Джек Макдевитт - Chindi

Preach shrugged. “That’s not a unique story. People hear things all the time.”

“Preacher, they used a satellite array during the search. When they came back they left the satellites in place.”

“And one of them,” guessed Hutch, “picked it up again.”

Virgil swung around and gazed out through her window at the quad. “That’s right. There’s been a second intercept. We got the report three weeks ago.”

“And—?”

“The source is in orbit around the neutron star.”

“Probably a local anomaly,” said Preach. “Anything’s possible close to that kind of beast. Has anybody been able to read it yet?”

“No. We haven’t had any success at translation.”

Preach didn’t look satisfied. “How much of an intercept?”

“Not much. Like the first. Just over a second. The wave’s narrow; the satellite just passed through it. It’s a directed beam.”

“Directed where?”

She threw up her hands. “The direction is compatible with the first intercept. But we’re not aware of a target.”

“That’s not very helpful.”

She shrugged. “The beam doesn’t seem to be aimed at anything. There’s no planetary system, of course. And we didn’t see any anomalous objects drifting around.”

“Which means nothing,” said Preach.

Virgil’s eyes locked on him. But they were strictly business. “We just don’t know for certain what’s happening. Probably nothing. Some of our people think it might even be a temporal reflection, a signal from a future mission. Something bounced out of a time warp.”

Hutch understood that time warps only operated over a few seconds. Even under the most extreme conditions. But she didn’t comment. She could, however, see where this was headed. And it seemed simple enough. They’d ask her to take some investigators out, hang around while they listened, and bring them back.

Preach studied his Bordeaux in the light of a table lamp. “You want someone to go out and take a look.”

“Not exactly.” Virgil finished her drink, put down the glass, and inspected Hutch. Humans had been wandering around their local environs now for more than a half century. They’d found a handful of living worlds, a few sets of ruins, and the Noks. “Hutch, are you familiar with the Contact Society?”

“Sure. They’re a group of whackos who want to find extraterrestrial civilizations.”

“Not quite,” she said. “And I’m not sure they’re, uh, whackos. They maintain that we aren’t doing enough to school ourselves for an encounter with another intelligence. They say it’s just a matter of time, and we’re behaving as if we have the galaxy to ourselves. I’m not entirely sure I’d be prepared to argue with that.”

“What’s it matter? We’ve been out there a long time, and the place does look pretty empty.”

“Well,” said Virgil, “that’s really neither here nor there. The point is that they’ve raised an enormous amount of money for the Academy. It’s true they believe that insufficient effort is being made to see who else is in the neighborhood. That’s their holy grail, and they think of it as the prime purpose for the Academy’s existence. And that’s fine. We have no reason to disabuse them of that notion.”

“And,” said Preacher, “they’re interested in the intercept at 1107.”

“Yes, they are. They’ve been pressuring us to look into it for a long time. With this latest piece of information stirring things up, it wouldn’t be prudent to just wait for it to go away.” She sat back in her chair, tapped her fingertips on the desktop. “I don’t think there’s anything to it. I mean, how could there be? Even had the Benny actually intercepted an ET communication, why would they still be hanging around out there four years later? Okay? You understand what I’m saying? I don’t know what the explanation is, but I know it’s not Martians.” Virgil was looking directly at her. “Hutch, do you know who George Hockelmann is?”

She had no idea.

“He’s the CEO for Miranda’s Restaurants.”

“Oh. The guy with the secret recipe for tortillas.”

“Something like that. He’s also a major supporter of Academy initiatives. In fact, at the end of the year, he’ll be contributing a ship.”

“A superluminal?”

“Yes. The City of Memphis. It’s just been launched.”

“It’s named for his hometown,” said Hutch.

“That’s correct. We get it after the end of the year.”

“Why the delay?”

“It has something to do with taxes. But that’s not the point.” She was hesitating. Something she doesn’t want to tell us. “The Memphis is going out to take a look at 1107.”

“Next year.”

“Next week.”

“But you said—”

“It’s on loan.”

“Okay.”

“I’d like you to run the mission, Hutch.”

“Why me?” she asked.

“Hockelmann wants you.” She beamed at Hutch. “It’s the fallout from the Deepsix business. He thinks you’re the best we have.” She caught herself. “Not that you aren’t. We’ll pay well for this one. And when you get back, I’ll see that there’s something waiting for you.”

Eleven-oh-seven was a long way out. “That’s a haul.”

“Hutch. We want very much to keep this guy happy. I’d take it as a personal favor.”

“Who’d be leading the science team?”

“Well, that’s where it gets a little unusual. There won’t be a science team.” She stood, rotated her palms against one another, and tried to look as if everything were in perfect order. “Hutch, this would be basically a PR mission. You’ll be carrying some members of the Contact Society. Including Hockelmann. Show them what they want to see. Which will be a very heavy dead star that just sits there. Cruise around listening for radio transmissions until they get bored, then come home.” She canted her head. “Will you do it?”

It sounded harmless enough. “Which Academy job is coming open?”

“Personnel director.”

“Godwin?”

“Yes.” She smiled. “He’s going to resign.”

But he probably doesn’t know it yet. She didn’t think she’d want the job. But Brawley’s presence was having an effect. She felt uncomfortable turning down a request like this with him standing there. Not that his opinion really mattered.

“I’ll think it over,” she said.

“Hutch, we only have a few days. I’m afraid I have to know tonight.” She got up, came around the desk, and leaned against it. “I’d really like to have you do this.”

Brawley was looking carefully off in another direction.

“Okay,” Hutch said.

“Good.” She picked up a pen and scribbled something on a notepad. “If you can arrange to stop by the ops desk tomorrow, they’ll have all the details for you.” She refilled Hutch’s glass and turned her attention to the Preacher. “I’d like to offer you a commission, Captain Brawley.”

Preach’s eyebrows went up. “You want me to go along?”

“No.”

Pity, thought Hutch.

Virgil touched the desk and the lights went out. A starfield appeared in the center of the room. “Syrian Cluster,” she said. “The neutron star is here.” She moved a pointer to indicate the spot. “And the transmission.” A cursor blinked on and became a line. The line moved among the stars until it touched one, which turned a bright blue. “The Society had suggested the target might be located beyond the immediate area of 1107. That the signal is in fact interstellar.” She shrugged. “I think it’s crazy, but who am I to comment on these things?” She pointed at the blue star and began looking through papers on her desk. “The catalog number is here somewhere.”

Preach watched with rapt attention.