The Long Sunset Page 6

  Zhang passed the requests to a secretary. “We have a matter of substance to consider.” He got up, went over to the window, and looked out at sunlight and treetops. “There is more at stake here than simply getting the Calliope mission out before our more cautious associates can stop it. Our primary concern is the long term. Everything on this mission has to go smoothly. We don’t want any more omega clouds. And we certainly don’t want you going to the Kellerman Cluster and encountering a vicious species or anything else that would provide fuel to the talk shows and scare the voters. I’ll be honest with you. I’m not sure those who think interstellar missions are just asking for trouble don’t have it right. But who knows? A thousand years from now, this will very likely be remembered as a critical moment, not only in the development of spaceflight, but in our overall progress as a species. If anything goes wrong now, it may shut things down for the foreseeable future, and maybe forever.

  “Something else to consider: You’ll be getting back here in the middle of a presidential election. President Proctor is very likely to remain in office. And turning out the lights, as the antiflight people like to say, has become a major part of her platform. Screw something up and she’ll come down even harder on us.”

  Derek’s eyes narrowed. “Director Zhang, I understand what you’re saying, but it’s irritating to have a deranged politician opposing something so important to the human future for political reasons.”

  “I don’t think you give her enough credit, Derek. Her attitude has nothing to do with politics. She thinks we’re the ones who are deranged. We’re the ones who are putting the human future at risk. I’m just not sure she’s wrong. In any case, I want you—both of you—to exercise caution. Take no chances. Bring everybody back. And let’s not have any bad news. Is that clear?”

  It was. Zhang cautioned them on their relations with the press, primarily that they be careful not to say anything that could be used as ammunition against the project. He assured them of his confidence in their ability to log a successful effort and wished them well. The meeting ended and they all shook hands and said how they were looking forward to working together. But when Derek and Hutch had reached the lobby, she stopped him. “He put a lot of brakes on the mission, Derek. All that caution.”

  “You think I didn’t notice?”

  “So what’s the mission really about? I can’t believe we’re going all the way out there to take a quick look for whoever sent the waterfall signal, and then we’re going to turn around and come back home.”

  “Well, think what you like. That’s the plan.”

  “Yeah.” Of course it was. “Derek, I’d love to find out who’s there, then sit down and talk with them. Maybe take them to lunch.”

  “I understand, Priscilla. I feel exactly the same way.”

  “But we don’t get to do it. Why are we so scared, Derek?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe it’s political. Maybe they’re right and it’s simply too dangerous. Zhang’s rational. He feels the same way we do. But he doesn’t want to take a chance. He doesn’t want to support a project that could get everyone on the planet killed. Now, I know that’s over the top, but a lot of people feel that way. Including a good many in the media. He’s hoping everything will go quietly. And that attitudes might change while we’re away. Possibly if we go out there and find a peaceful society with great music and good food.” He grinned. “Maybe then they’ll put together another mission and actually go out to say hello. Let’s see if we can find something that would encourage that.”

  • • •

  Hutch’s mom called next morning. Her image blinked on in the living room, seated in the black leather armchair that still survived from Hutch’s childhood days. She was worried and made no effort to conceal it. “Hello, Priscilla,” she said. “I don’t guess you’re going to get up here before you leave?” She looked pretty good. She’d started the telomerase reverse-aging process a few years earlier. And while nobody would mistake her for a young woman, she was nevertheless making excellent ground. Her hair was black again, the wrinkles were gone, and her eyes had acquired a sparkle. Even when she was unhappy.

  “I was planning on driving up tomorrow, Mom. If that works.”

  “Oh, yes,” she said. “Good.” She paused. “Everything all right?”

  “Yes. I’m doing fine. Spent most of the day yesterday with Maureen. Helping with the classes.”

  “What does she think about this Calliope thing?”

  “I assume you’d prefer I not go, right?”

