Seeker

by Jack McDevitt

  The hosts passed out snacks and drinks, and as soon as all the scientific people were present, we were moved into a conference room. A man who seemed to be in charge took the podium, everyone quieted, and he introduced Alex, “the gentleman who made the discovery.”

  Alex got an enthusiastic round of applause, pointed to me, and said how he couldn’t have done it and so forth. The audience swung around in their seats, I got up, and they clapped heartily. He described how the mission had gone, outlined aspects of the discoveries they might want to pay particular attention to (like finding the ground station at Margolia, which very likely had been located along the equator), showed some pictures, and asked for questions. The first one was a navigational issue, which he passed to me.

  When they finished, he wished them luck and sat down. The guy in charge returned to the lectern. He made a few brief comments, thanked everyone for coming, and adjourned the meeting. I learned later he was Emil Brankov, the senior scientist and team leader.

  As we headed back toward the main room, Alex told me he wanted to find out when the Seeker blew up. “I’d like to know if it matches 2745.”

  “When the orbits came closest to each other.”

  “Yes. Do you think it would be hard to determine? When the engines went?”

  “If they’ve got somebody along who’s familiar with the way they built ships during that period, they ought to be able to do something. Ships have all kinds of clocks and timers. Probably did even in those days. It’s just a matter of figuring out when the engines shut down.” I was becoming aware one of the younger team members had been watching me with interest. “Why do we care?” I asked.

  “I don’t know. Maybe I’m still on a fishing expedition.” A strange look came into his eyes. “I don’t know what it is. There’s something that doesn’t feel right. And I think we owe them that much. To get at the truth.”

  “Alex, all this is thousands of years ago.”

  We found out the mission was carrying an expert on early FTL technology. His name was Spike Numitsu. He was an older guy, white hair, long nose, sparkling sea-blue eyes. Alex cornered him and asked whether he could work out the date of destruction.

  “Possibly,” he said. “I’ll keep you informed.”

  “I can’t see it could make any difference,” I said.

  “I know.” His eyes were focused somewhere in the distance. “But I’d like to know why the Bremerhaven was released from its tether. And why its orbit doesn’t match up.”

  TWENTY-FIVE

  The would-be murderer was especially pernicious, having planned to do the deed before the victim had finished dinner.

  —Barrington’s Ethics, third edition, 1411

  Survey’s field mission got off on time, and a few days later we were receiving reports from both ships. Spike and his team seemed less rattled than Alex and I had been. They talked about the presence of mummified remains as if they were simply one more result to be noted and filed.

  Meantime, the Gonzalez went into orbit around the jungle world, completed a survey, and announced that the scanners had located ruins. Everything was buried beneath the jungle, but it was there. It was confirmed: We had found Margolia. That night, we called in friends and celebrated till dawn.

  Windy informed us that the Medallion Report, as she called it, had been forwarded to the director. (He was, of course, in on the plot.) The suspect staff member had handled it, so now it was just a matter of sitting back and waiting for Ollie Bolton to pack his bags and take off for the far side of the Confederacy.

  Meantime, there were no more attempts on our lives.

  Alex, pleading he was exhausted, decided on a vacation and headed for the Guajalla Islands. “Hold the fort,” he said. “And don’t call me.”

  Which is how it happened that I was alone in the building when Bolton called. I almost told him I was disappointed to hear he was still in town. “I need to speak with Alex,” he said. There had always been an aura of both sincerity and vulnerability about him. I had to work to dislike the guy.

  “He’s not here, Dr. Bolton,” I said.

  He was seated behind a desk, collar open, looking tired. Looking disappointed. “Chase, don’t get formal with me. Where is he?”

  “He’s on vacation.”

  “Where?”

  “He left instructions not to divulge the information.”

  “Can you reach him?”

  “No.”

  He let me see he knew I was lying. “When do you expect him back? Do you think you can tell me that much?”

  “In a week.”

  “Chase—”

  “Did you want to leave him a message, Doctor?”

  “I guess the two of you left one for me.” He picked up a sheet of paper, studied it, dropped it back on the desktop.

  “I’m sorry, but I’m not following you.”

  “Palea Bengatta.”

  “Oh.”

  “I guess the secret’s out.”

  “What secret’s that?”

  “I’m not going to apologize.”

  “I didn’t expect you to.”

  “It’s competition. All’s fair.”

  “Sure it is. Was it you who destroyed the shuttle?”

  He looked genuinely shocked. “Was that aimed at you?” His eyes got very large, and I got the sense he had to catch his breath. “Chase, do you honestly think I’m capable of something like that?”

  Actually, I didn’t. “Are you?”

  “No! I’ve never harmed anyone. Never would.”

  “Is there anything else, Doctor?”

  “Maybe I should have realized. When it happened the same day you got back. And now this.” He hesitated. “Are you there alone?”

  “Yes,” I said. “Why would you care?”

  The lines in his face were sharply defined. Maybe it was the lighting. Or maybe he was scared. “Be careful,” he said.

  It didn’t sound like a threat.

  I called Windy. “Have you heard anything from Bolton?”

  “No,” she said. “Why?”

