Jack McDevitt - SEEKER

“Yes. We haven’t said anything to her.”

“Good. Please keep it that way. For a while.”

She looked at the report. “Palea Bengatta? Where’s that located?”

“It’s on the far side of the Confederacy. In the direction of the Perseus Arm.”

“Okay.”

“It’s just a derelict. There are several of them out there. Left over from the Morindan civil wars.”

“So what’s the point?”

“The Baluster was a battle cruiser. A search will take months. Maybe years.”

“Have you explained how the Medallions got there?”

“It’s all in the footnotes,” I said. “Madness in high places.”

“And you think Bolton will buy it?”

“We think he’ll find it irresistible.”

Alex had included legitimate (where it could be found) and bogus documentation: the nature of the damage, copies of fleet memoranda, pieces of personal correspondence.

“There was, in fact, a story that a member of the administration escaped on a warship with the Medallions, when things started to come apart.” I shrugged. “Who knows what the truth is?”

“You two are something else, you know that?”

There was also an account of Rainbow’s own plans to make the flight. Leaving in five weeks. As soon as we can get things together. Sources were named, and it all looked very official.

“I’ll take care of it,” she said.

“Thanks.”

“It’s okay. It’s nice to see a little poetic justice. I hope it works. By the way, our Margolia mission will be leaving in a week. We’d like to have you and Alex come by for the farewell ceremonies.”

“Absolutely,” I said.

“And maybe we could have Alex say a few words.”

The event was conducted at the newly erected Pierson Hall in the Survey complex.

Ponzio was there, of course, and a clutch of politicians. And the exploration team.

There were about a dozen of them, and they’d be riding in two ships. VR representations of the ships themselves, the Exeter and the Gonzalez, floated on either side of the room. I’d once piloted the Exeter, which had since been specially modified with state-of-the-art sensors. The Gonzalez was loaded with excavation equipment.

Alex wore his best for the occasion: navy jacket, white collar, silver links. Windy introduced us around. “You wouldn’t believe how things have been going here,” she said. “It’s been a circus.”

The hosts passed out snacks and drinks, and as soon as all the scientific people were present, we were moved into a conference room. A man who seemed to be in charge took the podium, everyone quieted, and he introduced Alex, “the gentleman who made the discovery.”

Alex got an enthusiastic round of applause, pointed to me, and said how he couldn’t have done it and so forth. The audience swung around in their seats, I got up, and they clapped heartily. He described how the mission had gone, outlined aspects of the discoveries they might want to pay particular attention to (like finding the ground station at Margolia, which very likely had been located along the equator), showed some pictures, and asked for questions. The first one was a navigational issue, which he passed to me.

When they finished, he wished them luck and sat down. The guy in charge returned to the lectern. He made a few brief comments, thanked everyone for coming, and adjourned the meeting. I learned later he was Emil Brankov, the senior scientist and team leader.

As we headed back toward the main room, Alex told me he wanted to find out when the Seeker blew up. “I’d like to know if it matches 2745.”

“When the orbits came closest to each other.”

“Yes. Do you think it would be hard to determine? When the engines went?”

“If they’ve got somebody along who’s familiar with the way they built ships during that period, they ought to be able to do something. Ships have all kinds of clocks and timers. Probably did even in those days. It’s just a matter of figuring out when the engines shut down.” I was becoming aware one of the younger team members had been watching me with interest. “Why do we care?” I asked.

“I don’t know. Maybe I’m still on a fishing expedition.” A strange look came into his eyes. “I don’t know what it is. There’s something that doesn’t feel right. And I think we owe them that much. To get at the truth.”

“Alex, all this is thousands of years ago.”

We found out the mission was carrying an expert on early FTL technology. His name was Spike Numitsu. He was an older guy, white hair, long nose, sparkling sea-blue eyes. Alex cornered him and asked whether he could work out the date of destruction.

“Possibly,” he said. “I’ll keep you informed.”

“I can’t see it could make any difference,” I said.

“I know.” His eyes were focused somewhere in the distance. “But I’d like to know why the Bremerhaven was released from its tether. And why its orbit doesn’t match up.”

The would-be murderer was especially pernicious, having planned to do the deed before the victim had finished dinner.

- Barrington’s Ethics, third edition, 1411 Survey’s field mission got off on time, and a few days later we were receiving reports from both ships. Spike and his team seemed less rattled than Alex and I had been.

They talked about the presence of mummified remains as if they were simply one more result to be noted and filed.

Meantime, the Gonzalez went into orbit around the jungle world, completed a survey, and announced that the scanners had located ruins. Everything was buried beneath the jungle, but it was there. It was confirmed: We had found Margolia. That night, we called in friends and celebrated till dawn.

Windy informed us that the Medallion Report, as she called it, had been forwarded to the director. (He was, of course, in on the plot.) The suspect staff member had handled it, so now it was just a matter of sitting back and waiting for Ollie Bolton to pack his bags and take off for the far side of the Confederacy.

Meantime, there were no more attempts on our lives.

Alex, pleading he was exhausted, decided on a vacation and headed for the Guajalla Islands. “Hold the fort,” he said. “And don’t call me.”

Which is how it happened that I was alone in the building when Bolton called. I almost told him I was disappointed to hear he was still in town. “I need to speak with Alex,” he said. There had always been an aura of both sincerity and vulnerability about him. I had to work to dislike the guy.

“He’s not here, Dr. Bolton,” I said.

He was seated behind a desk, collar open, looking tired. Looking disappointed.

“Chase, don’t get formal with me. Where is he?”

“He’s on vacation.”

“Where?”

“He left instructions not to divulge the information.”

“Can you reach him?”

“No.”

He let me see he knew I was lying. “When do you expect him back? Do you think you can tell me that much?”

“In a week.”

“Chase-”

“Did you want to leave him a message, Doctor?”

“I guess the two of you left one for me.” He picked up a sheet of paper, studied it, dropped it back on the desktop.

“I’m sorry, but I’m not following you.”

“Palea Bengatta.”

“Oh.”

“I guess the secret’s out.”

“What secret’s that?”

“I’m not going to apologize.”

“I didn’t expect you to.”

“It’s competition. All’s fair.”

“Sure it is. Was it you who destroyed the shuttle?”

He looked genuinely shocked. “Was that aimed at you?” His eyes got very large, and I got the sense he had to catch his breath. “Chase, do you honestly think I’m capable of something like that?”