Firebird

by Jack McDevitt

  Belle did, and the voice responded, sounding simultaneously relieved and despondent. Belle translated: “He’s saying he’s lost.”

  “Okay. Tell him we’ll help.”

  “I already did. He says they have no control over the ship.”

  “Tell him again. Ask how many people are on board.”

  Belle asked him, but as she finished, the ship began to fade. The reply was broken up by static. She repeated the question.

  More static. It was hard to make out what he was saying.

  “Can’t hear him,” said Belle. “I think he said twenty-seven.”

  The lights in the ports dimmed.

  “Tell them,” Alex said, his voice tense, “that we’ll be there with help in a couple of hours.”

  “Alex, I can’t lie to—”

  “Damn it, Belle, tell them what I said.”

  But it was too late. The lights went out, and the ship faded into the dark.

  “Son of a bitch.” Alex threw his helmet back into the cabin. “Damn damn damn.”

  And I understood what he meant. It would be two hours their time.

  Shara got a bottle out of the cabinet and poured drinks for us. “Just for the record,” she said, “we might not have caught the thing, but this has been a very good day. Now we know that the math works, and we have a record. Maybe we can get some help on the next run.”

  “I hope so.” Alex looked down into his glass. And raised it. “Next time,” he said.

  PART IV

  Antares

  THIRTY-FOUR

  Life is a casino, baby. You make your best call, lay your money on the table, and hope. It’s all you can do; you can’t do no more.

  —Agathe Lawless, Sunset Musings, 9417 C.E.

  On the way back, Shara reviewed the math for the next target, which we labeled the Antares Object, not that it was close to Antares, but it was in the general direction, though considerably farther. “No matter how we do this,” she said, “it’s essential that we pick it up as soon as it appears.”

  “I think we’ve figured that out,” said Alex.

  “The problem is that the data on this one isn’t as exact as it was for Alpha.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “No. Unfortunately, the numbers for the earlier sightings—we have three of them—are a bit more vague. They’re still pretty good, or would be for most purposes. But there is some”—she waggled her hand—“some inexactitude here.” She smiled. “Love that word. Don’t get a chance to use it very often.”

  “So how many ships do we need?” asked Alex.

  “We’d have a decent chance with, oh, I don’t know, maybe twelve.”

  “How many to lock it in?”

  “You mean board it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Depends how long we’ll have before it goes back.”

  “We don’t know how long we’ll have access with this one, either?”

  “Nobody ever got a real good look. Longest recorded time for it to remain surfaced was two hours and eight minutes.”

  “That’s not very good.”

  “No.”

  “But it could be longer?”

  “It could be six weeks, but I suspect it’ll be closer to a few hours.”

  “Okay. So how many ships?”

  She drew some circles on a pad. “Twenty would be good.”

  Alex looked at me. Made a face. “Okay. I guess that doesn’t come as a surprise.”

  “Even with twenty,” Shara said, “we still have a problem—”

  “I know.” Alex shook his head. “No matter how we try to play this, the Belle-Marie will have trouble getting to it before it submerges.”

  “That’s correct.”

  “I don’t like having to ask somebody else to board it and run the rescue.”

  “There’s really no way around that.”

  Alex sat silently and stared out at the Veiled Lady.

  “It’s time to try StarCorps,” I said. “They should take it on. Doing rescues is their job.”

  Alex nodded. “I hope so. But I’m not excited about asking them for a couple of squadrons.”

  “They’ll be happy to help,” said Shara.

  “I hope so.” He looked at her. “How long has it been since the Antares’s most recent appearance?”

  “The last one we know of was sixty-seven years ago. Before that, it seems to have shown up near Barilon III. That was more than seven centuries earlier. If we track it back far enough, it looks as if the ship came from Brandizi.”

  I was puzzled. “You said it originated during the fourth millennium?”

  “Yes.”

  “Brandizi didn’t even exist then, I don’t think.”

  Alex shook his head. “Not as much of a political entity. It was an outpost in those days.”

  On our approach to Rimway, we heard that two StarCorps vessels were patrolling near Villanueva, chasing off anybody who got too close. There’d been three more fatalities, one on the ground and two in a lander, which had exploded while taking off. The assumption was that they’d attempted to rescue an AI that turned out to be booby-trapped.

  “It couldn’t have been an AI,” said Belle.

  “Why not?” Shara asked.

  “No Beta would deliberately destroy itself.”

  “How do you know?”

  “It’s irrational.”

  News shows were playing simulations showing the lander lifting off, ascending a few hundred meters, and exploding, scattering debris across the open fields below. A representative from StarCorps announced that the loss of life “in this misbegotten cause is insupportable.”

  A Survey spokesperson decried the rescue efforts, calling them lunacy, and suggesting that those who were encouraging the would-be rescuers should have their minds wiped. “What’s happening now,” he said, “isn’t just a matter of somebody’s trying to cash in by bringing back a valuable artifact. And it’s not even a case of generous, courageous people trying to rescue machines that they think are actually alive. What’s going on at this point, unfortunately, is that young idiots see this as a way to demonstrate their manhood.”

