Jack McDevitt - POLARIS

“I don’t know. That information is not available.”

That was my area of expertise. “The answer’s no, Alex. The station AI logs everything. Any attempt to juggle the log, to gundeck it in any way, is considered a criminal offense. And it gets reported.”

“No way it could be done?”

“I don’t think so. At the first sign of tampering, the AI would send out an alarm.”

“Okay. I think we better have a look at it anyhow.”

“Could we wait until morning?”

He laughed. “Yes, I suspect we can do that.”

It was supposed to be a joke. “You do mean we’re leaving tomorrow? ” I’d been hoping for two or three days off.

“Yes,” he said. “I think it’s prudent we end this thing as quickly as we can. We’ll be targets until we do.” Did I want more wine? I declined, and he refilled his glass.

“Now, can we trust Belle ’s new AI?”

“Yes,” I said. “We have a security system that will alert us if anyone so much as looks twice at the ship.” Nevertheless, I took an early transport up to Skydeck and spent the morning going over her, just to be on the safe side. I’d had enough surprises.

The Meriwether platform is located in solar orbit around Meriwether A, which is the largest component of a triple star system. The other two suns, however, are so dim and so far away, they’re not distinguishable from distant stars. The station is, of course, an excavated asteroid. As we approached, lights came on, and a cheerful radio voice welcomed us.

With the advent of the quantum drive, the outstations had all become essentially obsolete. A few were kept in operation to assist ultralong missions; but there weren’t many, and they were being maintained at a limited level. “Belle says Meriwether doesn’t get more than a half dozen missions a year,” I told Alex.

“That can’t be enough to pay the upkeep,” he said. “I suspect they’ll be closing the place within a few years.”

I put visuals on-screen. “It’s been here a long time.”

“How old is it?”

“Seventeen hundred years. It goes back to Commonwealth days.” I was running data across the monitor. “Says here it was originally a naval base.”

There’d been a period early in the history of the Commonwealth in which warfare had flared sporadically between Rimway and her nearest neighbors, Inikonda and Chao Ti. It had been a three-way conflict, never all-out, with occasional alliances between two of the warring parties against the third.

The station continued transmitting. “… to have you in the area. Please state your requirements.” The voice was male. Careful diction. Vague projection of superiority. Aristocratic.

I submitted a list of needed supplies. Fuel. Water. We had plenty of food.

“Very good,” said the station. “Follow the lights. You’ll be coming in through Bay Four.”

“Thank you,” I said.

“We’re pleased to help. Is there anything else?”

Guide lamps came on around the curve of the rock. A portal was opening. Then more lights.

I invited Alex to respond. He nodded. “Yes,” he said. “I wonder if we could get some information about the history of the station.”

“Of course. We have a fully automated gift shop with several applicable volumes and VRs.”

“Excellent,” Alex said. “By the way, this is Chase Kolpath, and my name is Alex Benedict.”

“I am pleased to meet you both.”

“May I ask your name?”

“George.”

We docked. The portal closed, the bay pressurized, lights came on, doors opened, and robots began attaching fuel and water lines to the ship. We climbed out. I could see several other bays, all empty. It looked as if we were the only ones currently at the station. Ahead, deck lights came on and showed the way to an exit ramp.

We turned into a brightly lighted carpeted sitting room. An avatar was waiting.

He looked authoritative, official, competent. “Hello, Mr. Benedict,” he said cheerfully. “Ms. Kolpath. It’s good to see you. I am Captain Pinchot.” He was tall and trim, white-haired, with craggy features and a congenial smile. He wore a white uniform with an arm patch, epaulets, decorations, and a sash. The patch depicted a torch and a motto in unfamiliar characters. He smiled politely and steered us toward a group of three armchairs, centered around a dark-stained table. He waited until we were seated, then joined us. “We don’t get much company here anymore.”

His feet didn’t quite touch the deck. The station AI needed adjustment.

Panels opened in the table, and we were looking at two glasses of red wine and a bowl of assorted cheeses and fresh fruit. “Please, help yourselves.”

“Thank you.” I picked up a slice of melon. It looked just off the farm, tasted that way as well, and I wondered how they managed it.

“Your ship will be ready in one hour, ten minutes,” he said. “To get to the gift shop, simply go out the door, turn right, and follow the corridor. It’s about a threeminute walk. Do you require any other assistance?”

“No, thank you, Captain,” I said, trying the wine.

“I regret I can’t join you.” The avatar graciously let me see that I’d gained an admirer.

Alex crossed one leg over the other. “May I ask how old you are, Captain?”

Pinchot was sitting ramrod straight. “The station has been here sixteen-hundred forty-one standard years.”

“No. I mean you, Captain. How long have you been the operating intelligence here?”

The avatar tapped his index finger against his lips, apparently deep in thought. “I was installed in 1321 on your calendar.” A little more than a century ago. “I was an upgrade.”

“Are you familiar with the Polaris incident? With the loss of that ship?”

“You mean with the loss of the travelers aboard her?”

“Yes. I see that you are.”

“I’m familiar with the details.”

“Captain, we’re trying to determine what might have happened.”

“Excellent. I hope you succeed. It was, certainly, a puzzling incident.” He gazed around the room. “One of the search vessels stopped here shortly after it happened.

I’m not sure what they expected to find.”

Apparently, someone else had been thinking the way Alex had.

“You know who the seven victims were?” Alex asked. “The ones who vanished?”

“I know their names. And I knew one personally.”

“Really,” I said. “Which one?”

“Nancy White.”

“You’re suggesting she visited here?”

“Yes. Twice.”

“Physically?”

“Oh, yes. She sat right there where the young lady is.”

“I see,” said Alex. “Did you by any chance see her again after the incident?”

“ After the incident? Oh, my, no.”

“Did you have any visitors at all during the time period, say, three weeks on either side of the event?”

“We had one ship during that span. Did you wish specifics?”

“Yes, please.”

We listened while Captain Pinchot gave us chapter and verse. The vessel had been returning from the Veiled Lady and docked seventeen days before the Polaris incident. “En route to Toxicon.”

Alex looked thoughtful. “When was Nancy White here?”

“In 1344. And again in 1362.”

“Twice.”

“Yes. She told me the first time that she would come back to see me again.”

“She must have been quite young. The first time.”

“She was about nineteen. Scarcely more than a child.” Something mournful had entered his aspect.

“Tell us about it,” said Alex.

“She and her father were passengers aboard the Milan, which was returning from a survey mission. The father was an astrophysicist.”

Alex nodded.

“He specialized in neutron star formation, although the mission was a routine survey effort.”