Jack McDevitt - POLARIS

I got a knowing smile from Windy, who made a crack about the hunting available that night. Then she was all innocent modesty while Alex fondled her with his eyes and told her how lovely she looked.

The office was illuminated by a single desk lamp. She might have turned up the lights, but she didn’t. Everybody looks more exotic when you can’t see too well.

“Who gets the proceeds?” Alex asked, when we’d settled into chairs. “From the auction?”

“Not us,” she said.

“Why not? Where’s it go?”

“Survey is funded by the Council.”

“I understand that. But the Polaris was Survey’s baby. It’s your equipment. Your mission. Anyhow, the bulk of the funding comes from private sources.”

Windy sent out for a round of drinks. “You know how it is with government,” she said. “In the end, they own everything.”

Alex sighed. “So what’s the occasion for the party? Who’s in town?”

She had a malicious smile for that one. “The Mazha.”

He did a double take.

I probably did, too. “He’s a thug,” I said. That got me a warning glance. Don’t make waves.

The Mazha was the ruler of Korrim Mas, an independent mountain theocracy on the other side of the world. It was one of those places that never changed, that hung on generation after generation no matter what was happening around it, that steadfastly refused to seek admission to the Confederacy, largely because they couldn’t meet the democratic requirements.

They believed that the end of the world was imminent and that the claim that humans had originated elsewhere was a lie. They denied the existence of the Mutes, insisting there were no aliens, and if there were, they wouldn’t be able to read minds.

The population lived reasonably well except that some of them disappeared from time to time, and nobody ever criticized the authorities. It was the oldest continuing government on Rimway. It had always been an autocratic state of one kind or another, its people apparently incapable of governing themselves. Every time they got rid of one dynasty, another bunch of gangsters took over.

“He’s a head of state,” Windy said. She waited for a response, got none, and went on. “He’ll be arriving shortly. When he gets here, they’ll show him to the director’s suite in Proctor Union. We’ll be there, along with the other guests. And, if he’s not averse, we’ll wander over and say hello.”

“Good of him,” I said. “What if I’m averse?”

Alex sent another cease-and-desist signal. “Why are we involved?” he asked. “Is he here to see the artifacts?”

“Yes. And to be seen at a Survey event.”

I commented that I thought he didn’t believe that starships existed.

“You’ll have to ask him about that.” She grinned, refusing to take umbrage. I knew her pretty well, and she would have skipped it herself had she been able. But Windy’s loyal. And she liked her job. “Actually, Alex, he’s heard of you. When the director mentioned you’d be here, he asked explicitly to be introduced.”

The drinks arrived. A sea spray for Alex, red wine for Windy, and dark cargo for me. Windy raised her glass. “To Rainbow Enterprises,” she said, “for its unwavering efforts in the search for truth.”

That was a little bit much, but we played along. I guess we needed a change of subject anyhow. I drank mine down and would have liked a refill, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to slow down my reflexes on a night when I was going to meet the most murderous individual on the planet.

The bureaucratic workings, however, made the decision for me. A second round arrived. And I took the lead this time: “To the passengers and captain of the Polaris, wherever they are.”

Alex drank his down, then stood, examining the glass. “I assume we’ve given up. Is there any kind of effort at all still being made to find out what happened?”

“No.” Windy drew the word out. “Not really. There’s an ad hoc committee. But it’s not going anywhere. They’ll respond if anything turns up. And every once in a while somebody writes a book, or does a show on it. But there’s no concerted effort. I mean, Alex, it’s been a long time.” She put her glass down. “When it happened, they sent the entire fleet out there. To Delta Karpis. They searched everywhere. Checked everything they could think of for light-years in all directions.”

“With no result whatever?”

“Zip.”

“Was there never any indication at all,” I asked, “what might have happened?”

“No. They never found anything.” She glanced down at a bracelet. “We better get going. He’s on the grounds.” She got up and opened the door for us.

I hesitated. “I’m not sure I want to socialize with this guy,” I said.

Alex was on his feet, straightening his jacket. “You don’t have to be nice to him, love,” he said. “He’s not going to be interested in us.”

Windy stood by the doorway. “I understand how you feel, Chase. I’m sorry. I’d have warned you, but they swore us to secrecy. There are too many people around who’d like to kill him. The Mazha.” Through her windows, I could see a pair of skimmers coming down onto the grounds. “But I’d be grateful if you came. You’ll brighten the place up.” She smiled. “And how often do you get to meet a bona fide dictator?”

“That’s a point.” I glanced at Alex.

“It’s all in the interests of diplomacy and science,” he said, pushing me gently before him.

The artifacts were in the auditorium on the ground floor of Proctor Union, one level down from the director’s suite. Proctor Union is a large, rambling structure, part administrative offices, part museum, part conference center. It was located beyond the western loop of the Long Pool, which was actually an elongated figure eight, the infinity symbol.

Ordinarily we could have descended from Windy’s office and gone directly through a connecting corridor, under the waterway, but everything was closed off as a security measure. So we bundled up and went out through the front door. Windy led the way. The night was damp and blustery, and the moon was a luminous blur in a churning sky. The people loose on the grounds had their heads bent and were hurrying along. No casual strollers that night.

We crossed the Long Pool on one of its several bridges. There was no sign of the quocks, which usually flocked there at this time of year.

Windy pulled her coat tightly around her. “A lot of VIPs will be here,” she said.

She began rattling off names and titles. Senators and judges, CEOs, and lawyers.

“The movers and shakers of this town.” Meaning, of course, since Andiquar was the world capital, movers and shakers on a very large scale. “When they heard the Mazha was coming, they all wanted to join the party.”

These were the same people who’d be attacking him and talking about morality on the talk shows the next day. I didn’t say anything. Just kept walking.

“There won’t be a large crowd, though,” Windy continued. “The invitations went out at the last minute.”

“Security again?” asked Alex.

“Yes. His guards don’t like long-range plans.”

“I guess not.”

Proctor Union was the administrative center of the complex, designed with a swept-back, ready-to-launch appearance. Rooftops rolled away in several directions, but all were angled to give the impression that the structure was aimed at the far side of the Narakobo. The river itself, visible through a line of trees, was dark and brooding. There was something unsettling about that night, some whisper of approaching catastrophe that was getting mixed up with the elements.