A Deepness in the Sky

The change in manner was like a flower opening to the sunlight. Apparently the Qeng Ho was just as popular with the city folk as it was with the Forestry Department. In a matter of seconds, the proprietor—the "private investigator," as he called himself—had pulled up records and started search programs. "...Hmm. You don't have a name, or a good physical description, just a probable arrival date. Okay, now Forestry claims your fellow must have become someone named ‘Bidwel Ducanh.' " His gaze slid sideways to the silent constables, and he smiled. "They're very good at reaching nonsense conclusions from insufficient information. In this case..." He did something with his search programs. "Bidwel Ducanh. Yeah, now that I search for it, I remember hearing about that fellow. Sixty or a hundred years ago he made some kind of a name for himself." A figure that had come from nowhere, with a moderate amount of money and an uncanny flare for self-advertisement. In a period of thirty years, he had gathered the support of several major corporations and even the favor of the Forestry Department. "Ducanh claimed to be a city-person, but he was no freedom fighter. He wanted to spend money on some crazy, long-term scheme. What was it? He wanted to..." The private investigator looked up from his reading to stare a moment at Sammy. "He wanted to finance an expedition to the OnOff star!"

Sammy just nodded.

"Damn! If he had been successful, Triland would have an expedition partway there right now." The investigator was silent for a moment, seeming to contemplate the lost opportunity. He looked back at his records. "And you know, he almost succeeded. A world like ours would have to bankrupt itself to go interstellar. But sixty years ago, a single Qeng Ho starship visited Triland. Course, they didn't want to break their schedule, but some of Ducanh's supporters were hoping they'd help out. Ducanh wouldn't have anything to do with the idea, wouldn't even talk to the Qeng Ho. After that, Bidwel Ducanh pretty much lost his credibility....He faded from sight."

All this was in Triland's Forestry Department records. Sammy said, "Yes. We're interested in where this individual is now." There had been no interstellar vessel in Triland's solar system for sixty years.He is here!

"Ah, so you figure he may have some extra information, something that would be useful even after what's happened the last three years?"

Sammy resisted an impulse to violence. A little more patience now, what more could it cost after the centuries of waiting? "Yes," he said, benignly judicious, "it would be good to cover all the angles, don't you think?"

"Right. You've come to the right place. I know city things that the Forestry people never bother to track. I really want to help." He was watching some kind of scanning analysis, so this was not completely wasted time. "These alien radio messages are going to change our world, and I want my children to—"

The investigator frowned. "Huh! You just missed this Bidwel character, Fleet Captain. See, he's been dead for ten years."

Sammy didn't say anything, but his mild manner must have slipped; the little man flinched when he looked up at him. "I-I'm sorry, sir. Perhaps he left some effects, a will."

It can't be. Not when I'm so close.But it was a possibility that Sammy had always known. It was the commonplace in a universe of tiny lifetimes and interstellar distances. "I suppose we are interested in any data the man left behind." The words came out dully.At least we have closure —that would be the concluding line from some smarmy intelligence analyst.

The investigator tapped and muttered at his devices. The Forestry Department had reluctantly identified him as one of the best of the city class, so well distributed that they could not simply confiscate his equipment to take him over. He was genuinely trying to be helpful...."There may be a will, Fleet Captain, but it's not on the Grandville net."

"Some other city, then?" The fact that the Forestry Department had partitioned the urban networks was a very bad sign for Triland's future.

"...Not exactly. See, Ducanh died at one of Saint Xupere's Pauper Cemeteria, the one in Lowcinder. It looks like the monks have held on to his effects. I'm sure they would give them up in return for a decent-sized donation." His eyes returned to the constables and his expression hardened. Maybe he recognized the oldest one, the Commissioner of Urban Security. No doubt they could shake down the monks with no need for any contribution.

Sammy rose and thanked the private investigator; his words sounded wooden even to himself. As he walked back toward the door and his escort, the investigator came quickly around his desk and followed him. Sammy realized with abrupt embarrassment that the fellow hadn't been paid. He turned back, feeling a sudden liking for the guy. He admired someone who would demand his pay in the face of unfriendly cops. "Here," Sammy started to say, "this is what I can—"