Jack McDevitt - SEEKER

Famous places, once. Centers of power in their day. You know what they’re like now?”

“Well, I know they’re not capitals anymore.”

“Except Paris. Paris is forever, they say. Chase, Earth has always had a problem: It’s loaded with more people than its resources can support. It’s always been that way.

Ever since the Industrial Age. The results of too many people are that someone’s always hungry, there’s always a plague running loose somewhere. Ethnic jealousies always get worse when times are hard. Nations become unstable, so governments get nervous and impose strictures. Individual freedoms break down. One thing the place has never been short of is dictators. People there have old habits, old hatreds, old perspectives that they keep passing down from generation to generation, and never get rid of.

“The planet’s population today is about eight billion. When the Margolians left, it was more than twice that. Can you imagine what life must have been like?”

“So,” I said, “the Margolians were, what, downtrodden? Trying to find a place where they could feed their kids?”

“No. They were at the other end of the scale. They were intellectuals, by and large.

And they had their share of the wealth. But they didn’t like the noxious environment.

Noxious meaning both physically and psychologically. They had a dictator. A theocrat by the name of Carvalla, who was relatively harmless as dictators went. But a dictator nevertheless. He controlled the media, controlled the schools, controlled the churches.

You attended church or you paid the consequences. The schools were indoctrination centers.”

“Hard to believe people would consent to live like that.”

“They’d been trained to take authority seriously. In Carvalla’s time, if you didn’t do what you were told, you disappeared.”

“I’m beginning to see why they wanted to clear out.”

“They were led by Harry Williams.”

Another name I was obviously supposed to know. “Sorry,” I said.

“He was a communications magnate, and he was connected for years to various social and political movements, trying to get food for hungry kids, to make medical care available. He didn’t get into trouble until he started trying to do something about education.”

“What happened?”

“The authorities didn’t like his basic notion, which was that kids should be taught to question everything.”

“Oh.”

“They called him unpatriotic.”

“I’m not surprised.”

“An atheist.”

“Was he?”

“He was an agnostic. Just as bad.”

“In that kind of society, I suppose so. You said it was a theocracy?”

“Yes. The head of state was also effectively the head of the Church.”

“What happened to Williams?”

“Fifteen years in jail. Or seventeen. Depends on which sources you trust. He’d have been executed, except that he had powerful friends.”

“So he did get out?”

“Yes, he got out. But it was while he was in jail that he decided something had to be done. Revolution wasn’t possible. So the next best thing was to escape. ‘Joseph Margolis had it right,’ he’s reported to have said at a meeting of his associates. ‘We’ll never be able to change things.’ ”

“I take it Joseph Margolis is the guy they’re named for?”

“Right.”

“Who was he?”

“A British prime minister. A hero, and apparently something of a philosopher.”

“What was he right about?”

“That communication technologies lead easily to enslavement. That it is very difficult to maintain individual freedoms. He was fond of citing Benjamin Franklin’s comment to the American people: ‘We have given you a republic. Now see if you can keep it.’ ”

He saw I didn’t recognize Franklin’s name either. He grinned and offered to explain, but I got the drift. “There were no colonies at the time, were there?”

“Two small ones. But both were under control of the home world. There were no independents.”

“And the government acquiesced?”

“They encouraged him to go and offered assistance.” He stared through the window at the ocean. “Good riddance to troublemakers. But that meant they’d know the location of the colony. Williams wanted out from under their thumb. So he and whoever was with him had to go it alone.”

“Not possible,” I said.

“Some of the Margolians thought the same way. But he persuaded them to make the attempt. They believed they could create an Eden. A home for humanity that would embody freedom and security. An ideal place to live.”

“That’s been tried any number of times,” I said.

He nodded. “Sometimes it’s happened. Anyhow, they were desperate. They sent people out to look for the right world. When they found it, they kept its location secret, bought the two ships, and headed out. Five thousand of them.”

“That’s an incredible story,” I said.

“Harry went with the last group, more than four years after the first Margolians left.

He’s reported to have told the media that, where they were going, even God wouldn’t be able to find them.”

The server refilled our glasses. “And nobody ever did,” I said.

“No. Not as far as I can tell.”

Alex was not very demonstrative. If the building were burning, he’d suggest it might be prudent to make for the door. So the news that the cup was associated with both a famous ship and a celebrated mystery did not send him reeling with joy around the office. But I saw a glint of satisfaction in those brown eyes. “Jacob,” he said.

Jacob responded with a few bars of Perrigrin’s Eighth. The kind of majestic chords with which heroic figures in the sims customarily make their entrances. Alex told him to knock it off.

“How may I be of assistance?” Jacob asked, in the deepest baritone he could muster.

Alex rolled his eyes. “Jacob,” he said, “we’d like to know whether any artifacts from the two ships associated with the Margolians, the Seeker and the Bremerhaven, are currently available, or have been on the market at any time.”

“They’d be quite old,” said Jacob. “I’ll need a few moments.”

We made small talk for about a minute, then he was back. “I see nothing of that nature. Nothing associated with either vessel. There are six verified items connected with the Margolians themselves. And numerous suspect objects.”

“Name them, please. The ones that are verified.”

“A communications link of some sort. A pen with Jase Tao-Ki’s name engraved on it.

Tao-Ki was a prominent member of the group, and a substantial contributor. There is also a wall plaque on which is inscribed a commendation to the Margolians from a social welfare group. A lapel pin bearing their symbol and name. The symbol is a torch. A portrait of Harry Williams himself. And a copy of Glory Run, signed by its author, Kay Wallis. It’s an account of how they put the mission together. The signature is faded but can be seen in ultraviolet light. All six were left behind. There is nothing from them after their departure.”

“Who was Kay Wallis?” asked Alex.

“One of the founders of the organization. One of its prime defenders when people began to laugh at them. The record’s unclear, but it looks as if she died just before the final round of flights. She never left Earth.” He paused, perhaps expecting a comment.

But none came. “Wallis laid out their objections to various governmental policies in Glory Run. Basically they were concerned that each generation was subjected to a series of ideologies which, once imposed, were hard to get rid of, hampered independent thought, and led to various hostilities. She spells everything out. Get the religious groups under control. Reign in the corporate types. Recognize that dissent is healthy. Provide a level playing field so no one is disadvantaged.”