaged.”

  He stared at me. “Don’t get me wrong,” he said, “but I wish I could believe you.”

  Finally, we made our descent into transdimensional space, and they were all free to walk around again. That was when we started hearing more details of their experience. “You don’t want to be out here and get told you need to be rescued,” said one of the older women. “They kept telling us everything would be okay, that there was no reason to worry, and that just scared me to death.”

  The girl, whose name was Rinnie, told me, under her breath, that the woman scared pretty easily.

  Mostly what I picked up was simply disbelief that eleven years had passed since they boarded. Sally looked terrified. “My husband thinks I’ve been dead for eleven years,” she said. “He’s probably married again.”

  “There’s just no way to know for sure,” said Alex, in his most soothing tone. “But we’ve been aware of what happened for several years, and that the passengers figured to be okay.” He looked around at the others. “If you want to send transmissions, let everybody at home know you’re all right, you can do that, and we’ll send them onto the station as soon as we get back into linear space.”

  In the end, everybody prepared at least one message. Even the kids, who recorded comments and assurances to friends and relatives and, in one case, a teacher.