  “I don’t want to lose you, Priscilla. And these missions scare the devil out of me. I thought this was supposed to be all over years ago. But you keep going back for more.”

  “I’m sorry, Mom. It’s basically what I do for a living.”

  “There’s a lot more to it than that.”

  “I suppose. I like the work.”

  “Did you see Unterkoefler’s comment?”

  Unterkoefler was probably the world’s best-known physicist. “Yes,” Hutch said. “I saw it.”

  “Don’t you think it would be a better idea not to go to these places? Even if this one is safe, eventually somebody else will find something that follows him back here. You know, I try to stay out of your affairs, Priscilla. But this time I feel I have to speak up.”

  “I understand how you feel, Mom. I’d be nervous too if Maureen was off doing stuff that might have a bad ending. And you’re right, I suppose. It would be safer, in the short term anyhow, to stay home. And keep our heads down. But do you really think we should do that forever? Hide here and keep quiet? Turn off all the radio and TV signals? That really what you want?”

  “Of course not. I just want you to stay alive.”

  • • •

  Calls came in from multiple journalists asking for interviews. The Internet was filled with comments on both sides of the issue. She was surprised at the anger showing up on some of the posts. A few people even made remarks along the lines of hoping that the shuttle carrying her to Union would go down.

  They had a legitimate argument. Suppose they were followed back by an invisible fleet that proceeded to destroy everything? It struck her as being hopelessly silly, but it got into her head.

  An ABC team arrived and was filming and asking questions when Charlie got in from school. As soon as she was able to finish with the reporters, she suggested they go out for dinner. Tina’s Café on Sunrise Boulevard was a good place to lose themselves. She passed Charlie’s number along to Derek and turned her own commlink off. It gave her the first quiet time she’d had since opening her eyes that morning.

  • • •

  Unfortunately, she couldn’t take Charlie’s commlink to South Jersey with her next day. So she gave Derek her mother’s number and was consequently able to enjoy an uneventful ride.

  A few minutes after she arrived, friends and family began showing up. Uncle Frank and Aunt Louise, two cousins, her mother’s cousin Alice, and Hutch’s younger brother, Jason. There were a few people she’d been in elementary and high school with, including a guy she’d fallen in love with at fifteen. Harry Collins. He still looked good. And though she’d done what she could to put him behind her, you never really forget a first love.

  They came and went throughout the day and evening, commenting on her courage, admitting how they would never do it, and going on about how it would be a flight into the dark. “I think it’s crazy,” said Uncle Frank. “It just seems like asking for trouble.”

  In the morning they enjoyed a long breakfast of French toast and an assortment of fruit. Afterward they just sat and talked until Jason said how he had to be getting to work. He did public relations for Cranby & Fitch, a law firm. So, finally, it was time to say good-bye. There were lots of hugs and assurances from Hutch that when the mission was done, she would return to Cherry Hill and actually spend some serious time with the family.

  “I will,” she said. “Absolutely.”

  Mom’s commlink sounded. She answered an
d listened for a moment. Then she grinned and covered the link. “This woman says she’s calling from the White House.” Her eyes sent the rest of the message: The president wants to talk to you.

  Hutch’s heart skipped a beat. Her mother handed her the link. Priscilla looked at one of the exits, signaling that it would be a good idea if she got some privacy. Mom and Jason looked awestruck, but they wasted no time leaving the room. Hutch stared at the phone for a long moment. Then: “This is Priscilla Hutchins.”

  “Ms. Hutchins, the president wishes to speak with you. Please hold.”

  She heard a click at the other end. Then, after only a few seconds, Proctor’s voice: “Ms. Hutchins?”

  “Yes, Madam President. What can I do for you?” Dumb. She knew what was coming.

  The president blinked on. She was standing beside a window, with rain beating down on the glass. Emma Proctor was tall and vibrant, with dark brown eyes that cast a look of frustration across features that usually reflected a sense that all was well in the world.

