Jack McDevitt - SEEKER

“If American society-that was America, right?-Yes, if American society was so oppressive, how’d she get it published?”

“It was published in China,” said Jacob, “one of the last strongholds of democracy on the planet.”

“The Margolians,” I said, “weren’t really disadvantaged.”

Alex’s eyes narrowed. “They had resources. But if you don’t have freedom of action, disadvantaged is the right word.” He scribbled something on a pad. “Let’s talk about the artifacts.” He requested a list of the amounts paid the last time the six Margolian objects had changed hands. Jacob reported two had been secret transactions. The other four printed out. Alex sighed. “Not bad,” he said.

Indeed. Tao-Ki’s pen went for several years’ worth of my income. And I was well paid. The others were higher.

Alex rubbed his hands together. “Okay. She’ll have to produce ownership documentation before any of this goes public.” He was, of course, speaking of Amy.

“You’ll take care of that?” I said. There would also be some negotiation involved, and that line of work was his specialty.

“Get through to her when you can. Find out if she’d be willing to meet us at the Hillside for a drink.”

I called Amy. She decided good things had happened and pressed me for information.

I explained that we were still gathering data, but that Alex wished to ask a few more questions. She wasn’t having it, of course. But that was okay. When we got to the Hillside, Alex would caution her not to pass the good news to anyone until we were sure nobody would dispute her ownership claim. We had to do that to protect ourselves since we would be facilitating the sale.

“I’ll be there,” she said.

Alex had placed the cup in our vault. I brought its image up and wondered about its history.

Probably, someone had collected it as a souvenir during the Seeker ’s early years, before it became associated with the Margolian migration. Or, it might have made one or two of the early flights to the colony world and come off the ship when it returned for the third mission. It was unlikely, but it could have happened that way. Were that the case, and we could show that it was, the cup would then become enormously valuable. But it was hard to see how we could take it that far.

When I mentioned it to Alex, he told me not to get excited. “FTL travel was a big deal in the twenty-seventh century,” he said. “What probably happened is that somebody got the trademark rights and produced cups and uniforms and all sorts of Seeker souvenirs for sale to the general public.”

The English characters looked especially exotic. Marquard had pronounced the ship’s name for me, in both Standard and in English. He’d admitted at the same time that there was some uncertainty about pronunciation. No original audio recordings remained from the period, so even though we could read the language, nobody knew for certain what it had actually sounded like.

See-ker. Accent on the first syllable.

Outward Bound.

Where had they gone? “So far away even God won’t be able to find us.”

Several accounts existed of various aspects of the story, the background of Harry Williams, the roots of the Margolian movement, contemporary attacks accusing the Margolians of being elitist, their probable destination, and, eventually, theories about their disappearance. They had done precisely what they said they would do, suggested some. They had gone so far out, that even now, thousands of years later, the world they’d selected remained undetected.

The common wisdom was that something had gone wrong and the colony had perished. Some thought that Margolia, over the ages, might have sidestepped the various bumps and reversals suffered by the mainline civilization, and moved so far ahead of it that they would not be interested in communicating with us. Me, I thought the common wisdom had it right.

Margolia had been the subject of several sims. Jacob showed me one. It was titled Invader, and had been produced less than a year earlier. In it, the hero discovers that Margolians have returned quietly to the Confederacy. They are highly advanced, they walk unrecognized among us, and they actually control the machinery of government.

They consider ordinary humans to be inferior and are planning a takeover. When the protagonist tries to warn the authorities, his girlfriend disappears, people begin dying, and there are lots of chases down dark alleys and through the corridors of an abandoned space station. The plot dissolves into a major shoot-out at the end, the young lady is rescued, and the good people of the Confederacy are alerted.

No one ever explained what conceivable reason the Margolians could have had in trying to take us over. But I’ll give the producers this: I was hanging on to my chair during the chase scenes.

Drink deep the cup of life;

Take its dark wine into your soul,

For it passes round the table only once.

- Marcia Tolbert Centauri Days, 3111 C.E.

The Hillside was an exquisite, posh club along the Riverwalk. The kind where they don’t put any prices in the menu because you’re not supposed to care. They had a human hostess, which is standard in most of the better restaurants, and human waiters, which of course is not. They also had a piano player.

The tables were well supplied with jasmine candles. Walls and tables were darkstained wood. Prints in the style of the last century provided a sense of nostalgia. I noticed a couple of senators with their spouses (I assumed) across the room. One, a well-known champion of corporate benefits, recognized Alex and came over to say hello.

Amy walked in a few minutes later, looking around as if she were lost. Then she spotted us and strode briskly over. “Good evening, Mr. Benedict,” she said, still taking in her surroundings. “This is really nice.”

Alex rose, pulled her chair out for her, and said he was glad she was pleased. She said hello to me and sat down.

She wore a pressed lavender suit and seemed to have had something of a makeover.

Her hair was pulled back and in better order. Her eyes were more alert, and she stood a bit straighter than she had at the office. She wasn’t at ease, but that of course was the reason we were there. The Hillside was the place Alex used when he wanted to put a client on the defensive. Which is to say, when he wanted something he wasn’t sure he could get.

She went immediately to business: “Chase said you have good news for me.”

That was her imagination at work. Alex looked at me, read my face, and smiled. “The cup is associated with a famous, and very early, interstellar,” he said. “We think it’s reasonably valuable.”

“How much?” she asked.

“We’ll have to let the market decide, Amy. I’d rather not guess.” He produced a chip.

“When you get time, complete this document. It will establish your ownership of the property.”

“Why do I have to do that?” she asked. “It’s mine. It was given to me.”

“And possession is ninety percent. But disputes have a way of appearing in these cases. It’s a formality, but it might save problems later.”

She was annoyed, but she took it and dropped it in a side pocket. “I’ll get it back to you tomorrow.”

“Good,” said Alex. “As soon as you’ve done that, we’ll put the cup on the market and see what happens.”

“All right.”

He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “Now,” he said, “while we don’t know its precise value, we should establish a minimum bid.”

“How much?”

He gave her a number. I’ve been through these things before, but it took my breath away. It was more than I’d been able to earn so far in a lifetime. Amy’s eyes squeezed hard shut and I saw a tear run down her cheek. I may have been getting a little damp myself.