Jack McDevitt - SEEKER

“I doubt it,” I said. “It’s not likely the Seeker would have lasted out here more than a century. Even with world-class maintenance.”

I opened some of the panels and looked inside, to see what condition the black boxes were in. These were the control systems for communication, navigation, power, life support, and so on. And probably for the AI. If they’d had one.

And I noticed something odd.

The boxes were marked. Plates carried symbols that probably indicated a manufacturer and a part number. And maybe a date. Some also had the group of characters that I now knew translated to Seeker. Several others had a different group of symbols, but done in the same style. It was always the same group. “Belle,” I said, “what’s this mean?”

“Please hold it higher so I can see. Ah, yes. That says Bremerhaven.”

“Bremerhaven?” said Alex.

“That is correct.”

“The other ship on the mission.” He frowned. “But this is the Seeker. ”

“Yeah.”

“Then those are parts from the Bremerhaven? Is that what it means, Chase?”

“I’d say so, yes.”

“Are they critical parts?”

“I don’t know anything about third-millennium ships. I mean this thing’s an antique.”

“Best guess.”

“They’re part of the basic package. On the bridge. Connected to whatever controls the captain has. Yeah. I’d say they were probably critical.”

There were storerooms, some filled with supplies that had never been used, others lined with cabinets. We broke into a few of the cabinets and found lots of baggage. It was all frozen rock solid.

There was no shortage of artifacts. Mugs and glasses, like the one Amy Kolmer had brought to the office, were stored in cabinets in the dining areas. Most of the glasses were cracked, but some had survived intact. We filled several containers with them.

“No problem about our deal with Shara,” he said. “There’s plenty here for everybody.”

Our customers were going to love this stuff. We took some lamps, dinnerware, pens, whatever. We especially liked anything that was marked with the Seeker ’s name. The ship also had a substantial stock of toys. Stuffed animals and books designed for children and pull-toys and sets of blocks and play pistols. Not much of it was in what you’d call pristine condition. But considering the age of everything, it was pretty good.

I’d have preferred to complete an investigation before we started taking things out, but the ship was so big, and there was so much. We’d go from space to space, and Alex would say, look, there’s a reader, or maybe a device that we didn’t recognize, or maybe a towel-stiff as a board but still recognizably a towel-and we’d pick it up and soon we were hauling a lot of stuff around with us. We took what we had back to the Belle Marie. When we got outside, Alex, his arms full, lost his grip on the load.

Everything drifted away, but he managed to save the Abudai plaque.

I mention all this to impress on the reader that there was a fair degree of disorganization in the way we went about things. We were driven by competing motives, by our desire to know what had happened to the Seeker, and consequently to Margolia itself; and also by our hunt for salable artifacts. And maybe a little guilt associated with taking things from this particular site. Don’t ask me why. We’d never had that problem before.

“I almost wish there weren’t so much here,” said Alex. I knew what he meant. If only a limited number of artifacts from the Seeker existed, they would command extraordinary prices. But if a boatload came back, even if that boatload were restricted by Survey to museums and exhibits, their very existence would reduce the value of what we had to sell.

Well, no help for it.

We’d just gotten inside when Belle called over. “I think I sighted another ship.”

“Where, Belle?”

“It’s gone now. Might have been just a blip. It wasn’t on the scope long enough to get a fix.”

“Nearby?”

“Thirty million klicks. There’s an asteroid ring at that range.”

“Okay. Let us know if it shows up again.”

Modern technology has made time travel possible. Not in the classic style, of course. Bouncing back and forth through the centuries appears to be forever beyond reach. We cannot go back to inform Caesar that it would be a good idea to stay out of the forum during March. But we can return to his world, and listen to his thoughts, and hear his heart beat.

- Jasmine Kalanna,

Voyages, 1365 You wander through something like the Seeker and you think about the federations and governments that have lived and died while that ship and its silent passengers moved along its solitary orbit. There had been dark ages and commercial revolutions and environmental disasters. Religions had been born, prospered, and vanished.

There’d been wars, dictators, pogroms, rebellions, disasters. We’d seen golden ages, periods of extended prosperity, social and artistic triumphs. The great men and women had come and gone, as had the monsters, the visionaries, the rebels, and the artists. The sciences had advanced and retreated, Brooking had made his celebrated effort to reach M4 (and been lucky to come home alive). Trillions of human beings had been born and lived out their lives. More than half of recorded history had passed.

“You ever been to an older site?” I asked Alex.

“On the ground, yes,” he said. “But not anything like this.” We were in one of the dining rooms. The bulkheads were gray and cold in the light from our lamps. On one, near the door, there was a barely discernible stain. Maybe caused long ago by leaking water. Maybe by spilled coffee. (Did they have coffee in those days?) It had the effect of reminding us that people had actually come into this room and talked, and munched on sandwiches. Drunk cold beer. I wondered whether Harry Williams had ever sat at one of the tables.

We took back another container of artifacts, our fourth. Among other things it contained a white pullover shirt and a jacket. The ship’s emblem was emblazoned on the right-hand breast pocket of the shirt, and a silhouette of the Seeker had been embroidered on the back of the jacket. Both were in remarkably good condition. Stiff as boards, but when we got them to the Belle Marie, they’d flex out.

We took inventory and stored everything in the common room. Despite our success, Alex remained in a dark mood. He’d made the discovery of his career, of anybody’s career, but he showed no sign of self-satisfaction. “It’s not really our discovery, Chase,” he said. “The Wescotts found it.”

That wasn’t the issue, of course. But I played the game with him. “Columbus wasn’t the first guy to discover America, either,” I said. “But he was smart enough to make the announcement, so he gets the credit. All of it.”

“Public relations,” Alex said.

What was the difference?

He was staring at the bulkhead. “I think we need to talk to Harry again.”

“Why?” I asked. “What do you expect to find out? He doesn’t know any more about that”-I looked toward the Seeker -“than we do.”

“I know. But I want to talk to him anyhow.”

Belle complied, and Harry Williams appeared, seated in a lush armchair. “Hello,” he said, cheerfully. “Good to see you folks. Where are we now? Another oddball world?”

Before anybody answered, he noticed the Seeker through the bridge portals, and his eyes hardened. “What happened?” he demanded.

“The engines exploded,” Alex told him. “That’s all we know.”

Harry went over to the viewport and stared out. He looked scared.

“It appears they were carrying a full load,” Alex continued. “We think most of the passengers were kids.”