Polaris (3 page)

“How long'll it take him to get there?”

While Charlie watched, Rondo ran the numbers. “Four days after he reorients and is able to jump. Add time for the request to reach him, and for maneuvering at Delta Kay, figure a week. No less than that.”

“Okay. If we don't hear by five, tell him to go find the
Polaris.
Tell him to expedite.” The director shook his head. “It's a bitch. Whatever we do here, we're going to have some very unhappy people. What's the captain's name again, Charlie?”

“Miguel.”

“No. On the
Polaris.
”

“It's Maddy. Madeleine English.”

“We ever have trouble with her before?”

“Not that I know of.” He looked at Rondo, who shook his head. No. Never any trouble.

“Well, I'll tell you, when this is over she better have a good story, or we're going to have her license.”

Rondo turned the comm center over to his relief and retired to his quarters. He showered and changed and went down to the Golden Bat, where he had dinner, as he customarily did, with friends. He started to describe what had happened, but word had already gotten around.

He was midway through a roast chicken when Talia Corbett, an AI specialist, showed up and told them that nothing had changed, they had not yet heard anything from the
Polaris.
The call had gone out to the
Peronovski.
Miguel was riding to the rescue.

There was a lot of talk that there must have been a major comm malfunction because nothing else could explain what was happening. Other than a catastrophic event. When you say
catastrophic event
in a situation like that, you tend to get a lot of attention.

He'd been trying to coax Talia into his bed for the better part of a year. That night he broke through. Afterward, he concluded that the business with the
Polaris
had, in some way, been responsible. It's an ill wind . . . he thought. Meantime, the
Polaris
lamps remained white.

Delta Kay's surviving worlds and moons were scattering. A great ring of light marked the progress of the dwarf star. Near the position from which the
Polaris
had sent its last transmission, a set of lights blinked on, and the iron gray bulk of the
Rikard Peronovski
appeared apparently from nowhere.

Miguel Alvarez, who usually rode alone in the big freighter, was glad to have a passenger along this time. If the
Polaris
was really in trouble, another hand would be helpful.

He knew Madeleine. Not well, but well enough to know she was no dummy. It had been almost six days since Maddy's last transmission, and there'd been no word from the ship since. A communication problem, no doubt. Had to be. He did not expect to find anything in the area, because Maddy was undoubtedly in Armstrong space, her comm systems down, but headed home. If that was the case, she would arrive back at Indigo in another ten days or so.

The
Peronovski
was transporting general supplies, food, spare parts, environmental gear, and assorted odds and ends to the newly established colony at Makumba. Survey had elected to use the opportunity to test Mariner, which was, as his passenger insisted on calling it, a deep-space intelligence and docking system. The passenger was Shawn Walker, an AI specialist.

Miguel had expected to be overtaken en route by a second message,
It's okay, we've heard from them, continue your scheduled flight.
But Indigo's hourly updates,
Nothing yet, Still no word,
simply confirmed his suspicion that the ship was homeward bound, hidden in the folds of Armstrong space. He imagined Maddy's frustration, aware that they'd be scrambling to find her but unable to communicate with anyone.

Walker was on the bridge with him when they arrived. Miguel wasn't sure what he expected to see. His instruments told him that vast clouds of gas were out there, but nothing was visible other than the ring of light around the neutron star.

Shawn Walker was about forty, average height, a bit overweight. He didn't look particularly smart, and maybe he wasn't. He was one of these guys who knew his way around AIs, and didn't seem to care much about anything else in the world. When they sat and talked at meals, it was all shop. Walker was married, and Miguel wondered if he was like that at home.

He turned toward the last-known position of the
Polaris,
accelerated, and began scanning for the ship he didn't expect to find. Miguel sent off a message to Indigo, bringing them up to date. Then he asked Sebastian, Shawn's experimental AI, when they could expect to locate the lost vessel.

“If it is in the area,”
Sebastian said,
“and if it maintained course and speed, as one would expect, we should see it within a few hours.”

“What happens,” Shawn asked Miguel, “if they're not there?”

“We'll look elsewhere.”

“No. I mean, what happens if they're on their way back to Indigo?”

“I guess,” Miguel said, “we'll be stuck here until Indigo tells us they've shown up.” Walker looked distressed. “You okay, Shawn?”

“I know Warren. Mendoza. He was on board. He's an old friend.”

“I'm sure they'll be all right.”

“And Tom Dunninger, too. Not well, but I met him.”

They had dinner, played cards, watched a video, went back to the bridge, and looked out at the relentless sky.

Miguel didn't sleep well. He wasn't sure why. He'd done a rescue mission once before, bailing out a ship whose engines had exploded. That had been the
Borealis.
Ten years ago. They'd been lucky: The captain had eleven people on board, and ten had survived. They'd given him a citation for that, and the rescued passengers had thrown a party for him. It had been one of the great moments of his life.

But there was something different about this. He wasn't sure what was bothering him, but his instincts kept him from closing his eyes. Kept him from relaxing at all.

In the morning there was still no sign. He had an early breakfast, then an hour later sat drinking coffee while Shawn ate. Sebastian was still reporting empty skies.

He prowled through the ship. He wandered from the common room to the bridge, took the zero-gee tube down to the cargo hold, glanced toward the two additional cabins they maintained just off the main storage bins, and inspected the Makumba shipment, which they were supposed to deliver in a couple of days. Eventually he climbed into the shuttle and took a seat. Shawn came down and asked if he was okay.

