“Of course it is. That's our mission, Alex. To protect and defend. We're effectively a rescue service. You get in trouble out there, we're the guys who ride in and bail you out. And we do that, by the way, within the confines of the Confederacy. Now, you need to be aware that we have limited resources. We have enormous coverage responsibilities and a minimum of equipment with which to operate. Right now, Villanueva is tying up a substantial number of our resources. So what happens if we send a large squadron out to chase this specter of yours, and somebody needs help somewhere else? Maybe people die because we don't have anybody available to go to the rescue?
“Look, I'd love to help. I really would. This is a fascinating story, and there might even be something to it. But we're just not in a position to take it on.”
For a long moment we all just sat there staring at one another. Then Alex got up. “Okay,” he said. “Thanks, anyhow.”
“I'm sorry, Alex. You might try Survey.”
Our reception at the Department of Planetary Survey and Astronomical Research wasn't much of an improvement. “I understand your concern,” we were told by an oversized woman who kept looking around the room as if she'd lost something, “but you have to understand that missing ships don't come within our purview. Unidentified vehicles that might have come from somewhere else- Now, that's something we'd be interested in. We'd certainly react to the possibility of uncovering an alien civilization, but that's not what you claim to have here.”
“Well,” said Alex, “it's possible. Maybe they are aliens. We're not really sure what it is.”
“I'm sorry, Mr. Benedict. But I think you've made yourself perfectly clear. I suspect, though, this is the sort of mission that StarCorps would love to sink their teeth into.”
Alex called Senator Delmar. She listened patiently, even sympathetically. She was out in the mountains somewhere, probably skiing. It was her favorite diversion. We could see a snowcapped peak through a window, and Delmar tended to gaze at it while Alex described what was needed.
When he'd finished, she hesitated, letting us see that she was giving intense consideration to something she didn't take at all seriously.
“Alex,” she said finally, “I'd like to help. But this, coming after the AI thing, just won't fly. I wouldn't be able to get anybody to support it.” She took a deep breath. “What kind of evidence do you have? Can you really back up any of this?”
We showed her the visuals. She looked shocked. “Send me a copy of the entire package. I'll show it to Larry.”
“Larry is-?”
“Larry Decker, the science advisor.”
We sent within the hour. Delmar got back to us later that afternoon. “They're telling me it's a long shot, Alex. We don't have the resources to chase it down. I'm sorry.”
“People are trapped out there, Senator-”
“The consensus is that the recordings are a misinterpretation of something else.”
“They think it's a hoax.”
“They didn't say that. But I can't find anyone who seriously believes that, even if you're right and they are ships lost in time, that anybody could be alive on them. What I'm hearing is that it's only an AI making the transmissions.” She read Alex's expression. “I'm sorry. Something like this, when StarCorps already has its hands full dealing with the Villanueva problem- Alex, it would be political suicide.”
We tried some of our other connections, but nobody knew us anymore. Like to help, they said. Unfortunately, ancient ships are a hard sell. Javis Bollinger, an assistant to Rimway's Secretary of the Environment, commented that, while he sympathized with what Alex was trying to do, his projects were “propelling us into the silly season.” First, black boxes. Now this. Anybody who wanted to be taken seriously, he said, wouldn't dare touch it. “Sorry, Alex. We owe you quite a lot. I know that, and the Secretary knows it. But this has disaster written all over it.”
Meantime, though the box controversy continued to rage, the crank messages had fallen off. Most of the attention now was being directed at organizations who were actually sponsoring the rescue missions. “I'm grateful for that,” Jacob told me. “Reading the mail we've been getting is depressing. I mean, I can understand some people might have a different perspective, but why do they persist in assuming that Alex is a maniac? Or a thief? At the very least, I'd think they would realize he has a filter and is not reading or listening to their tirades. That it gets left to somebody like me.”
“Human nature,” I said. “We seem to produce a lot of idiots. Maybe there's a nitwit hiding inside each of us.”
“I do not think you need to worry, Chase.”
“Thank you, Jacob.”
“And keep in mind my programing would not allow me to say that if I did not mean it.”
I wasn't sure, but I thought I caught a wink in there somewhere.
“We'll have to charter the ships,” said Alex.
“That'll be expensive. How many?”
“We'll be out there for at least four weeks. I think five is about as high as we can go.”
“All right.”
“What's wrong?”
“It's going to strain our resources. There's not much left after buying the lander.”
“I know. We're going to try to do this on credit.”
“Alex, nobody's going to lend you the kind of money you'll need to lease five ships for a month. That's crazy.”
“What's our option?”
“There might be another possibility.”
I went up to Skydeck the following day and got lucky. Dot Garber, an old friend, was in the Pilots' Club when I walked in. Dot owns a small company, Rebel Transit, that does sightseeing tours and provides off-world transportation for executives, celebrities, and people who just want to go look close up at a comet. She was at a corner table, part of a small crowd laughing and drinking the night away. I joined them and, when I got a chance, pulled her off to one side.
I'd known Dot since before I went to work for Alex. She always made it a point to tell me how lucky I was to have connected with him. This time, though, she just asked me how he was doing.
“Okay,” I said.
“He's taking a lot of flack.”
“He'll be okay. He's used to criticism.”
“I figured he must be.” She didn't waste time trying to charm people. Didn't need to, really. She was a tall blonde with classic features who was probably the most beautiful woman in the place. “I need help,” I said.
“What's wrong, Chase?”
I told her about the Antares. And I had to go through the process, that had by then become routine, of persuading her I wasn't kidding.
When we'd arrived at that point, finally, she took me to the bar and bought me a drink. “Wildest story I ever heard,” she said.
“Dot, I don't know whether you can help or not, but we don't have the resources to pay you much. Alex was going to borrow money to lease some ships, but we'd have to get pilots as well, and the truth is that it would be a serious squeeze.”
She finished her drink. “You're saying there might be people trapped inside this thing?”
“Yes.”
“Still alive after thousands of years?”
“Yes. Maybe. Time passes at a different rate inside the ship. In fact, when it's submerged, it barely seems to move at all. It's as if they jump from one era to the next.”
“What are the chances that these people will actually be there?”
“We don't know. We can't be sure about any part of this.” I showed her the pictures of the Alpha Object. “If it succeeds, if we're able to find the Antares, and board it, even if there's no one there, we'll be making history. Rebel Transit would become pretty well-known.”
“I think you know you don't have to persuade me, Chase. What actually would you need?”
“We'd like to lease one ship from you. And if you could volunteer a couple more, with pilots, we'd be grateful.”
She checked her link. “When did you say?”
I gave her the dates.
“That's a big chunk of time.”