Jack McDevitt - SEEKER

I was glad to check out of the hotel and get the shuttle up to the orbiter. And I can’t adequately describe my feelings, ten days later, at seeing the Belle-Marie again.

I got on board, said nice things to the guys in ops to get a quick clearance, told Belle I’d missed her, sat down on the bridge, and started going through my checklist.

Fifteen minutes later I was on my way home.

It was a four-day flight. Mostly, I sat stewing over the amount of time and effort invested to come up with nothing. I read, watched some sims, and when I got within radio range of Rimway I called Alex.

“How’d you make out?” he asked.

“I got the AI download. But there’s nothing new in it.” We were audio only, with a twelve-minute total time delay while the transmission traveled out and back. I made myself comfortable.

“Okay. Hang on to it. Maybe we can find something.”

Did he really think I might toss it overboard? “I’m not optimistic,” I said.

He was waiting at Skydeck when I docked, all smiles and reassurances. Not my fault nothing was there, he said. Not to worry. We’ll take another look. Who knows what we might see? “Don’t know where I’d be without you, Chase,” he added. He thought I felt terrible. What I mostly felt was frustration. Three weeks of mostly inedible food and playing mental dodge ball with Mutes, and we had nothing to show for it.

“Where’s the download?” he asked finally.

It was in one of my bags.

“Okay.” He was trying to sound reassuring. “Why don’t you get it out so we can look at it on the way down?”

“It’s no different from the official record.”

He waited for me to comply. I did, and when he had the printout in his hands, we headed for the shuttle deck. We’d gone maybe five steps when his eyes lit up and he rolled the documents into a cylinder and waved them over his head.

“What?” I said.

“The individual operations are dated. We’ve got the sequence in which they visited each system. Good show, Chase. You’re a genius.”

“Why’s that important?”

“Think about it. You did your Survey time before the quantum drive became available.

When distance really mattered.”

“Okay.”

“You’ve got, say, a dozen stars to visit on a given mission. How did you determine the sequence?”

That was simple enough. “We arranged things so the overall distance to be traveled was kept to a minimum.”

“Yes.” He squeezed my arm. “So now we can find out whether the record reflects where they actually went. If they didn’t take the shortest routes among the target stars, that’ll tell us they changed something. And maybe we’ll be able to figure out where the Seeker is.”

When I pressed him how this would happen, he talked to me about fuel economy.

“Your friend Shara is on vacation. Off on an island somewhere. When she gets back, we’ll present the matter to her and see whether she can pin things down.”

“Okay,” I said.

“By the way, you had a call from Delia. Get back to her when you can, okay?”

The following evening I met her at the Longtree, a downtown bistro located just off Confederate Park. Dark corners, stained paneling, candles, soft music. It was her suggestion, but it was one of my favorite places.

She was already seated when I got there. Dark hair framing attractive features that held a hint of anxiety. She was modestly dressed in a powder blue skirt, white blouse, and sleeveless lace jacket. Only her comm link suggested wealth: It was encased in a gold bracelet on her wrist. “So good to see you, Chase,” she said. “I’m glad you could come.”

We talked about the weather for a few minutes. Then I let her know I was surprised she was in Andiquar.

“I came specifically to see you,” she said.

Our autowaiter showed up, introduced himself, took drink orders, and hurried off.

“I should tell you,” I said, “that we’ve located the AI record for the Falcon. It backs up the official reports.”

“Good.” She smiled defensively. “It’s just a matter of time, though, isn’t it?”

“I don’t know.”

“I hate this.”

“I’m sure.”

Our drinks came. She studied hers, then raised it. “To the Seeker,” she said.

“Wherever it is.”

“To the Seeker,” I agreed.

“They’d want you to find it,” she said. “I know they wouldn’t have wanted it to stay lost.”

“I think you’re right.”

Delia adjusted her jacket collar, tugging it together, pulling it around her as if to fend off something. “Chase, I know my parents have been part of your investigation. Bits and pieces of it are getting back to me.”

“We haven’t really been investigating your folks,” I said. “It’s the missions we’ve been looking at.”

“Phrase it however you like. It’s the same thing. Word’s getting around, and people are calling me to ask what kind of cover-up they were involved in.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” I said. “We’ve tried to be circumspect. I know no one’s accused anybody of anything.”

“The investigation is enough. It constitutes an accusation. I’m sorry to say this, but I’d be grateful if you would stop.”

I looked out through the window. People hurried by, bundled against a cold night. “I can’t do that,” I said.

“I’m willing to make it worth your while.”

“You just said your mom and dad would want the Seeker found.”

“That’s what they would want. But I don’t want the family name destroyed.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I really am.”

She no longer looked friendly. “They’re not alive to defend themselves.”

“Delia, there are no charges. Nobody’s claiming they did anything wrong.”

“Doctoring the record, if that’s what happened, would be a criminal offense, wouldn’t it?”

“Yes. I suspect so.”

Tears were rolling down her cheeks. “Please take a minute and think about what you’re doing to us.” The waiter was back to take the dinner orders. The way things were developing, I wasn’t sure we were going to get to dinner. She looked at me, looked at the menu, started to say something, and shook it away. “The special,” she said. “Rare.”

Red meat.

I ordered a boca casserole, which, for my off-world readers, tastes much like tuna. I also asked for a second round of drinks and settled in for the duration.

“Incidentally,” she said, “I had another visitor who was interested in my parents.”

“Oh? Who was that?”

“His name was Corbin. Josh Corbin, I think.” She bit her lip. “Yes, that’s right. Josh.

Young guy. Midtwenties.”

“Why was he interested?”

“He said he was doing a history of Survey operations.”

“Did he ask about the Seeker?”

“As a matter of fact, yes.”

That was a jolt. Somebody else knew. “What did you tell him?”

“I didn’t see any point keeping things quiet. I told him pretty much everything I told you.”

While I was having a big time with Delia, Alex received a call from the producer of The Peter McCovey Show. They had heard about the search for Margolia and were going to “highlight it” next day. Several guests were being invited. Would he care to appear?

Alex was not happy that word of the effort was getting out, but it seemed impossible under the circumstances to keep a secret. He tried to beg off, but they told him he was the center of interest and would be essential to what they wanted to do. If he persisted in refusing to participate, the producer said, they would have no choice but to inform their audience he had been invited but had declined. And they would be forced to put an empty chair on the set to represent him.