  Hutch got to her feet and moved away from the table. “Ms. Hutchins, I’ve been an admirer of yours for a long time. You’ve rendered major services to the country and to the world. You’re in a position again, as much as ever before, to help.

  “What you’ve signed on for is a serious mistake. The Calliope mission, if it’s allowed to take place, has the potential to cause immense damage. We have no idea who or what is out there. Even if we do not encounter a threat, it may set a precedent that will encourage more missions that will continue until the inevitable occurs. This may be our only opportunity to stop it. Please, back off. And do what you can to dissuade the people planning this operation to do the same.”

  She had to catch her breath. “Madam President—do you know something I don’t?”

  “Only that it’s just a matter of time before one of these missions goes seriously wrong. We are playing with a wildcat here.”

  Hutch was having trouble with her voice. “I understand,” she said. It wasn’t what she’d wanted to say. It sounded too much like caving in. But she couldn’t stop struggling.

  The president came away from the window and walked slowly toward her. “So, what are you going to do?”

  “We’ve been traveling to other stars for a long time. It’s never caused a problem. In fact, we’ve gotten some serious benefits from it.”

  “Priscilla, we’ve barely touched reality. The handful of stars we’ve visited is infinitesimal.” She was towering over Hutch now. Her eyes had taken on a look of urgency. “High-tech life is obviously rare. I grant you that. We have not yet encountered much of anything that operates at an advanced level. But the waterfall signal certifies that a high-tech civilization was out there seven thousand years ago. They’ve had seven thousand years to continue evolving. We cannot conceive what they might be capable of today.”

  “They may not even be there anymore, Madam President. If things go the way they generally have in the past, they’ve been dead a long time.”

  “We don’t yet know enough to have a grasp of the probabilities. This flight puts us all at risk. I understand you’re at your mother’s house?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you have any children?”

  “Two.”

  “You understand you’re putting them all at risk.”

  “I have no influence over the WSA Authority,” said Hutch. “They’re not going to pay attention to anything I have to say.”

  “I understand that. But you can refuse to pilot the mission.”

  “They’d just get somebody else.”

  “Of course. But you could make a public statement as well. Let everyone know why this is so dangerous. Priscilla, it’s a potentially deadly project. We all know that.” Proctor stood, not moving, gazing at her with growing desperation in her eyes.

  “No,” Hutch said. “I can’t do that. I made an agreement and I’ll live by it. Maybe you’re right, Madam President. Maybe the universe is full of lunatic aliens. But that’s hard to believe. In any case, I don’t think we’d be looking at a very bright future if we spend the rest of our existence sitting here hiding under a table.”

  “I see.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “As am I.” She hesitated. “There’s not much time to change your mind. If you need to reach me, you have my number.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I understand this is difficult for you, Priscilla. But I’m your president, and I’m asking for your help.”

  • • •

  The ride home was one of the longest of her life. She’d traveled more quickly between stars than she did that day in the automated car between Cherry Hill and Woodbridge. She couldn’t make up her mind. Who should she betray? Her friends and her lifetime convictions of the necessity for interstellar travel, or the President of the North American Union? Was she so committed to her life’s work that she could not look at the issue objectively? What if something lethal did accompany them back? The responsibility would be hers.

  She got home midafternoon Sunday. Her commlink was crowded with calls, mostly from media types. One was from Unterkoefler. Derek and Tom had also tried to reach her. She called Blanchard first.

  “The Eiferman’s docked, Priscilla. We’re going to turn this around as quickly as we can. Some of the guys from the Save the Earth Foundation have been calling around, trying to put pressure on our people, hoping to shut us down. They got to your copilot. Walcott. He’s passed on the project. I’m guessing they’ve talked to you too.”

  “More or less.”

  “Really? Please tell me you’re not also bailing.”

  Last chance. She was still not sure what she should do. “No,” she said after stalling a few moments. “Who’s going to replace Walcott?”

  “Clay Clairveau.”

