Jack McDevitt - SEEKER

It sounded good. But we’re all conditioned to assume that utopian notions are, well, utopian. Not practical. Utopias always collapse.

I sat on the bridge of the Belle-Marie, watching Takmandu gradually grow into a disk.

To port, I could see the vast star-clouds of the Veiled Lady, including one small gauzy group near the tip of what was perceived as her right ear. It was the Versinjian Cluster, in which, according to completely unsupported legend, the Margolians had planted their colony. But there were tens of thousands of stars in the group. I wondered whether, at that moment, I was seeing light from the Margolian sun.

The Josef Hennessy Foundation maintains an operational office in orbit. I called ahead and made an appointment, citing research. They told me they’d be delighted to see me.

Takmandu is an outpost. Nothing in the Confederate polity is closer to Mute country.

The Ashiyyurean world Kappalani is less than three light-years away. Consequently I’d expected to see some signs of their proximity. Maybe a docked ship. Or even a couple of Mutes loose in the concourse.

But it didn’t happen. I found out later that there were occasional Mute visitors, but that the experience seemed to unsettle everybody on both sides so much that there was a mutual agreement in effect. If they came, they were escorted off the ship, their path was cleared, and nobody got to see them except the escorts, who are specially trained.

The Takmandu station is probably the biggest functioning orbiter I’ve seen. There’s a magnificent view of the Veiled Lady that draws thousands of visitors, and nearby Gamma is a naval base, so there’s a lot of traffic, and a lot of accommodation for tourists. The concourses are crowded with clubs, VR sites, souvenir shops, and even a live theater.

I checked into one of the hotels, showered, dressed, and went out to take care of business.

There’s a plethora of industrial, operational, and scientific offices scattered around on several decks. They line wide, garishly painted, gently curving passageways.

The Foundation was located between a travel agency and a first-aid station. I could see one woman inside, seated at a desk, apparently absorbed by a data screen. A banner dominated the wall behind her. It read OUR FRIENDS THE ASHIYYUR. I paused in front of the door and told it who I was. It said that it was glad to see me, and opened.

The woman inside looked up and smiled. “Ms. Kolpath,” she said, “welcome to the Hennessy Foundation.” She tilted her head. “Or is it Dr. Kolpath?”

“Ms. is fine. Chase works, too.”

“Well, hello, Chase.” She extended a hand. “I’m Teesha Oranya.” She had red hair and animated blue eyes, combined with the suppressed energy of a social worker.

“How can we help you?”

“I’m interested in the Foundation,” I said. “I wonder if I may ask some questions.”

“Of course. Ask away.”

“You’re trying to foster better relations with the Mutes. How exactly do you go about that?”

“The Ashiyyur.” She looked briefly pained, as if another bigot had surfaced in front of her. “Basically, we try to keep communications open. We talk with them. We train others to talk with them. And we learn to overlook the differences.”

“What sort of people? Diplomats? Tourists?”

She motioned me to a seat. “Traders. Fleet people. Researchers. Sometimes people who just want to meet them. To say hello.”

There was a framed picture on her desk: Teesha standing with a Mute under a tree.

She followed my gaze, and smiled. “That’s Kanta Toman,” she said. “ ‘Kanta the Magnificent,’ he calls himself.”

“Is he serious?”

She laughed and shook her head at my provincialism. “He’s my counterpart. He works for an organization much like this one. They have bureaucracies, too, Chase.

He’s stuck in his, and he feels invisible.”

“That sounds like a human reaction.”

“Ashiyyureans and humans have far more in common than what separates them.

Don’t let the fangs fool you. Or the telepathy. They take care of their kids, they want to be good at whatever it is they choose to do, they want affection. They expect to be treated decently. And they abide by a code of principles as ethical as anything we have.”

Kanta the Magnificent was half again as tall as she was. He had gray skin and redrimmed eyes set far apart. A predator’s eyes. His mouth was open in what was probably supposed to be a smile, but it was hard to look past the dagger bicuspids. He wore a ridiculous-looking broad-brimmed hat, baggy red trousers, and a white pullover. The pullover said BELLINGHAM UNIVERSITY.

“The director’s school,” she explained.

“Where was it taken?”

“During a visit here two years ago.” She sighed. “It’s a good thing he had a sense of humor.”

“Why’s that?”

“You ever been in the same room with an Ashiyyurean?”

“No,” I said.

“When he was here, I invited a few people in off the concourse to say hello. Ordinary travelers. I was new then.” She smiled and shook her head. “A couple of them had to be helped out.”

“Really?”

“It was probably from trying not to think about anything. Trying to keep their minds blank. If there’s a major difference between the species, it has to be that you and I are more easily shocked. And are less honest. In a society where everybody’s thoughts are open, you don’t have many hypocrisies.”

“Naked on the street corner.”

“That’s about it.”

“You seem to be doing okay.”

“Good training,” she said. “Now, let’s get back to you. What else did you want to know?”

“I’m interested in a superluminal that the Foundation purchased from Survey in 1392.”

Her eyebrows rose. “In 1392?”

“Yes. If the AI is intact, it might have some information that would be of value to me.”

“Well, that’s interesting.” She sat back in her chair and asked me to explain.

“It’s a complicated story,” I said. “It has to do with a research project.”

She nodded. “I should tell you that it’s against Foundation policy to allow unauthorized persons aboard our ships.”

“Can I persuade you to grant me authorization?”

“Would you like to tell me specifically what you’re looking for?”

Well, it wasn’t as if it was a military secret. So I told her there was reason to suspect the Falcon might have seen a derelict ship. That the record at Survey was incomplete.

“Okay.” She shrugged. “We don’t have a Falcon in our fleet, but that’s no surprise because we would probably have rechristened it. Let me see what I can do.”

“Thank you.”

“You understand, we’ll have to have one of our technical people go on board with you.”

“Of course. That’s no problem.”

“All right. Let’s see where the Falcon is.”

She gave directions to the data screen. Information swam into view. She tapped the screen, said something to herself, and brought up another page. She obviously wasn’t seeing what she expected. “Not here,” she said.

“You mean it’s out somewhere?”

“No. It’s not on the inventory.”

“How many ships do you have?”

“Seven.”

“And none of them is, or was, the Falcon?”

“That seems to be the case.”

A door opened. A man and woman stood just inside an adjoining office, in the process of saying good-bye to each other. The man wore a white beard, carefully clipped. The lines in his face suggested he’d eaten something that disagreed with him. Permanently.

The woman came out, the man retreated back inside, and the door closed.

She was diminutive, probably twenty years older than Teesha, and carefully packed into a blue business suit. She walked past me without noticing I was there. Teesha caught her eye and nodded toward me. She took a quick look in my direction, and let me see she had more important things to do.