  There was a flurry of outraged responses pointing out that women were also involved in the attempts.

  Shara recognized the representative as Chang Hao, with whom she’d had some personal dealings. “He’s a good guy,” she said. “Most of the time.”

  “There’s another risk to all this,” said Worldwide’s Deryk Cutler, “that no one has mentioned. We haven’t paid much attention to Villanueva because it’s never posed a threat. Except to those who decided to vacation there.” A smile flickered at the corners of his mouth. “But we may be providing a means for malfunctioning AIs to ship objects back to us. I know this will sound paranoid to some, but a little caution will cost us nothing. Let’s not wait until we’re faced with fatalities at home. I urge that we institute inspections of any ship returning from Villanueva. I mean, what really brought down that lander? If it was a bomb, it strikes me that their next step would be to allow us to bring a few of them back here, where they can cause even greater damage. Maybe they’ll wait until we’ve delivered several hundred into places throughout the Confederacy and set them off simultaneously. What a demonstration that would be.”

  Alex was sitting beside me. He grumbled something, released his restraints, and stood. “It’s great to be back.”

  On our first day home, Shara, Alex, and I went to see Kareem Hawkley in his office at StarCorps. Kareem was the assistant director of operations in the Rimway sector, and he was also a member of the Antiquarian Guild, which was how we came to know him. He knew we were coming, and he had assumed we were there to push him about StarCorps policy regarding Villanueva. That would have been useless, since he had no control over policy decisions of that magnitude. He was surprised and visibly relieved when the conversation went in another direction. “Unidentified ships?” he said. “You’ve been out chasing vehicles that wander in and out of syste
ms without identifying themselves? Hey, guys, it happens all the time.” His gaze moved from Alex and Shara to me, and his eyes told me he thought that I, at least, should have known better.

  “It wasn’t just somebody wandering around,” said Shara. “We were able to predict the arrival, and we have pictures. The ship is lost. And it has passengers on board.”

  “Okay,” he said, as if we were going to present him with a stamp collection. “Show me what you have.” Kareem was tall, handsome in a stilted way, with dark hair and brown skin. He was amiable, self-effacing, but he wasn’t the sort of guy who’d be willing to take a plunge on a wild story.

  We showed him the images of the Alpha. A cursor moving among the stars. Gradually changing into a ship. With lights on. Then the desperate radio communications, complete with Belle’s translations.

  “Why can’t I understand what they’re saying?” he asked.

  Alex took a deep breath and explained as best he could. Lost for two thousand years. Speaking Standard as it was spoken in ancient Cormoral. Think of it as a tunnel through time and space.

  The office was big, and it looked out across Constitution Square. The walls were covered with pictures of patrol boats and decorated officers shaking hands with, or simply standing next to, Kareem.

  His eyes narrowed as he listened. He asked a couple of questions. How did we stumble onto this? Did we actually see anyone? How can people who left on a flight that long ago possibly be alive? Is there anyone else who can support these claims?

  Shara jumped in to help with the responses. Throughout the entire conversation, Kareem was nodding, yes, yes, of course, but something in his eyes told me that it was really yes, yes, this is off-the-wall we can’t do this.

  Eventually, when they’d finished, Kareem leaned back in his chair. “You say this occurred where?”

  Shara showed him.

  “That’s well outside our jurisdiction,” he said.

  “It’s outside anyone’s jurisdiction.”

  “Unfortunately, that’s correct.”

  “Kareem, please don’t back away from this. We need the Corps.”

  “Can you guarantee that, if we send some units out there, this, ah, Antares will actually show up?”

  “Unfortunately, we can’t guarantee it,” said Alex, “but Alpha arrived on schedule.”

  “Of course. I’m just thinking what we’d have to go through to manage this and where we’d be if it fell through. I mean, it’s not exactly a routine rescue mission. If nothing happened, whoever ordered it would be laughed out of business.” He took a deep breath. “You can’t even be sure there’d be anybody alive on the thing, can you?”

  “There’s no way—”

  “That’s what I thought. How many ships do you need?”

  “Twenty.”

  He shook his head. Cleared his throat.

  Alex didn’t have much patience left. “I don’t think you understand, Kareem. The event was predicted. By Dr. Michaels here. Lives are at stake.”

  “I understand perfectly, Alex. And I wouldn’t want you to draw the wrong conclusion. We’d like very much to help. But you’re asking me to send twenty patrol units out in—when was that again?—two weeks?”

  “Ten days.”

  “And where would they be going?”

  “Taiulus Zeta.”

  “Taiulus Zeta,” he said.

  Shara showed him where it was.

  “Hell, they’d need seven or eight days just to get there.”

  “Five days and twenty-one hours.”

  “How is it that a ship that got lost two thousand years ago still has power?”

  “I know it’s hard to believe.”

  “Hard? Try impossible, people. Even if I wanted to go, I could never sell this to the director. Do you know what would happen to me if I took this in to him?”

  “You’d have to explain it,” said Alex. “Look, Kareem, I know this is pretty wild stuff, but the science is valid.”

