Seeker (28 page)

“It has an atmosphere,”
she said.
“Equatorial diameter thirteen thousand kilometers. Distance from the sun one hundred forty-two million.”

“Beautiful,” said Alex. “It’s another Rimway.”

“No evidence of a satellite.”

“What about radio transmissions?” he asked. “Are we picking up anything?”

“Negative radio,”
said Belle.
“But it’s quite far.”

Nothing was going to dim his mood. “It’s asking too much to expect them to be alive after all this time.”

I agreed with that. “Don’t expect a miracle,” I said. I was getting a bad feeling.

“I am able to detect the presence of oceans.”

“Good!” Alex leaned forward like a racing hound.

“I have a question,” I said.

“Fire away.”

“If that’s really Margolia, why didn’t the Wescotts say something? They were here what, in 1386? Maybe ’87? The proposals would have been destroyed by 1390 at the latest. But as late as 1395 they were still keeping quiet.”

“There would have been some suspicions,” he said.

“So what? They’d have to take the chance and come forward at some point.”

He shook his head. “Maybe they were just giving it more time.”

“Alex,” I said, “don’t get your hopes up.”

It wasn’t like him to get carried away like that. But the potential was so enormous, he simply couldn’t contain himself. And I’m not talking about money. Beneath the hard-bitten profit-and-loss attitude, Alex was a romantic. And this was the ultimate romantic possibility.

We were still feeling the glow when, a few hours later, Belle said, quietly, “
Looks like bad news
.”

A pall fell over the bridge. “What is it, Belle?” I asked.

“The world is not suitable for settlement. Probably not even for human life.”

Alex made a sound deep in his throat. “I thought you said it was in the biozone, Belle?” he said.

“It’s moving away from the sun.”

“What do you mean?” demanded Alex.

“It’s in a highly elliptical orbit. I can’t give you the exact numbers yet, but I estimate it goes out as far as four hundred million kilometers.”

“That would make for a cold winter,” I said.

“And it approaches to within forty million. There’s a possible error of ten percent, but at those ranges it wouldn’t matter.”

“I guess not,” said Alex.

“When it reaches perihelion, the planet’s equatorial regions will get fourteen times more sunlight per square centimeter than Rimway does.”

“What happens to the oceans when it gets well out in its orbit?”

“Not enough data yet.”

The world was wrapped in white cumulus. The oceans covered more than half the globe. And the landmasses were green.

“Axial inclination,”
said Belle,
“ten degrees.”

She confirmed that there was no moon.

“It must boil over at forty million klicks,” said Alex.

“As it approaches perihelion, Alex, it accelerates. It would be moving very swiftly during the period when it is receiving maximum radiation.”

“Bat out of hell,” Alex said.

“Oh, yes. Most decidedly. When it is farthest away, it moves much more slowly. This world spends most of its time in deep winter.”

“But wouldn’t the oceans dry up and disappear, Belle?” he asked. “With this kind of orbit?”

“I don’t have relevant data,”
she said.
“I can tell you, however, that their presence provides some protection from the heat during the summer.”

“Why is that?” I asked.

“When the world passes close to the sun, there’s substantial evaporation. Sea level may drop by thirty meters during the process. The vapor fills the skies with what you’re looking at now: optically opaque thunderstorm clouds, which would block much of the incoming radiation.”

The sensors were able to penetrate the thick atmosphere, and we got pictures. River valleys. Vast gorges. And snowcapped mountains.

“I suspect the oceans are losing water,” I said. “A few million years of this, and they’ll probably be gone.”

“There appear to be large life-forms in the water,”
said Belle.

“Don’t they freeze?” asked Alex. “What kind of year does it have?”

“It is approximately twenty-one and a half standard months in length. For nine months, the temperatures are actually tolerable. Even comfortable. During the coldest six months, the oceans will freeze down somewhat. To what depth I have no way of determining. Possibly as much as a hundred meters. That would insulate them against excessive heat loss.”

“And provide a way for sea life to survive.”

“Yes.”

“Can you tell what kind of life it is?”

“No. I can discern movement, but I have no details yet.”

There was no sign of habitation. No indication anyone had ever set foot on the world. The land was covered with vegetation. Jungles, it looked like. We saw no large land animals. No animals of any size, in fact.

We slipped into low orbit, and Alex stared down at the world. From that altitude, it appeared warm and pleasant, an idyllic place, ideal for settlement.

There were a few scattered patches of desert. Otherwise, everywhere we looked on land, we saw only jungle.

“I don’t get it,” I said. “This thing regularly moves within stone-throwing distance of the sun. How does all this stuff survive? Why isn’t it a desert? Why isn’t it just charred rock?”

“The periodic proximity to the sun provides a hot, humid climate. Perfect for jungles. And as I said, the clouds give it a reasonably effective heat shield.”

Alex had other things on his mind. “Belle, do you see any evidence of construction anywhere? Buildings? Roads? A harbor facility, maybe? Anything like that?”

“Negative. It will take a while to scan the entire planet, of course.”

“Of course.”

“At the moment, temperature in the midlatitudes,”
she said,
“ranges from twenty-three to about fifty degrees Celsius.”

“A bit warm,” said Alex.

“The atmosphere is nitrogen-oxygen-argon. Breathable. Perhaps a trifle oxygen rich. Air pressure at ground level is probably in the range of a thousand millibars.”

“Like home.”

“I see no reason why not.”

Alex looked at the jungle. “What do you think, Chase?”

“I can’t imagine anyone would want to settle here.”

Belle blinked on. In her elderly librarian/maternal figure persona. Lined face, white hair, reassuring smile. “
I’m getting volcanic activity in the southern hemisphere
.”

I needed somebody to talk to, so I called up Harry Williams. He appeared in the right-hand seat, smiled easily, and said hello. He was a big man, or at least the avatar was big. He looked around the bridge as if he owned it.