  “I just talked to him. He didn’t bite.”

  “I thought you guys were underestimating him.”

  “Yeah. Looks like.”

  “Have I your permission now to get rid of the contact? The director isn’t happy walking on eggshells.”

  “Yes. Of course. Do what you have to.” She looked annoyed. “You okay?”

  “Yes. I’m sorry the creep is going to get away with it.”

  “I know. Me, too.”

  I debated letting Alex know about the call from Bolton, but decided to let it go. I could tell him when he got home. I didn’t want him reminded of it when he was supposed to be taking time off.

  Two days later, Windy told me Brankov had landed on Margolia and begun excavations. “They’re into one of the sites,” she said. “It’s down about thirty, forty meters under the jungle floor.”

  “How’s the weather?”

  “Wet and hot.”

  “Not good conditions.” Anything left by the settlers would have turned to mush.

  An hour later she released the first statement on the findings. It included a picture of Brankov holding a rock that was reasonably smooth on one side and that he said had once been part of a wall.

  That evening, speaking at a dinner of corporate types, the director described his reactions to the news and added how pleased he was with the contributions made by Alex Benedict, noting that he’d been “exemplary in his efforts” to protect the sites.

  That was too much for Kolchevsky, who erupted again that evening. But he’d become old news, so he didn’t get much play. But he’d drummed up some allies, and there was evidence a new push was on to criminalize artifact retrieval unless it was done under license from an authoritative source. Alex had always insisted that such a law could not be passed, that it was essentially unenforceable. When I mentioned it to Windy, she surprised me. “You’ll find out eventually,” she said, “so I might as well te
ll you. I’m one of the backers. I think we have a good chance to get it through.”

  I don’t know why it took me off guard. She reminded me that Survey had always been willing to help Rainbow, but “you guys never seem to have enough.” She caught herself. Shook her head. Smiled. “Sorry.”

  Next day, she patched through a call from Spike Numitsu. He was speaking from what appeared to be an operations center. “Alex,” he said, “the explosion on the Seeker took place in 2742. Early in the year. We’re going to take a look at the engine room tomorrow. I’ll let you know what we find.”

  I relayed it to Alex, who was relaxed in beach clothes with a glass of wine in his hand. He was on a veranda, and I could see the ocean in the background.

  “How about that?” he said, obviously pleased. “Chase, what do you think?”

  “About what?”

  “Twenty-seven forty-two.”

  “I’m not following.”

  “Do you recall when it happened?” He was talking about the near intersection of the orbits of the dock, the moon, and Margolia. The date of the disaster.

  “Yes. It was 2745.”

  “Three years after the Seeker died.”

  “So what’s your point?”

  “Chase, they had at least three years’ warning. Think about that. Three years to save themselves.”

  “They tried,” I said. “They rebuilt the Seeker. It didn’t work.”

  “You think they’d have given up that easily?”

  “Given up? Come on, Alex. They were in an impossible situation. Once the Seeker exploded they had no interstellar capability. FTL communications didn’t exist. What do you think they might have done?”

  “Chase, they had some bright people with them. They had technicians, physicists, engineers. They knew how FTL drives worked.”

  “Doesn’t do them any good if they can’t build one.”

  “But they had three years.”

  “You keep saying that. I don’t see how it matters. It takes a highly advanced industrial base to produce the kind of energy they’d need. You can’t do it out in the woods, no matter how smart your people are.” I’d talked with Harry Williams often enough that the whole thing frustrated me. If these people were so smart, why didn’t they check the neighborhood before they moved out there? And took their kids with them?

  “No.” Alex shook his head. Something off to the side caught his attention. “I’ve got to go, Chase. But we’re still missing something.”

  I forgot to tell him about Bolton’s call.

  Less than an hour later, as I was closing up for the day, Bolton was back on the circuit. “He’s not back yet,” I told him. “Two or three more days.”

  “This can’t wait.”

  “What’s wrong, Ollie?” He looked so unsettled I forgot my resentment.

  “I don’t want to talk over an open circuit. Will you meet me someplace?”

  “Come on, Ollie. I’m busy.”

  “Please. It’s important.”

  I let him see I was unhappy. “When and where?”

  “Brockbee’s okay? At eight?”

  “Make it seven.”

  I keep fresh clothes at the country house, so I didn’t have to bother going home. I showered and changed and even though I didn’t think Ollie could be a physical threat, I slipped a scrambler into my jacket. I took the company skimmer and, just as the sun was touching the horizon, I headed for town.

  Brockbee’s is a private club. It’s located behind a high wall, and, because it’s a favorite hangout of political and corporate heavyweights and celebrities of various stripes, security is serious. They queried me on approach. I gave them my name and explained I was meeting Dr. Bolton.

  “One moment, please.” I went into a slow circle over the rooftop landing pad. “Very good, Ms. Kolpath. Welcome to Brockbee’s. Please turn control over to us. We’ll bring you in.”

  Minutes later I strolled into the dining room. The host informed me Dr. Bolton hadn’t arrived yet, but he showed me to my table. It was precisely seven o’clock.

