Jack McDevitt - SEEKER

The lamp stayed white.

The crowd began to shuffle, to clear out of the way. I heard heavy footsteps. And of course no sound of a voice anywhere.

Then the authorities arrived. Both in uniform. Both looking severe. But then, with an Ashiyyurean, how could you tell? I tried to cut that idea off at the pass. Tried to transmit Almost done. Just be patient a moment more.

They stepped over the cord. One took my arm and pulled me away from the reader. I looked back. The lamp was still white.

They wanted me to go with them and I was in no position to decline. They half carried me back out through the airlock, and through a gawking crowd that now made no effort to hide the fact that they were watching. We exited the hall, went down a ramp, across a lobby, and into a passageway.

I was helpless. I was projecting all the protests I could manage. But nothing worked.

You couldn’t talk to these guys. Couldn’t use nonverbals. Couldn’t even use the old charm.

They hauled me through double doors and into a corridor lined with offices. I realized I wasn’t simply being ejected. We were headed into the rear of the museum.

The doors were made of dark glass, and Mute symbols were posted electronically beside them. One opened, and I was ushered inside. It was an empty office. I saw an inner door, a couple of tables and three or four chairs. All standard Mute size. My guards released me and set me down.

They stayed with me, both standing, one near the door by which we’d entered, the other by the inner door. I wondered whether my chip had finished loading yet.

We waited about five minutes. I heard noises on the other side of the inner door. Then it opened. A female emerged, wearing clothing that resembled a workout suit. The color was off-white. The suit had a hood, but it lay back on her shoulders.

She looked at me, then at my escorts. They seemed to be exchanging information.

Finally, the escorts got up and left the room. Apparently I was not considered a threat.

The female reached into a pocket, produced a translator on a cord, and draped it around her neck. “Hello, Chase,” she said. “I’m Selotta Movia Kabis. You may call me Selotta.”

Even under the circumstances, it was hard not to laugh. I gave my name and said hello.

She stared at me. “We are pleased you decided to visit us today.”

“It’s my pleasure,” I said. “This is a lovely museum.”

“Yes.” She circled me and took a chair opposite. “May I ask what you were doing in the Falcon?”

No point lying. The translator wouldn’t help her read my thoughts, but I wondered whether she really needed it. “I was trying to download the navigation logs.”

“And why were you doing that? The Falcon has been in the Human Hall as long as I’ve been here. It must be twenty-five years.”

“It’s been a long time,” I agreed.

She concentrated on me. Made no effort to hide the fact she was in my head. “What’s the Seeker?” she asked.

I told her. I described its connection with Margolia, then explained what Margolia was.

“Nine thousand years?” she said.

“Yes.”

“And you hope to find this place? Margolia?”

“We know that’s a trifle optimistic. But we do hope to find the ship.”

Gray lids came down over her eyes. And rose again. The corneas were black and diamond-shaped. She considered me for a long moment. “Who knows?” she said, finally. “Find one, and it might lead you to the other.”

“As you can see,” I said, “I need your help to get the information from the Falcon.”

She sat quite still while she considered it. Then she seemed to come to a conclusion.

The door to the passageway opened. I turned and saw one of the guards. Selotta motioned him forward. He had my chip in his right hand. I wondered if it might be possible to grab the chip and run.

“No,” said Selotta. “That would not be a good idea.”

He handed it to her, turned, and left. She inspected it, switched on a lamp, and took a longer look. When she’d finished she turned those diamond eyes directly on me. I got the distinct feeling she thought she was talking to me. Suddenly she seemed surprised.

She shook her head in a remarkably human gesture and tapped the translator. “It’s hard to remember sometimes I have to speak.”

“I guess,” I said.

“I was asking whether you don’t have some qualms about the possibility of a living civilization out there. Your own people, after nine thousand years. You have no way of knowing what you might find.”

“I know.”

“No offense intended, but humans tend to be unpredictable.”

“Sometimes,” I said. “We don’t expect to find a living world. But if we could find the original settlement, we could retrieve some artifacts. They’d be quite valuable.”

“I’m sure.”

I waited, hoping she’d give me the chip and wish me godspeed.

“Perhaps we can make an arrangement.”

“What did you have in mind?”

“You may have your chip.”

“If-?”

“I will expect, if you find what you’re looking for, a generous bequest.”

“You want some of the artifacts?”

“I think that would be a reasonable arrangement. Yes, I will leave the details to your generosity. I believe I may safely do that.” She got up.

“Thank you, Selotta. Yes. If we succeed I will see the museum is taken care of.”

“Through me personally.”

“Of course.”

She made no move to hand over the disk. “Chase,” she said, “I’m surprised you didn’t come to us first.”

I stood there trying to look as if attempted theft had been a rational course of action.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I should have. To be honest, I didn’t know whether you would allow it.”

“Or try to grab everything for ourselves.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You thought it.” She put the chip on the tabletop. “I’ll look forward to hearing from you, Chase.”

Those decisions that are truly significant are only confronted once.

Whether it’s the choice of a life partner, or of an invasion route, the opportunity never returns. You must get it right the first time.

- Mara Delona,

Travels with the Bishop, 1404 Back in my hotel room, I used my notebook to run the chip. First I scanned for any reference to Margolia, to a derelict, or to any kind of artifact whatever.

“Negative search,” it said.

“Okay. Just print the damned thing out and let’s see what we have.”

“Very good, Chase. The data covers ten missions, beginning in 1381 and ending in 1392.”

The hotel made several versions of assorted nonalcoholic drinks available for its guests. While I waited for the printout, I tried one with a lime taste that was actually quite good.

The Falcon had visited nine suns on its last flight with the Wescotts. None had been binaries. We had the usual details on each-mass, temperature, and age, along with a wealth of associated data. We also had the details of the planetary systems, where they existed. (One of the targets, Branweis 4441, had none.) We had everything that had been on the original report and, as far as I could see, nothing more.

And everything was consistent.

I took it back one mission, conducted in 1390-91. They’d inspected ten systems on that one, and again all the data checked out.

I went over the rest of the flights, all the way back to Adam’s first mission on the Falcon. I saw no anomalies.

A week later I was at Takmandu, where a message was waiting from Alex. Spare no effort, he’d written. Come back with the prize and consider yourself a junior partner.

Sure, Alex. What we have is a copy of what we already had.