  She’d heard his name but couldn’t recall ever having met him. “He have any experience with the Locarno?”

  “Yes. It’s okay. He’ll be fine. If nobody gets to him and talks him out of going.”

  “So, when’s liftoff?”

  “We’re trying for Wednesday. We have to get out of here as soon as possible. Can you manage that?”

  Three days. “Okay.”

  “When can you be here?”

  “When do you need me?”

  “Tuesday would be good.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  “Excellent. We’ll send the lander down. You’d be coming from DC?”

  “Yes.”

  “It’ll be at the terminal at eleven a.m. Clay’ll be coming up with you. And also Ken and Beth Squires. Beth is our medic. Ken’s her husband. He’s our PR guy. He’s a historian, and he tells me he’s going to be writing a book about this mission. But the real reason I wanted him along, other than that we also needed Beth, is that he’s the best linguist I know. The guy speaks a half dozen languages. If we actually meet someone we have to learn to talk to, he’ll be just the guy to have on board.” He laughed, trying to turn it into a joke.

  • • •

  She called Tom. “I was afraid you’d left,” he said.

  “I was in South Jersey.”

  “I remember when that used to sound far away. Priscilla, are you available for lunch?”

  They met at Larry’s again. And it was exactly what Hutch needed: leisure time with a friend, pizza, nobody trying to talk her into anything, and of course her commlink turned off.

  “When does your promotion take effect?” she asked.

  “Friday. This is my last week on the beat. I’d have enjoyed having you around to help me celebrate.”

  “I wish I could be, Tom. Everything’s seriously busy right now. Maybe when I get home?”

  “By then, I may be a lieutenant.”

  “Wouldn’t be surprised.” She sat chewing on the pizza, wanting to tell him about the president. But she knew how that would end. “It’s good,” she said.

  “There’s no such thing as pizza that isn’t.”

  Presi
dent Proctor was at her right hand, sipping Coke, staring at her. There’s still time to back off. To do the right thing. What would her father have said if he’d lived to see this day? He’d been a naval officer at the start of his career. And protecting the NAU had been the consummate responsibility of every citizen. He’d have been horrified at what she was doing. The guy who, himself, had devoted his life to listening for signals from the sky.

  “Priscilla,” said Tom, “what’s wrong?”

  And she let go. She told him everything, what the president said, how she’d felt, and her own inability to come to a decision.

  “But you have decided, right?”

  “Yes.”

  Her voice went so low, he couldn’t understand. “Say again, please.”

  “Yes, I’ve made up my mind.”

  “Well, I’m glad. Having you back away from that damned thing is the best news I can think of.”

  “I’m not backing away, Tom.”

  “You mean you’re going? After the president asked you not to?”

  “Yes. I’m going.”

  “You can’t do that. The president’s asked you to stop. You can’t disobey her.”

  “She doesn’t have the authority to give me orders.”

  He stared at her, stunned. “Priscilla, please. You’ll regret it the rest of your life.”

  “How would you know that?”

  He shook his head a few times and pushed the pizza away. He was finished. “It’s your call.” He sounded as if he was bestowing the privilege.

  • • •

  She called the White House from the car. “This is Priscilla Hutchins. Is President Proctor by any chance available?”

  A female voice responded. “Ms. Hutchins, I’m sorry but she’s in conference at the moment. Do you wish to leave a message?”

  “Yes. Would you please tell her I wish I could help. But I can’t manage it. I’m sorry.”

  Derek Blanchard, Extract from Notebook, Intended for Autobiography

  The argument that the Calliope project presents an existential danger isn’t absurd, but it’s unlikely anything like that could happen. In any case, it’s a step we’re going to have to take eventually. Developing a society with technology sufficiently advanced to provide FTL travel requires cooperation on a level far beyond any that can be achieved in the presence of a primitive mind-set. Its members have to be smart enough to get along. Ultimately, a talent for cooperation may be the definition of intelligent life.