  Twenty minutes later I was still sitting there. A house avatar came by and asked whether I would like something to drink while I waited. Or perhaps an appetizer. “We have some excellent hors d’oeuvres this evening.”

  I passed.

  At the half hour I debated calling him, but decided the hell with it. On my way out I told the host to give Bolton my compliments if he showed up.

  Carmen’s voice woke me out of a sound sleep. “You have a call, Chase. It sounds important.”

  My first thought was that it was Bolton.

  “Inspector Redfield,” she said.

  It was still dark out. What on earth did he want? Then I got a premonition that something had happened to Alex. I grabbed my robe and hurried out into the living room. “Put him on, Carmen.”

  He appeared from the front seat of a police cruiser. Looking a bit frazzled. “Chase,” he said. “Sorry to bother you at this ungodly hour.”

  “It’s okay, Fenn. What is it?”

  He made a face. Bad news coming. “Ollie Bolton’s dead,” he said. “Somebody cut a fuel line in his skimmer.”

  I needed a moment to digest what he’d said. Bolton dead? It seemed impossible. “When?” I asked.

  “We’re still putting it together. But it looks like a few hours ago. Apparently he lifted off, got up a little bit, and the thing shut down. Crashed on his own property. Neighbor coming home around midnight saw the wreckage.”

  “Okay. You’re sure it was murder?”

  “No question.”

  “Why’d you call me?”

  “His AI says he had a dinner engagement with you last night.”

  TWENTY-SIX

  In the morning of the world, When earth was nigher Heaven than now.

  —Robert Browning,

  Pippa Passes, 1841C.E.

  The media interviewed Kolchevsky in the morning. “I won’t pretend I was a friend,” he said. “I won’t even pretend the world is not better off with him gone. But I would have preferred that he had seen the error of his ways. I’m sure the police will spare no effort to bring the perpetrator of this heinous act to justice.”

  I let Alex know, and he announced he’d break off his vacation, which was in its last day anyhow, and come directly home. “Until we know who did this,” he said, “it’s possible you and I are still in somebody’s sights. Be careful.”

  Fenn summoned me to his office. It appeared, he said, the victim had been on his way to meet me when his vehicle went down. “I take it you have no idea what he wanted to tell you?”

  “No,” I said. “None whatever.” I’d suspected it might have been an attempt to pry me loose from Alex. But that sounded too much like my ego working overtime. And even if it were true, I could see no way it would help the investigation along.

  He asked about Alex’s relations with him. Had the animosity become overt?

  “No,” I said. “You don’t think Alex had anything to do with this?”

  He shook his head. “No. I know him too well to believe anything like that. Still, Alex had reason if anybody did. Where is he, precisely?”

  He told me he’d want to talk to Alex as soon as he showed up.

  The perpetrator remained hidden as spring passed into summer. We became more cautious than ever. Nobody could get near either the Rainbow skimmer or our personal vehicles without setting off alarms. We both carried weapons all the time, and I learned to keep a close watch on my surroundings. It wasn’t the way I wanted to live. But the weeks passed, and nothing more happened.

  Reports continued to come in from the mission. The Exeter reported something new: They’d found a transparent globe in solar orbit. It was forty-eight meters in diameter. Inside was a thick layer of frozen earth, and beneath the earth were watering and heating systems.

  There was an airlock. And a few trailing cables and power lines.

  Spike was baffled. It had been adrift in the middle of nowhere.

>   “It’s a greenhouse,” said Alex.

  I had to admit that was what it sounded like to me, as well. But why? What purpose could it have served?

  Alex sent a question: Was the Bremerhaven’s lander still on board the ship?

  “What’s that have to do with anything?” I asked.

  “Patience,” he said. “We have a greenhouse. Now everything depends on the lander.”

  Fenn let us know that the trail had gone cold. Alex asked whether there were no suspects at all. “None,” he said. “Bolton had lots of friends and admirers. Hard to find anybody who wanted him dead. Other than his ex-wife. And maybe a few competitors.” He gave Alex a significant look.

  After a while I felt the need for some time off and took a weekend to get away with my current love interest. With both of them, in fact, but that’s another story. I turned everything off so I was out of touch with the office. I’ve already admitted I wasn’t as committed to the Margolians as Alex was. Whatever else we could say about them, they were a long time dead, and it was just hard to get excited. But I spent an undue amount of time worrying about Alex, who’d become fixated.

  I wasn’t surprised when I got back to my apartment and found a boatload of messages from him waiting for me. “Chase, call me when you get in.”

  “Chase, call when you can.”

  “Chase, we were right.”

  “They’ve started finding human remains.”

  “It looks as if there were thousands of them at the south pole. People who survived the event.”

  Spike reported back. There was no lander on the Bremerhaven. “Excellent,” said Alex.

  “Apparently they tried migrating,” Windy told us one morning in late summer. “They headed toward the poles in summer, and back to the equator in winter. The winters were long; the summer was short. But Emil thinks they were able to survive for a while.”

  “How long?” Alex asked.

  “They’re still putting the evidence together. But it looks like a few generations.” She took a deep breath. “Hard to imagine the courage of those people. You wonder what kept them going.”