Jack McDevitt - SEEKER

“Yes. Please.”

“It was sold to an Ashiyyurean organization by the Foundation?”

“That’s correct.”

“And the Foundation doesn’t know who?”

“They don’t know what happened to it after it was turned over to”-slight pause“the Ashiyyureans.”

She stood in the doorway, trying to decide how to get rid of me. “I really don’t know where you’d get that kind of information. Thirty-plus years-” She focused intently on the poster that said PASSAGE DOCUMENTATION HERE, as if the answer might be contained in the lettering. “We just do the electronic work to get people in and out. Of Xiala.”

“I understand,” I said. “Is there by any chance an Ashiyyurean office here? Maybe an embassy? Someone I could speak to who might be able to access the information? Or who might even remember?” It struck me before I’d finished the sentence that I might be making an impolitic remark since Mutes don’t speak. Couldn’t speak, except with the assistance of voice boxes.

“I’m the entire staff,” she said.

“I see.”

“At the moment, of course. There are four of us. We work a rotating schedule. But we have no Ashiyyurean.”

“Is there an embassy anywhere?”

She nodded. “Groundside.”

It is good to learn to look without wonder or disgust on the weaknesses which are to be found in the strongest minds.

- T. B. Macauley “Warren Hastings,”

Edinburgh Review, October 1841 I was tempted to send a message to Alex, suggesting if he was determined to proceed with the investigation, he’d be the obvious person to do it since he had experience dealing with the Ashiyyur. The problem was that I knew how he’d respond: You’re already there, Chase. Pull up your socks and go talk to them. See what you can find out.

So I bit the bullet. I sent a message telling him what I knew, and that if I could learn who had the Falcon I would proceed to Xiala. I also told him I was underpaid.

Then I linked through to the Mute embassy and was surprised when a young man answered the call. I figured they’d want a human face up front, but I’d expected an avatar. The guy on the circuit felt real, and when I flat out asked him if it were so he said yes. “I think,” he added with a laugh, “that we want to impress everyone that there’s really nothing to fear.” He grinned. “Now, Ms. Kolpath, what can I do for you?”

He had the unlikely name Ralf, and when I told him I needed some information, he invited me to go ahead. He was graceful, amiable, well-spoken. Auburn hair, brown eyes, good smile. Maybe thirty. A good choice for the up-front guy.

When I finished explaining he shook his head. “No,” he said. “I wouldn’t know anything about that. Wait, though. Let me check.” He looked through a series of data tables, nodded at a couple of them, and tapped the screen. “How about that?” he said.

“Here it is. The Falcon, right?”

“That’s correct.”

He read off the date and time of transfer. And the recipient. Which was another foundation.

“Good,” I said. “Is there a way I can get access to the ship?” I went into my researchproject routine.

“I really have no idea,” he said. “I can tell you where it is. Or at least where it was shipped. After that you’ll have to deal with them.”

“Okay,” I said. “Where is it?”

“It was delivered to the Provno Museum of Alien Life-forms. On Borkarat.”

“Borkarat?”

“Yes. Do you have a travel document?”

He was talking about authorization from the Confederacy to enter Mute space. “No,” I said.

“Get one. There’s an office on the station. Then check in with our travel people. We have an office too. You’ll have to file an application with us as well. It may take a few days.”

I hung around the orbiter for two weeks thinking all kinds of angry thoughts about Alex, before the documentation was completed and my transport vessel arrived. I wasn’t permitted to take the Belle-Marie into Mute space. That was a Confederate prohibition, dating back to a few years ago when we first came into possession of quantum-drive technology. The Confederacy wanted to keep the system out of the hands of the Mutes. But of course that proved impossible. You can’t have hundreds of ships using a given drive system, much better than anything anyone had had previously, and not expect the neighbors to come up with it pretty quickly. The Mutes have always claimed that their version was independently developed, but nobody believes it.

Curious thing: There’d been an assumption when we’d first encountered them that a species that used telepathy in lieu of speech would be unable to lie, would never have known the nature of deceit. But of course they turned out to be no more truthful than we are. Not when they discovered humans couldn’t penetrate them.

I’d kept Alex informed. I pointed out it would be expensive to take the connecting flight to Xiala. I would be on board the Diponga, or, as the station people called it, the Dipsy-Doodle. I also let him know I wasn’t happy with the fact this was becoming a crusade. I suggested if he wanted to call a halt, I wouldn’t resist. And I’d wait for his answer before going any farther.

His response was pretty much what I expected. He sat at my desk, looking serene, with the snow-covered forest visible through the windows, and told me how well I was doing, and how fortunate he was to have an employee with such persistence.

“Most people would have simply given up, Chase,” he said.

Most people were brighter than I was.

I thought about signing up for the Hennessy Foundation’s seminar on How to Control Psychological Responses When Communicating with Ashiyyureans. But it was hard to see that it would be helpful if they didn’t have an actual Mute come into the conference room. Anyhow, it seemed cowardly.

So when everything was in order, I boarded the Dipsy-Doodle, along with eight other human passengers. They settled us in the ship’s common room, and an older man in a gray uniform inscribed with arcane symbols over the left-hand pocket-MUTE TRANSPORT, I guessed-welcomed us on board, and told us his name was Frank and he’d be traveling with us and anything he could do to make things more comfortable we should just ask. We would be leaving in about an hour. He explained that the flight to Xiala would take approximately four standard days. And were there any questions?

My fellow passengers looked like business types. None was especially young, and none seemed very concerned. I was surprised, though, that all were human. Were there no Mutes returning home?

Afterward, Frank showed us to our compartments, and asked if, after settling in, we would all return to the common room. At 1900 hours. And thank you very much.

I stowed my gear. Four days to Xiala. Then it would be another four days to Borkarat, which was halfway across Mute space. (An odd aspect of quantum travel was that any destination requiring only a single jump tended to be three or four days away.

Depending on how far you were from your destination when you emerged from the jump.) I began to wonder if I wanted to look at something else in the way of career employment.

When we rejoined Frank, he talked about procedures for a few minutes, how the meal schedule would run, use of washroom facilities, and so on. Then he explained that the captain wanted to introduce himself.

On cue, the door to the bridge opened and the first Mute I had ever seen in person walked into the room. It had gray-mottled skin, recessed eyes under heavy ridges, arms too long for the body, and the overall appearance of something that needed more sunlight. It wore a uniform similar to Frank’s.

I had expected, judging from everything I’d heard, to feel a rush of horror.