“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.”
“I know.”
“Okay. Look, we've got eight vehicles. None of them is actually available. But I can juggle the schedule. You can have three of them. For the price of one.”
“Dot, thank you.”
“It's okay. Get the paperwork to me tomorrow.”
“Will do.”
“You know what? I feel like a loon, believing there could actually be anything to this.” After we'd had a few more drinks, she discovered she could spare a fourth vehicle.
I stayed late. Prescott Tours agreed to provide a ship and a pilot, as did Orion Interstellar. Prescott thought it sounded like the opportunity of a lifetime, a chance to make the history books; and the Orion manager made the contribution because he said he'd always admired Alex. “If you were anybody else, Chase, I'd just laugh it off. But you guys- Look, if there are really people stuck out there, if I was stuck out there, I'd want somebody to come get me.”
I also picked up three independents, pilots who were singles but who had their own yachts. Their only demand was that we meet their expenses, which of course we were happy to agree to.
Dot showed up with a friend, and when I staggered into my hotel room that evening, I had nine ships signed on. Or ten. My math was a bit shaky at that point.
I got back to the country house and passed the news to Alex just as a group of three persons identifying themselves as collectors announced they'd rescued an AI on Villanueva. “Her name is Oksana,” one of them said, showing her to the media. Oksana was a small rust-colored sphere.
Alex swallowed. “I hope she isn't a bomb.”
“You worry too much,” I said.
“Anyhow, you were great, Chase. I wish I could pay you what you're worth.”
I kissed him. Just as a call came in.
“Chase.” It was Ron Fleury, who was the current director of the Fleury Archeological Initiative. “I heard you were looking for research ships.”
I didn't know Ron well, but he had a reputation for getting things done. “We think we have a seven- thousand-year-old ship, lost-”
“I know,” he said. “We'll donate two vehicles. When do you need them?”
“How many do we have now?” asked Alex.
The number had been climbing steadily. “That makes fifteen, counting us.”
“Still not quite what we wanted. But it's a substantial improvement over last time.”
Twenty minutes later, Ordway Lessing called to ask for an appointment. Lessing was the director of the Civil Rights Union, which was known principally for conducting an ongoing campaign for AIs. Their catchphrase: Prove they're sentient? Prove you're sentient.
Lessing's organization was small but active. I told Jacob to put him on hold while I consulted Alex. “He's the last thing you need,” I said. “Get connected with him and nobody will ever take us seriously again.”
“So what do you suggest?” he asked. “Tell him I've gone on permanent vacation? Set him up for tomorrow if you can. Preferably in the morning.”
Lessing could have been the ultimate politician, had his ambitions run in that direction. When he walked into the office and said hello, I liked him immediately. He wasn't at all what I'd expected. He was easygoing and self- deprecating, willing to ask questions and be guided by the responses, a sharp departure from the public-crusader image he'd fashioned. He didn't take himself seriously. Only the mission mattered. And the mission could not have been described as widely popular. “We've been refusing to face this reality since we first stepped off the home world, Alex,” he said. “What's happened is that the notion of an AI as simply a program has always been with us. It's part of the culture. It's in our politics. Anybody suspected of wanting to recognize that artificial intelligences-I don't even like the term-should have the same rights as the rest of us might as well forget ever running for office. People don't trust the boxes. Give them civil status, and where will it stop? And there's a religious dimension, as well. Humans have an afterlife. AIs just get turned off. As long as we fail to recognize AIs for what they truly are, as long as it hangs over our heads, we're never going to realize our full potential.”
He looked like an average guy, or would have had it not been for the energy. “Alex,” he continued, “I've always admired you. You have an incredible resume. Especially that business at Salud Afar. And I know you're taking a lot or heat right now for your stand on the AIs. But I want you to know that we're behind you.
“And by the way, I'm sure you've noticed that the Villanueva AIs have been arriving. I understand eleven of them have been brought back so far. Patrick Myers has one at his place. Rescued her out of an abandoned warehouse. Patrick's our chief public-affairs guy. He tells me she's”-he smiled-”pretty grateful. And people want to say they're just programs.”
“I'm glad to hear it,” said Alex. “It's the first good news we've had over this.”
“In my opinion, Alex, this is what you'll be remembered for. If we can help, in any way, please don't hesitate to call on us. To call on me.”
