“If they had that kind of technology that long ago,” said Hutch, “and they were able to maintain themselves, I wonder where they’d be now.”

Phyl broke in. “I’d really like for them to be there.”

It was an unusual action. AIs normally stayed out of private conversations.

ANTONIO’S NOTES

It’s been an enjoyable flight. Hutch is bright and pleasant to be around. Which is what you really need in this kind of environment. Packaged entertainment and chess will take you just so far. Rudy, on the other hand, has been up and down. He’s a worrier. I don’t think he has much life away from the office. Tends to assume worst-possible-case scenarios. I think he’s sorry he came.

It’s hard to get close to him. I never feel he’s saying quite what he thinks. It’s odd, but despite his accomplishments, I believe he’s unsure of himself.

—Saturday, December 15

chapter 24

THE TRANSITION INTO normal space went smoothly. Hutch’s first act was to try to raise the McAdams. As expected, she got no reply. “It may take a while to find them,” she said.

Antonio was glad to see the night sky again. He asked Rudy what kind of cosmos had no stars?

His answer surprised him: “There’s no requirement for stars. The universe could just as easily have been simply a large cloud of hydrogen. Or loose atoms. Set the gravity gradient lower, and they never form. Set it higher, and they form and collapse ten minutes later.”

“Ten minutes?”

“Well, you know what I mean.”

Two particularly bright patches of stars illuminated the night. One might have been a jet giving off a long trail of dark vapor. “The Eagle Nebula,” said Rudy. “Lots of stars forming in the base.”

“What’s the column?”

“It’s a cloud of hydrogen and dust. Almost ten light-years long.”

The other object resembled a luminous bar across the sky. “That’s M24,” said Rudy. “Part of the Sagittarius-Carina Arm.”

The night was more crowded here than at home. So many stars. It reminded him of the old line about how God must have loved beetles because he made so many of them. He must also have loved stars. “Which one are we looking for, Phyl?”

Phyl focused on a narrow patch of sky and set one star pulsing. “That’s it,” said Hutch. “It’s 4.7 light-years. Not bad.” She sounded genuinely impressed.

“How do we know that?” asked Antonio. “I mean, how can Phyl determine the distance?”

Dr. Science, indeed. Rudy tried to sound patient. “Phyl can measure the apparent luminosity of the star, then contrast it against the estimated absolute value. That gives us the range.” Hard to believe anybody wouldn’t know that.

Hutch came off the bridge, poured herself a cup of coffee, and sat down. She sipped it, made a face, and let her head drift back. “We’ll recharge the Locarno. Then jump in closer.” Where they’d be able to rendezvous with the McAdams.

“Very good.” Antonio frowned at the coffee. “Time like this,” he said, “we should do better.” He got up, went back to his compartment, brought out a bottle of wine, pulled the cork, and filled three glasses.

Rudy accepted his with a not-quite-congenial smile. “It might be a bit premature,” he said.

“Hutch.” Phyl’s voice.

“What have you got, Phyllis?”

“Radio signals.”

“Matt?”

“Negative. But they are artificial. They appear to be coming from our destination.”

“Makai 4417.”

“Yes. It would appear that whoever sent out the chindi is still functioning.”

DURING THE THIRTY-ONE years that had elapsed since the discovery of the chindi, fourteen of its stealth satellites had been found orbiting inhabited worlds or places of other scientific interest, like the Retreat, the odd shelter found near the Twins and since moved to the banks of the Potomac. The satellites formed an intricate communications web, recording significant events or features at each location and relaying them from site to site until finally they arrived out here at Makai 4417.

The civilizations under observation had long since passed out of existence. Whatever cultures they had nurtured had collapsed, and the current natives in every case had vanished into jungles and forests or disappeared altogether. The disintegration had, in several cases, been induced, or helped along, by the omegas. But the experts had concluded that civilization was a fragile construct at best, and that with or without external pressure, it seldom lasted more than a few thousand years.

Terrestrial history had witnessed several such cycles. And, sadly, humans seemed not to be learning the lessons of the fallen worlds.

BY LATE AFTERNOON, ship time, they had arrived insystem. Makai 4417 was a class-K orange star, about the same size and age as Sol.

Their immediate objective was to see whether they could pick up the incoming chindi relay transmission, which would confirm this was indeed the target system.

“I am not getting any results,” said Phyl. “But the transmission is probably not continuous.”

Probably not. In all likelihood, traffic would pick up only when something was happening somewhere.

Antonio wondered aloud how many worlds had been visited by the giant spacecraft. Or, for that matter, how many giant spacecraft there might be.

They’d emerged from their second jump at a range of two hundred million klicks. Not bad. Hutch commented it was closer than she’d probably have gotten with a Hazeltine. She immediately began a search for the McAdams, and also initiated a sweep of the system. They picked up a gas giant within the first few minutes. It had rings and in excess of twenty moons. “It’s 220 million kilometers out from the sun,” Hutch said. “It’s on the cold edge of the biozone.”

“Not the source of the artificial signals?” said Rudy.

Hutch shook her head. “They’re coming from a different direction. Anyhow, it doesn’t look as if any of the moons has an atmosphere.”

“I have it,” said Phyl. “The source is on the other side of the sun.”

“Okay.”

“Can you make any of it out?” asked Antonio. “What are they saying?”

“There are voice transmissions. A multitude of them. The entire planet must be alive with radio communications.”

“Wonderful.” Antonio raised both fists. Dr. Science at his proudest moment. “At last.”

“It’s like Earth.”

Rudy was holding his cheeks clamped between his palms, a kid at Christmas. “Are you picking up any pictures?”

“Negative. It’s strictly audio.”

“Okay. Can you understand any of it, Phyl?”

“No. Nada. But I can hear music.”

Hutch broke into a mile-wide grin. “Put it on the speaker.”

“What do you want to hear? I have several hundred to choose from.”

“Just pick one.”

The ship filled with twitching screechy spasms. They looked at one another and broke out in uncontrolled laughter. Antonio had never heard anything like it. “Try again,” said Rudy. “Something softer.”

Phyl gave them a melody that sounded like piano music, except that it was pitched a register too high, pure alto, fingertips clinking madly across a keyboard.

Antonio grumbled his displeasure. “A civilization this old,” he said. “The least they can do is try not to sound like philistines.”

Phyl laughed this time and replaced the broadcast with something closer to home, a slow, pulsing rhythm created with strings and horns and God knew what other instruments, while a soft voice made sounds that Antonio would never have been able to duplicate.