Jack McDevitt - Firebird

The space station is among the smallest in the Confederacy, with an operational staff of six. It would probably have been shut down centuries ago except that it's close to Mute territory and has been of use to the Fleet when relations have deteriorated.

“They had five people then,” Miriam Varona told us, referring to the time of the sighting. Miriam was the sole operational officer. Her husband, Barry, oversaw station maintenance, and her other husband, Condrey, was their Patrol officer. (I don't know the relationship for a fact, but that seemed to be the arrangement.) A fourth person, whom she enjoyed referring to as her personnel guy, was on vacation for two months and had been relieved by Miriam's son Boris. Boris was training to be a physician. Two others performed as technicians, and were also available to handle the rescue vehicle in case of an emergency.

“It's not like the big stations,” she explained, “but we do get some traffic. Someone's in or out at least once a week. In fact, you are the third arrival in the last five days.” Miriam was tall, and maybe a trifle bent, and I got a sense of someone who spent too much time alone. Later, I heard that she'd grown up on the station, where there was a 0.3 gravity setting. Her muscles never became accustomed to standard gravity and when in later years she did have to deal with it, it caused problems. Her family, which had obviously not been too bright, or maybe just didn't care, owned the orbiter.

“We're looking for Tereza Urbanova,” said Alex. “Can you tell us where she is?”

“Oh, yes. It's been a while since I've seen her. But she's living at Oceanside.” She produced a map for us. “We can shuttle you down, but I have to tell you, it's not cheap. If you have a lander, I'd suggest you use it.”

“We will,” he said. “What kind of place is Oceanside?”

“It's on a mountain. Beautiful view, though, despite the name, you won't see much water.”

“Okay.”

“It's a small complex. Tourist spot, of course. Tereza works there. Does presentations and serves as the host for most of the parties and whatnot.”

“Sounds like a busy place.”

“Well, I'm not sure I'd go that far. They do have some people there now, though. A group of literature enthusiasts. They're there to visit the Filandia.”

“What's the Filandia?” I asked.

Alex usually knows the answers to such abstruse questions, but he waited for Miriam to explain. She seemed mildly amused that we didn't know. “It's the hotel. Where Racine Vales wrote Over the Side.”

I'd heard the title but had no idea what it was about.

“It's the big revolutionary novel of the Bacchanal movement,” Alex said.

I still didn't know-

“It's a long time ago, dear,” said Miriam. “Six hundred years. But it did change the way an entire civilization behaved. It brought about a new moral code and a complete freedom of the spirit.”

“Do as you like,” said Alex, “as long as no one gets hurt.”

“Exactly,” she said. “People always talked about freedom, but then they set a lot of rules. Think how much better everyone's life would be if we just exercised some common sense instead of living by tribal taboos.” She laughed. “Well, enough of that. Does Tereza know you're coming?”

In fact she did. We landed on the edge of the complex, which consisted of the Filandia, an entertainment complex, and a half dozen cabins, arranged in a large circle. They all had a kind of rough-hewn look, which added to the sense of being well away from civilization. (As if you needed anything to underscore the reality.) They weren't really on top of a mountain. It was more like an oversized hill with a flattened summit. If you fell off the summit, you weren't likely to get hurt, but you'd do a lot of rolling. We saw a few kids playing tag, and a young woman was coming out of one of the cabins.

An ocean was visible, but it was far enough away that it might have been nothing more than a distant lake. We set down on a pad, climbed out, and went into the hotel.

Tereza was in the lobby, seated near a window with three men and a woman. She stood and smiled as we came in. “Chase?” she said. “And Alex. How nice to meet you. I've heard so much about you.”

She hadn't aged much in a half century. She had black hair, smooth skin, lemon-colored eyes, and a quiet dignity that imposed itself on her surroundings. She introduced us around the table. They were members of the literary group, and they'd apparently been talking about the weather. And before you leap to judgment, keep in mind that the weather on Sanusar wasn't anything like whatever world the visitors had come from. But that day, with sunlight and relatively warm temperatures, it was all anyone could have asked.

“Yesterday,” said one of the tourists, “it was forty below.”

We joined the conversation, were asked what we did for a living and whether we'd like some drinks. After a few minutes, Tereza excused herself from her guests and took us to a side room, where we sat down around a table. “You're, of course, welcome to stay if you like,” she said. “I hope you will, but I don't want to waste your time. How can I help you?”

Alex leaned forward. “Tereza,” he said, “we're trying to get a handle on the sighting fifty years ago. The ship that-”

“I know,” she said.

“You were on duty when it happened.”

“Yes. That's correct.”

“We've seen the record of the incident. And we were hoping you might be able to add something.”

“I don't know what else-?”

“Your husband once described you as having never been the same after the incident.”

She blinked and smiled. “There's some truth to that, I guess.” Outside, in the lobby, somebody put on some music. It was slow and moody.

Alex waited quietly.

Her eyes focused somewhere behind us. “The record that you saw was edited.”

“Why?”

“We had some decent images of the ports.”

Alex leaned forward. “It's okay,” he said. “What did you see?”

“There was a woman at one of them. She appeared to be banging on it. She looked hysterical.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I'm sure.” Those lemon eyes grew sad. “The investigators confiscated everything. When, later, the record was released, that part of it was missing.”

“Did you talk to them? The investigators?”

“My boss did. He said they told him it was our imagination. That she was never there.” She shook her head. “We all saw it, Alex. God help me, we all saw it.”

Jack McDevitt

Firebird

Villanueva

Jack McDevitt

Firebird

The future of our species lies hidden in its past.

— Wolfgang Corbin, Let's Hear It for the Infidels, 6615 C.E.

“Why would they edit it out?” I asked, as we lifted away from Ocean-side.

“Public relations again,” said Alex. “We don't know who conducted the investigation, whether it was StarCorps or local. But they had a woman in distress. Worse, pictures of a woman in distress. They don't have a clue who she is, or what the ship is, or where it went. There were no reports of anyone in trouble. All vehicles were accounted for.” He looked down at the landscape. “How would they explain it to an aroused public?”

The ride home was somber. Alex buried himself in a book and barely spoke until we'd made the jump back into our home system. When I asked him whether we were ready to back away from the entire business, he said that he was disappointed in me. “You give up too easily, Chase.”

“So where do we go from here?”

“Winter.”

“What?”

“William Winter. Robin's friend. The one who died on Indikar. I think it's time we tried to find out what actually happened.”