He shook his head. It’s a hard life when one is surrounded by such imbecility.
“Chase,” he said, “don’t you think I’d love to? But they’re going to keep coming after us. And there’s no way we can stop that until we stop them. Fenn’s not going to run out to Delta Kay and look around.” His voice softened. “Anyhow, don’t you want to be there when we confront these people?”
“Probably not,” I said.
“Three,” said the AI. “There are three habitable worlds.”
“Three? Is that all?”
“It’s a sterile area. Most of the stars in the region are young.”
“Delta Karpis wasn’t young.”
“Delta Karpis was an exception. And there is also an outstation.”
“Where?”
“Meriwether. It’s actually a bit farther than the parameters you set. It’s sixtyseven light-years out.”
“Where is it? Show me.”
A swirl of stars appeared in the middle of the room. A prominent yellow one began blinking. “Delta Kay,” said the AI. An arrow appeared above a side table, pointing toward the back porch. “That way to Indigo.” Then we got another blinker, this one red, over a love seat. “The Meriwether outstation.”
Alex looked pleased. Only four possibilities. “Chase,” he said, “we’ve caught a break.” And, to the AI: “Tell me about them.”
“The worlds first. Terranova has a small settlement.” Its image formed in the middle of the room. “It’s the home of the Mangles.”
“What’s a Mangle?” I asked.
“They’re a back-to-nature group who like isolation. They ascribe, more or less, to the philosophy of Rikard Mangle, who thought that people should get their hands dirty, build their own homes, and grow their own food. To do less, he maintained, is to fall short of knowing what it truly means to be human. Or something like that.
Aside from an occasional hermit, they’ve been the sole inhabitants on Terranova for two centuries. They claim to be the most remote human outpost.”
“Are they?” I asked.
“Depends where you put the center of the Confederacy, ma’am.”
“And they’re still functioning?” said Alex.
“Oh, yes. They’re still there. But they don’t have much contact with the outside world. A little trading. And every once in a while somebody escapes.”
“That’s a gag, right?” I said.
“Not at all. Their children don’t always want to stay. Some, when they can, clear out.”
“The brighter ones.”
“I’m not equipped to make that judgment.”
Alex wore a wry smile. “These Mangles,” he said, “would they be likely to let an outside group move in?”
“Judging by their history, as well as their code of regulations, I’d say not.
Unless you adopted their political philosophy.”
Well, I thought, that part of it doesn’t matter. A planet’s a big place. The Polaris had a lander. The Mangles sound fairly primitive, so the lander could have gotten to the surface unseen easily enough. “How many Mangles are there?”
“Fewer than sixty thousand, Chase. Terranova is the only Confederate world that shows a consistent decrease in population.”
“Okay,” said Alex. “Tell us about the other two.”
“Markop III. And Serendipity. Neither has been settled. Gravity approximates one point four at Markop. It’s uncomfortable under the best of circumstances.
Serendipity’s air is thin, and the surface is hot to intolerable. Any human settlements would have to be placed near the poles.”
“But the air is breathable.”
“Oh, yes. It’s not a place you’d want to go if you like comfort. But you could certainly put a group of people there and, assuming you provided food and shelter, you could have every hope they’d survive.”
“What about the outstation? Meriwether?”
“It services a bare handful of missions each year. It’s probably the oldest of the operational stations. Completely automated.”
“Could I use it without leaving a record?”
“I don’t know. That information is not available.”
That was my area of expertise. “The answer’s no, Alex. The station AI logs everything. Any attempt to juggle the log, to gundeck it in any way, is considered a criminal offense. And it gets reported.”
“No way it could be done?”
“I don’t think so. At the first sign of tampering, the AI would send out an alarm.”
“Okay. I think we better have a look at it anyhow.”
“Could we wait until morning?”
He laughed. “Yes, I suspect we can do that.”
It was supposed to be a joke. “You do mean we’re leaving tomorrow? ” I’d been hoping for two or three days off.
“Yes,” he said. “I think it’s prudent we end this thing as quickly as we can. We’ll be targets until we do.” Did I want more wine? I declined, and he refilled his glass.
“Now, can we trust Belle ’s new AI?”
“Yes,” I said. “We have a security system that will alert us if anyone so much as looks twice at the ship.” Nevertheless, I took an early transport up to Skydeck and spent the morning going over her, just to be on the safe side. I’d had enough surprises.
The Meriwether platform is located in solar orbit around Meriwether A, which is the largest component of a triple star system. The other two suns, however, are so dim and so far away, they’re not distinguishable from distant stars. The station is, of course, an excavated asteroid. As we approached, lights came on, and a cheerful radio voice welcomed us.
With the advent of the quantum drive, the outstations had all become essentially obsolete. A few were kept in operation to assist ultralong missions; but there weren’t many, and they were being maintained at a limited level. “Belle says Meriwether doesn’t get more than a half dozen missions a year,” I told Alex.
“That can’t be enough to pay the upkeep,” he said. “I suspect they’ll be closing the place within a few years.”
I put visuals on-screen. “It’s been here a long time.”
“How old is it?”
“Seventeen hundred years. It goes back to Commonwealth days.” I was running data across the monitor. “Says here it was originally a naval base.”
There’d been a period early in the history of the Commonwealth in which warfare had flared sporadically between Rimway and her nearest neighbors, Inikonda and Chao Ti. It had been a three-way conflict, never all-out, with occasional alliances between two of the warring parties against the third.
The station continued transmitting. “… to have you in the area. Please state your requirements.” The voice was male. Careful diction. Vague projection of superiority. Aristocratic.
I submitted a list of needed supplies. Fuel. Water. We had plenty of food.
“Very good,” said the station. “Follow the lights. You’ll be coming in through Bay Four.”
“Thank you,” I said.
“We’re pleased to help. Is there anything else?”
Guide lamps came on around the curve of the rock. A portal was opening. Then more lights.
I invited Alex to respond. He nodded. “Yes,” he said. “I wonder if we could get some information about the history of the station.”
“Of course. We have a fully automated gift shop with several applicable volumes and VRs.”
“Excellent,” Alex said. “By the way, this is Chase Kolpath, and my name is Alex Benedict.”
“I am pleased to meet you both.”
“May I ask your name?”
“George.”
We docked. The portal closed, the bay pressurized, lights came on, doors opened, and robots began attaching fuel and water lines to the ship. We climbed out. I could see several other bays, all empty. It looked as if we were the only ones currently at the station. Ahead, deck lights came on and showed the way to an exit ramp.
We turned into a brightly lighted carpeted sitting room. An avatar was waiting.
He looked authoritative, official, competent. “Hello, Mr. Benedict,” he said cheerfully. “Ms. Kolpath. It’s good to see you. I am Captain Pinchot.” He was tall and trim, white-haired, with craggy features and a congenial smile. He wore a white uniform with an arm patch, epaulets, decorations, and a sash. The patch depicted a torch and a motto in unfamiliar characters. He smiled politely and steered us toward a group of three armchairs, centered around a dark-stained table. He waited until we were seated, then joined us. “We don’t get much company here anymore.”