Jack McDevitt - SEEKER

The campus spread across two broad terraces, immediately below the municipal buildings, which occupied the highest point on the island. I turned the skimmer over to the guide, which brought me down onto a landing pad adjoining a dome. The dome housed a student center, several shops, and a restaurant. The restuarant was Benjamin’s. I remembered it from a long time ago, when it had been down near the beach.

Marquard surprised me by appearing from a side door. He strode quickly out onto the pad, opened the hatch, and provided a hand to help me down. In an age when chivalry ranks up there as just one more antiquity, it was a good way to start things off.

Barcross has probably the loveliest campus on the planet. It’s all obelisks and tortoiseshell buildings and pyramids, with a spectacular command of the sea. But it was cold that day, and a sharp blast of wind stayed at our backs and all but blew us into the student center.

“It’s good to meet you, Chase,” he said, steering us into Benjamin’s. “I appreciate your coming.” He was wearing gray slacks and a blue seashell shirt beneath a white jacket. He looked good, a tall, dashing type with a sense of humor and maybe a little bit shy, out for a night on the town.

We sat down and picked up our menus. Benjamin’s hadn’t changed much over the years. The dining area was bigger than in the old days, when the restaurant was located on a pier. And the selections had changed, of course. But it was still cozy, still subdued, and it still featured a seafaring ambience. There were sails and wheels and compasses scattered about, and one wall opened onto a virtual lighthouse and storm.

In addition, they still had images of celebrity entertainers, including the classic one of Cary Webber standing outside the restaurant on the pier, with the ocean at her back.

She looked lost. Cary had been a romantic favorite, but she died young, of course, and thereby became immortal.

We ordered wine and some breadsticks. When the server had gone, Marquard leaned across the table and whispered that I was striking. “But of course,” he said, “you already know that.”

I wondered if I was in for a long evening. I said thanks, propped my elbows on the table, folded my hands, and rested my chin on them. “Shep,” I said, “what do you have on the Searcher?”

“Wrong translation, Chase.” He looked around as if to ensure that we were alone-we were, save for a group of three or four students seated over by the window-and lowered his voice. “It’s Seeker.” He said it as if it had special significance.

“Seeker,” I said.

“That’s correct.”

“Okay.”

“Chase, I don’t think you understand. This might be the Seeker.”

“I’m sorry, Shep. I have no idea what we’re talking about. What’s the Seeker?”

“It’s one of the ships that carried the Margolians off to their colony.”

“The Margolians.”

He smiled at my ignorance. “They left Earth during the Third Millennium. Fled, I guess, is a better term. They told nobody where they were going. Went out on their own with five thousand people. And we never heard from them again. They’re the lost colony.”

Atlantis. Intava. Margolia. Light dawned. “They’re a myth, aren’t they?”

“Not really. It happened.”

“They didn’t care much for the home world.”

“Chase, they lived in a society that was nominally a republic-”

“-But-?”

“-It controlled the churches, and used the schools to indoctrinate rather than teach.

Patriotism was defined as unwavering support for the leader and the flag. Anything short of that was disloyal. The decisions of those in authority were not to be questioned.”

“What happened if you did? You got jailed?”

“Hellfire.”

“What?”

“You had a divinely imposed responsibility to submit to the will of the president.

Render to Caesar.”

“That’s not what ‘Render to Caesar’ means.”

“It got twisted a bit. Failure to support the political establishment, and for that matter the social establishment, in thought as well as in act, constituted a serious offense against the Almighty.”

“Weren’t there any skeptics out there?”

“Sure. But you don’t hear much about them.”

It was hard to believe people could ever have lived like that. “So it’s a famous ship?”

“Oh, yes.”

“Are you telling me the Seeker never came back, either?”

“That’s correct.” He leaned toward me, and the candlelight flashed off a row of white teeth. “Chase. If this cup you told me about is really from the Seeker, you couldn’t have done better.” The wine and breadsticks arrived. “You say a woman walked in off the street and just presented you with it? Without any explanation?”

“Yes. That’s pretty much what happened.” I was thinking how pleased Alex would be.

“I don’t suppose you have it with you?”

I smiled. “If I’d tried to take it off the premises, Alex would have had cardiac arrest.”

“And you’re sure it’s nine thousand years old?”

“That’s the reading we got.”

“Incredible.” He handed me my glass and lifted his own. “To the Margolians,” he said.

Indeed. “So what really happened to them?”

He shrugged. “Nobody knows.”

The wine was good. Candles. Firelight. And good wine. And good news. It was a hard combination to beat. “They vanished completely?”

“Yes.” The waiter was back. I tend to eat light meals, even when someone else is buying. I settled for a fruit salad.

The waiter asked whether I was certain, and assured me that the Cordelia breakers were excellent.

“The Seeker,” Marquard continued, “left Earth December 27, 2688, carrying approximately nine hundred people. Two years later they were back, and took off another nine hundred.”

“There was a third trip as well, wasn’t there?” I was beginning to remember the story.

“Yes. The other ship was the Bremerhaven. They made three flights each. Carried more than five thousand people out to the colony world.”

“And nobody knew where it was? How’s it even possible? You can’t leave the station without filing a movement report.”

“Chase, we’re talking about the beginning of the interstellar age. They didn’t have many rules then.”

“Who owned the ship?”

“The Margolians. According to the record, it was refitted after each flight.”

“That doesn’t sound as if it was in the best of shape.”

“I don’t know what it took to maintain an interstellar in that era.”

“Was a search conducted for them?”

“Hard to say. The records aren’t clear.” He finished off his wine and gazed at the rim of the glass, which sparkled in the candlelight. “Chase, the authorities probably didn’t try very hard. These were people who didn’t want to be found.”

“Why not?”

An easy smile spread over his features. He did look good. He sat a few moments, admiring my charms, or my physical attributes, or the breadsticks. He signaled his approval as the waiter showed up with a dish full of nuts and grapes. “They were perceived as troublemakers. They wanted to stay out of sight, and the government was happy to oblige them.”

“How were they troublemakers?” I asked.

“You ever been to Earth, Chase?”

“No, as a matter of fact. I’ve been wanting to make the trip for years. Just never got around to it.”

“You should do it. That’s where it all began. For an historian, the trip to Earth is de rigueur.

“You go there, and you see the great monuments. Pyramids, statues, dams. The Kinoi Tower. The Mirabulis. Stop by Athens, where Plato and his colleagues launched the civilized world. Visit London, Paris, Berlin. Washington, and Tokyo. St. Petersburg.