  Kareem pressed his fingertips against his forehead. It’s not easy to refuse a friend. “Alex, this would maybe be a little easier to sell, though I suspect not much, if you weren’t involved in this black-box thing.”

  “That’s another issue.”

  “I know. But it’s the first connection they’ll make.” He shook his head. “Let me ask a question: Is anyone in imminent danger here?”

  “The people on the Antares.”

  “Who may not even exist. Is there a possibility of property loss?”

  “It’s not what we’re talking about.”

  “Of course it is. That’s our mission, Alex. To protect and defend. We’re effectively a rescue service. You get in trouble out there, we’re the guys who ride in and bail you out. And we do that, by the way, within the confines of the Confederacy. Now, you need to be aware that we have limited resources. We have enormous coverage responsibilities and a minimum of equipment with which to operate. Right now, Villanueva is tying up a substantial number of our resources. So what happens if we send a large squadron out to chase this specter of yours, and somebody needs help somewhere else? Maybe people die because we don’t have anybody available to go to the rescue?

  “Look, I’d love to help. I really would. This is a fascinating story, and there might even be something to it. But we’re just not in a position to take it on.”

  For a long moment we all just sat there staring at one another. Then Alex got up. “Okay,” he said. “Thanks, anyhow.”

  “I’m sorry, Alex. You might try Survey.”

  Our reception at the Department of Planetary Survey and Astronomical Research wasn’t much of an improvement. “I understand your concern,” we were told by an oversized woman who kept looking around the room as if she’d lost something, “but you have to understand that missing ships don’t come within our purview. Unidentified vehicles that might have come from somewhere else—Now, that’s something we’d be interested in. We’d certainly react to the possibility of uncovering an alien civilization, but that’s not what you claim to have here.”

  “Well,” said Alex, “it’s possible. Maybe they are aliens. We’re not really sure what it is.”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Benedict. But I think you’ve made yourself perfectly clear. I suspect, though, this is the sort of mission that StarCorps would love to sink their teeth into.”

  Alex called Senator Delmar. She listened patiently, even sympathetically. She was out in the mountains somewhere, probably skiing. It was her favorite diversion. We could see a snowcapped peak through a window, and Delmar tended to gaze at it while Alex described what was needed.

  When he’d finished, she hesitated, letting us see that she was giving intense consideration to something she didn’t take at all seriously. “Alex,” she said finally, “I’d like to help. But this, coming after the AI thing, just won’t fly. I wouldn’t be able to get anybody to support it.” She took a deep breath. “What kind of evidence do you have? Can you really back up any of this?”

  We showed her the visuals. She looked shocked. “Send me a copy of the entire package. I’ll show it to Larry.”

  “Larry is—?”

  “Larry Decker, the science advisor.”

  We sent within the hour. Delmar got back to us later that afternoon. “They’re telling me it’s a long shot, Alex. We don’t have the resources to chase it down. I’m sorry.”

  “People are trapped out there, Senator—”

  “The consensus is that the recordings are a misinterpretation of something else.”

  “They think it’s a hoax.”

  “They didn’t say that. But I can’t find anyone who seriously believes that, even if you’re right and they are ships lost in time, that anybody could be alive on them. What I’m hearing is that it’s only an AI making the transmissions.” She read Alex’s expression. “I’m sorry. Something like this, when StarCorps already has its hands full dealing with the Villanueva problem—Alex, it would be political suicide.”

  We tried
some of our other connections, but nobody knew us anymore. Like to help, they said. Unfortunately, ancient ships are a hard sell. Javis Bollinger, an assistant to Rimway’s Secretary of the Environment, commented that, while he sympathized with what Alex was trying to do, his projects were “propelling us into the silly season.” First, black boxes. Now this. Anybody who wanted to be taken seriously, he said, wouldn’t dare touch it. “Sorry, Alex. We owe you quite a lot. I know that, and the Secretary knows it. But this has disaster written all over it.”

  Meantime, though the box controversy continued to rage, the crank messages had fallen off. Most of the attention now was being directed at organizations who were actually sponsoring the rescue missions. “I’m grateful for that,” Jacob told me. “Reading the mail we’ve been getting is depressing. I mean, I can understand some people might have a different perspective, but why do they persist in assuming that Alex is a maniac? Or a thief? At the very least, I’d think they would realize he has a filter and is not reading or listening to their tirades. That it gets left to somebody like me.”

  “Human nature,” I said. “We seem to produce a lot of idiots. Maybe there’s a nitwit hiding inside each of us.”

  “I do not think you need to worry, Chase.”

  “Thank you, Jacob.”

  “And keep in mind my programing would not allow me to say that if I did not mean it.”

  I wasn’t sure, but I thought I caught a wink in there somewhere.

  “We’ll have to charter the ships,” said Alex.

  “That’ll be expensive. How many?”

  “We’ll be out there for at least four weeks. I think five is about as high as we can go.”

  “All right.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “It’s going to strain our resources. There’s not much left after buying the lander.”

  “I know. We’re going to try to do this on credit.”

  “Alex, nobody’s going to lend you the kind of money you’ll need to lease five ships for a month. That’s crazy.”