Jeffrey Carver - Eternity's End

He drank more coffee and read on.

Accurate information concerning Impris disappeared, along with a host of other records, during post-war turmoil on Impris ’s homeworld of Faber Eridani. She might well have been forgotten by history were it not for the lasting political repercussions against the Narseil, which among other consequences, served to delay continued exploration of deeper space (see also GALACTIC EXPLORATION: COLLABORATIVE EFFORTS: LOSS OF WILL IN THE POST-WAR ERA). In addition, curious legends arose in the rigging community during the following decades, referring to Impris as “the Flying Dutchman of the Spacelanes”—a ship and crew doomed to sail the Flux forever, haunted and immortal.

No objective evidence has ever been found to support these legends. Nevertheless, myth has it that the ship, in the more than one hundred years since her loss, has reappeared on numerous occasions to riggers during routine passages through the Flux. Typical reports have the Ghost Rigger sighted only fleetingly, sometimes transmitting a distress call, but never responding to any attempts at contact. Variations on the legend attribute the loss of other ships to unexplained, deadly encounters with Impris ; but such claims similarly lack substantiation.

Though the legends are considered meaningless for purposes of rigger navigation, a significant body of folklore has grown up over the years regarding not only Impris but also other ships of similar reputation, notably Devonhol and Totauri . (See PURPORTED GHOST SHIPS: SPACE and FLYING DUTCHMAN LEGEND: LITERATURE AND HOLO: FACT VS FICTION.)

Legroeder swiveled the compad back to Harriet. “This doesn’t help much.”

Harriet shook her head. “I said this was just a beginning, remember?” She buttered a scone from a tray Vegas had set between them. “Have something to eat, and then we’ll go down and see what we can find.”

“Go down?” Legroeder asked. “What’s the point?”

Harriet smiled and took a bite of her scone.

The Elmira Public Library was a tall-towered affair, originally designed as a mayoral office building and later converted to its more prosaic (in some views) role as library. As they walked from the hoverbus, Harriet told Legroeder that she loved the place, not for its auto-retrieval capabilities (she could do just as well from home or from a coffee bar) but for its collection of hard-copy books. Paper, mylar, parchment… she didn’t care what they were printed on. “I like the permanence, the texture, the smell of old books—”

“The dust, the dust-mites—”

“Heavens, don’t be so dreary.” Harriet led the way up the steps and into the central hall of the library. “My dear Legroeder, sometimes you find information in hard-copy, or even from people, that you just don’t find on the net.”

Legroeder grunted.

“Well, you may turn out to be right. We’ll see.” She stepped forward briskly. They walked through the main reading room, past a small gallery of pastels on paper—aboriginal artwork. They came to a solid wood door at the back of the reading room, which let them into a hallway lined with offices and special study spaces. Harriet knocked on the door of the third room on the right. A Fabri aborigine female looked up from the desk. To Legroeder’s eye, she looked identical to Vegas.

“Quoya, Mrs. Mahoney,” the woman said, with a musical chuckle. “Nice to see you.”

“Good morning, Adaria,” said Harriet. “I wonder if you could help us with a problem today.”

“Ha, but I always tr-r-ry, do I not? What will it be today? Exotic cuisines frrom the Gar-r-rssen mountains? Animals from the cirrrcuses of the known galaxy? Architectural drawings from Old Earth?”

Harriet smiled. “Not today, thank you. My friend Legroeder and I are looking for some old information that has passed out of circulation, and I thought perhaps if we searched some of the original paper records, we might find something.”

“Of course,” chuckled Adaria, with a toothless smile; the Fabri had a pair of curved plates, not teeth, in their mouths. “What can I help you find?”

“Well… we were hoping you might have some in-depth information on Impris , the legendary starship. Faber Eridani was its home port, you know. But I’m having trouble coming up with much.”

Adaria rocked back slightly. “Ffff. There was nothing in the main records?”

“Not to speak of. That’s why we thought perhaps the original materials—”

“Ahh. Those may be a tr-r-rifle difficult to locate. But if you would like to wait—?”

The librarian rose with a flutter and disappeared down the hall. When she returned, a few minutes later, she seemed agitated. “I’ve spoken to the archives director. Those were very old papers, and I’m afraid they were removed from the collection some years ago.” She puffed a few times.

Harriet cocked her head curiously. “I’m sorry to hear that. Is anything wrong, Adaria?”

“What? Ffff—no. That is, I don’t think so. It’s just that the question seemed to disturb the director for some reason. I don’t know why.” The librarian nervously fluffed a vestigial wing.

“I see,” Harriet said, frowning. “Would you happen to know why the papers were removed?”

Adaria looked uncertain. “Lack of demand, is the usual reason. If no one was interested, they wouldn’t be kept forever.”

Legroeder stirred. “That seems odd. It was a Faber Eridani ship. Wouldn’t someone be interested in the legend—for tourist value, if nothing else?”

“An inter-r-resting question,” said the Fabri. “I recall there were some private press items written on the subject. But they never generated much interest. We don’t even have copies here.”

Harriet rubbed her chin, as the librarian shrugged. “Tell me. When the materials were removed, would they have been destroyed?”

“Well—fffff—that’s difficult to know. It’s been years.”

“If they weren’t destroyed, what would have been done with them?”

Adaria clucked thoughtfully. “It’s possible they were passed on to a smaller, more specialized collection. That sometimes happens with outdated mater-r-rials.”

“And would there be a way to find out who they might have been passed on to?”

Adaria consulted her compad. “Ffff—herrre’s a thought. Those small prrress items I mentioned? Several of them were wr-r-ritten and published by a R-r-robert McGinnis.”

Harriet turned her hands up. “Do you know this man?”

“I know of him,” Adaria said. “He is a p-r-rivate collector of archives, with a special interest in materials dating from the War of a Thousand Suns. He has a reputation as a r-recluse, but his collection is well regarded. Let me see if his location is available… Fffff, yes. Would you like it?”

“Please,” said Harriet. She placed the ring on her right hand against the edge of the librarian’s compad. Then she nodded. “Thank you, Adaria. You’ve been most helpful.”

The librarian rose, her wings fluttering. “It’s always a pleasure, Mrs. Mahoney. Perhaps next time we can rrresearch some, ffff, Iliution gems. We have some wonderful new materials on them. Wonderful materials.”

Harriet smiled. “Perhaps next time.” She gestured to Legroeder. “Shall we?”

Legroeder nodded politely to the Fabri librarian and followed Harriet back through the halls and out of the building. “Was that worthwhile?” he asked, squinting in the bright midmorning sun, now bluish in tint.

“We’ll find out, I suppose.” Harriet hummed for a few moments. “Adaria is a dear, and always helpful. I’ve done some work for her people, you know—the Fabri natives have problems from time to time with our brand of civilization—including extremist groups like Centrist Strength encroaching on their land and bothering them because they can get away with it. I’ve been able to give them some legal advice on occasion.”