“Sure,” he said. “I'm just not anxious to spend the next two weeks here.”

“Miguel.”
It was Sebastian.
“We have searched the entire area in which they should be. The
Polaris
is not there.”

“So they jumped?”

“Or changed course. Or accelerated.”

Miguel had no doubt the
Polaris
was on its way home. “Okay,” he said, “if we have to hang around, let's do it right. Sebastian, expand the search. Let's assume they got blown off course by the event. We'll look deeper. Away from wherever the central luminary used to be.

“Waste of time and money,” he grumbled. “But we'll do it by the book.”

Miguel was becoming annoyed with Maddy. It would have been thoughtful of her to leave a satellite at the place where the ship should have been, informing any potential rescuer that she was okay and on her way to Indigo. It would have saved all this hassle.

They played some more cards. He started the latest Chug Randall thriller, in which Chug has to outwit a gang of interstellar pirates who are after a shipment of priceless works of art. He watched some talk shows. (Miguel loved watching people argue. He didn't much care what they argued about, as long as it got loud and passionate. And nothing got louder than panels on politics and religion.)

He was eating more than he would have on a normal flight. And skimping on his daily workout. He promised himself that he'd get back to his routine the next day.

Then they were at the end of another evening, and he said good night to Shawn, who seemed able to entertain himself going through Sebastian's specs. Miguel had not slept well the first night because he was worried that they would find the
Polaris.
Now he didn't sleep well because he was bored and annoyed. He'd mention it to Maddy next time he saw her.

He finally dropped off at about 0200 hours. And Sebastian woke him ten minutes later.
“Miguel, I can see the
Polaris.
”

It was substantially off course, moving at about forty degrees off its original heading. And angled down, out of the plane of what used to be the planetary system. It was running at a lower velocity than he'd been led to expect. He sent off a transmission to Indigo, then woke Shawn.

The specialist looked relieved. “At least we know where they are,” he said.

But why are they here? There was no simple explanation that didn't
involve either catastrophe or an unlikely breakdown of both comms and propulsion. There was a possibility he'd pushed to the back of his mind: They might have been punctured by debris, by rocks blown away from the dying sun. Or maybe a burst of radiation had penetrated the shielding.

“Range, Sebastian?”

“Six point six million kilometers.”

“Open a channel.”

“Channel open.”

“
Polaris,
this is
Peronovski.
Madeleine, is everything okay?” Miguel took a deep breath and settled down to wait. Round-trip for the signal would be almost a minute, plus whatever time Maddy needed to respond.

“Power signature is normal,”
said Sebastian. An image of the
Polaris
appeared on the shuttle screen. It was running without lights.

He counted off a minute. Then two.

“Maddy, please answer up.”

Shawn wiped the back of his hand against his mouth. “What do you think?” he asked.

“Don't know. Madeleine, are you there?”

Silence filled the bridge.

“Sebastian,” he said, “can you contact the AI?”

“Negative, Miguel. There is no response.”

“Okay,” he said. “Shawn, let's go have a look.”

The
Polaris
was small and showy. It was silver and black, with a flared rear end and teardrop pods along its flanks and a swept-back fuselage and a wraparound bridge over the prow. None of these features was necessary, of course. The only things a starship needs are symmetry and engines. Beyond those, appearance doesn't matter much. But the
Polaris
had been intended to impress VIPs, so Survey had spent money.

They went over in the shuttle, and he inspected the hull. There was no sign of damage. And no indication of movement on the bridge. “Depressurize the cabin, Sebastian. And take us directly alongside the main airlock.”

The AI complied. Miguel and Walker checked each other's pressure
suits, and, when the lamps turned green, left the shuttle and jumped to the
Polaris.

The outer hatch responded to the control panel and swung open. They entered the airlock, the hatch closed behind them, and the air pressure started to rise. When it reached normal, the inner door opened.

The artificial gravity was on, but the interior was dark. Temperature was within normal range. They switched on wrist lights and removed their helmets. “Kage,” he said addressing the AI, “hello. Answer up, please. What's going on?”

Shawn flashed his lamp around at a table and chairs. They were in the common room. And other than the fact the lights were off, and nobody was there, everything looked normal.

“Kage?”

He would not have been able to give instructions to the AI, but she should respond to him.

Shawn tried his luck and shook his head. “She's not functioning,” he said.

Miguel looked on the bridge. Nobody there. And no visible damage.

“Are they dead?” asked Shawn.

“Don't know.”

“Any way that could happen?”

“Not without leaving a hole in the hull.”

“How about a madman? Maybe somebody went berserk.”

“Somebody running amok with an ax?” Ridiculous. Especially among this crowd. Every one of them had led an exemplary existence. He'd checked their backgrounds while they were en route. Pillars of the community. All of them. But the prospect chilled him nonetheless. Had there been a maniac, he'd still be on board.

“We need light,” Miguel said. He crossed the bridge and sat down in the pilot's chair. The control board looked standard. He threw a couple of switches. Lights came on. “Kage,” he said, “do you hear me?”

The silence rolled back. Shawn knelt and opened a black box at the base of the pilot's chair. “The circuits seem to be intact.” He touched a switch, pushed it forward. “Try it now.”

“Kage, are you there?”

“Hello.”
A female voice.
“To whom am I speaking?”