“This is a hell of a ship you have,”
he said.
“I wish we’d had a few of these.”

A white jacket with a high collar contrasted sharply with his dark skin. He was dressed casually, a man who was getting ready to go for a stroll in the park. There was an intensity about this guy that manifested itself in his eyes and the set of his jaw. Don’t get in his way.

“Where are we?”

“Tinicum 2116.”

“Where?”

No way he could recognize the designation. The catalog system had been changed any number of times. I pointed him to the viewport. “We thought maybe that was Margolia.”

“I don’t know,”
he said.

I showed him some of the close-ups. Jungle. And more jungle.

“No,”
he said.
“That’s not it. Margolia was a summer world. Green and wet with high skies and deep forests and broad oceans.”

“I wish you knew where it was located.”

“So do I.”

“Would you recognize it if you saw it?”

“No. I’ve no data on it.”
There was a pained reflection in his eyes.
“Why do you think
it’s
in this system?”

I tried to explain, but he got impatient. Told me to let it go. “
Doesn’t matter. That’s not it
.” He fell silent for a time. Then: “
Margolia
,
”
he said. “
Is that what you call it? Our world
?”

“Yes. I guess we do.”

“We could have done worse. He was a great man. Have you read him?”

“No. Not really.”

“He was a twenty-fifth-century philosopher. And a British prime minister.”

“So what was there about him that appealed to you?”

“He measured everything against reason. No intricate abstractions. No sacred texts. Accept nothing on authority. As they said in an earlier age, ‘Show me the evidence.’ ”

“That sounds sensible.”

“ ‘Never lose sight of reality. The individual human life span is brief and, in the long view, inconsequential,’ he said. ‘We are children one day and signing out the next. Therefore, in the brief moment we are allotted, live reasonably, be compassionate, and when your hour comes, accept it without histrionics. Never forget that your handful of hours is a supreme gift. Use them wisely, do not fritter them away, and remember that your life is not an entitlement.

“ ‘Most of all, live free. Free of social and political stricture. If there is such a thing as a soul, these surely are its components.’ ”

“Would Margolis have gone with you?”

“I’ve spoken with his avatar. It was one of the first questions I asked.”

“What was his answer?”

“He said no. Most assuredly not.”

“Did he say why?”

A smile deepened the lines around the corners of his mouth. “
He called the plan grandiose
.”

“Well,” I said, “there you are.”

The moment stretched into one of those silences where you could hear the murmur of electronics. Finally, I asked whether he had gone on the flight alone. “Or did you have a family?”

“My wife Samantha. And two boys. Harry Jr., and Thomas. Tommy.”

“How long had you been married?” I asked.

“Eight years at the time we left.”
His eyes became intense.
“I don’t even know what they looked like.”

“There were no pictures?”

“No. Whoever did the reconstruction of my persona either didn’t have a representation, or didn’t think it was important.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. Alex was forever reminding me that avatars have no more feelings than the chair I was sitting in. It’s all an illusion. Just programing.

We know that time is elastic. That it passes more quickly on the roof than in the basement, or at rest than in a moving vehicle. We know there are objects that may have occupied a place in the cosmos for several hundred million years although they themselves are not 60 million years old. We are accustomed to watching time take its toll on the physical world. Buildings crumble. People vanish. The pyramids wear down. But in the great vacuum that surrounds us, time seems suspended. Footprints, left ten thousand years ago on a lunar surface, endure.
— Orianda Koval,
Time and Tide,
1407

We almost gave up and went home. If Margolia was not in the system, it seemed unlikely that the
Seeker
could be there. Somehow, we’d gotten it wrong.

But we’d gone to a lot of trouble. And we had noplace else to look. So we stayed, and turned the Martin telescope loose. Two days later, Belle reported a suspicious object. “
High-albedo source
,” she said. Highly reflective.

“Where?” I asked.

She showed me. “
Eight AUs from our present position
.”

“Can you give us any more information?” asked Alex.

“It’s in solar orbit.”

“That’s
it
? Can we get an image?”

A point of light appeared on-screen. A dull star.

“Enhance, please,” said Alex.

“It
is
enhanced.”

He didn’t sound hopeful. But what the hell? “Let’s go take a look,” he said.

Belle adjusted course and began to charge the engines. During the next few hours, she was able to report some details: “
Preliminary analysis indicates long elliptical orbit. It’s currently headed outward from the sun and will reach aphelion at seven point two AUs
.”

“Sounds like a comet,” said Alex.

“Albedo’s not right.”
We were belting down, getting ready to make the jump.
“It looks as if it would require approximately eighty years to complete an orbit.”

Alex finished the coffee he’d been drinking and put the cup in the holder.

“It appears to be metal. Ninety-eight percent probability.”

The jump got us within two days’ travel time, and after about four hours the scopes gave us our first real look at the object. It was, indeed, a derelict. Once we’d established that, Alex beamed. Knew it all along.

It was in a slow tumble, and its exhaust tubes were pointed in the direction of one of the gas giants, which was only a few million kilometers away.

Six hours in, we were able to make out details, the streamlined body, thrusters, sensor mounts. Amidships, it carried the soaring eagle that we’d seen on the cup.

Seeker!

“How about that?” said Alex. “But what the hell is it doing out here?”

At nine hours, we were able to make out its name, in the now-familiar English characters, on the hull.

As we drew closer, we became more aware of the sheer enormity of the vessel. It was the size of a small
city
. Eight giant thruster tubes aft, any one of which could have swallowed the
Belle-Marie
. Six levels of viewports. A hull that would have taken twenty minutes to circle on foot. An army of pods and antennas.

And—

“Uh-oh.”

Alex turned my way. “What is it, Chase?”