A Voice in the Night Page 8

  A bespectacled young man in a light blue uniform smiled politely. “Good evening, sir. Can I help you?”

  There was no one else on either side of the counter. “My name is Cashman. I have a ticket on flight 111.”

  The clerk tapped into his computer. “Destination?”

  Jake looked from the skycap to the clerk. He felt ridiculous. “Centaurus,” he mumbled.

  The clerk touched a key. Appeared satisfied. “Very good, Mr. Cashman. You understand this is a nonsmoking flight?”

  “Yes. Of course.”

  The skycap deposited his baggage on the scale. The computer noisily printed a boarding pass, which the clerk handed him. “Gate ‘Y’,” he said.

  Jake looked around. “The gates are all numerals.”

  The clerk pointed toward the upper level. “Take the escalator, turn right at the top, then left. You can’t miss it.” He tagged Jake’s baggage, dragged it onto the belt, and turned back to his computer.

  Jake stopped to pick up a late-night copy of the Inquirer.

  The complex was virtually deserted and most of the waiting lounges were closed for the night.

  Just beyond the Pan Am gates, on the upper level, a passageway branched off left. He turned into it. It was poorly lighted, but he came immediately onto the ‘Y’ gate. An electric sign advised him to fly United. No Gate ‘A’. Or Gate ‘Z’.

  An elderly man pushed a broom out of the shadows. Through a smudged window, he saw a set of lights lifting into the sky.

  A young woman in uniform waited behind a counter marked DAWNSTAR. Somewhere, far off, Jake could hear announcements being made.

  “Mr. Cashman?” she said.

  “Yes.” He presented his boarding pass.

  She smiled professionally, stamped it, tore it in half, and returned the upper portion to him. “Welcome aboard, sir. We’ll be departing in a few minutes.”

  Jake nodded, and went up a gently curving ramp. At the other end, a flight attendant stood in the door of the launch vehicle. Jake had flown only twice before, when he’d gone to New York for a convertible bond seminar, and to Ohio for Jennifer’s wedding.

  The flight attendant was tall, almost as tall as he, and she was a knockout.

  He hesitated.

  “It’s all right, Mr. Cashman.” Her glow melted all reluctance.

  Jake stepped over the threshold and surrendered his pass.

  “Thank you, sir. Take any seat you like.”

  It looked like an ordinary aircraft. The seats were arranged one on each side, twenty in all. Two young couples were seated toward the rear, and a couple of kids had fallen asleep with their parents up front. He picked a seat midway down the aisle.

  The cockpit door was open. He could see movement. Outside, someone was detaching a hose from the fuselage. A big Pratt-Whitney thruster was mounted on the wing.

  The flight attendant appeared beside him. “Drinks are free on this flight, Mr. Cashman. Everything is first class. I’ll be happy to get you something as soon as we are airborne.”

  Did he look as if he needed a drink? Jake self-consciously belted in. Looked uneasily around. “Any other passengers coming?” he asked.

  “One.”

  On his overhead display, the directives fasten seat belt and no smoking were illuminated. Jake unfolded his newspaper and laid it across his lap. The flight attendant wore a name plate. Vicki. “Vicki, what’s actually going to happen here?”

  She smiled reassuringly. “What are you expecting to happen, sir?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “It’s very routine. We’ll be taking you into orbit, where we’ll rendezvous with the interstellar which will transport you to your destination. You will have first class accommodations all the way. Try to think of this initial portion as an ordinary flight. However, some of the perspectives from your window may be unsettling. If you haven’t done anything like this before, you might want to consider pulling the shade. In any case, be assured there is no danger.

  “We’ll do the inflight rendezvous about three hours after takeoff. It’s all quite routine. After that, you’ll have considerably more freeedom to move about, as well as access to your luggage.”

  “Good. I was wondering about that.” Jake wanted to appear casual, as if this sort of thing happened to him all the time. “Vicki, how long will this trip actually take?”

  “Mr. Cashman, it is quite long, but you won’t mind. You might say it’s all relative.”

  She retraced her steps toward the cockpit. Jake turned on his seatlight and unfolded the Inquirer. More bombings in Beirut. Famine in Angola. Civil war in the Middle East.

  Budget problems. Ozone issues.

  Another racial shooting downtown.

  Maybe it was just as well he was leaving. He turned to the sports section.

  Vicki said a few words to someone in the cockpit and closed the door. Jake tried to concentrate on the newspaper.

  Years before, his father had occasionally brought him out to watch the airliners at the old Philadelphia International Airport. They were all jets then. He’d watched the planes come and go, and he had made up his mind to become a pilot. But like so many other dreams from that distant time, it had remained nothing more.

  He heard voices up front. The final passenger had arrived. Vicki was near the door. She stepped out of his way as he entered.

  It was Charlie.

  Jake was relieved, pleased, and annoyed. He released his belt and got up. “Charlie. You came.” Ordinarily, Charlie’s eyes would have locked on Vicki. But he brushed past her and came toward Jake. “I should have realized,” Jake said, “you’d be here to say goodbye.”

  Charlie held up a boarding pass.

  Jake fought back a rush of tears. “You’re coming.”

  Charlie did not look happy. He threw a briefcase into an overhead compartment and dropped into the seat opposite Jake’s. “I can’t let you go alone. God knows what you’re getting into.”

  Vicki closed the front hatch.

  Jake sat back down. “Charlie, I appreciate this but I don’t want you to do it.”

  A voice addressed them over the sound system. “Ladies and gentlemen, this is the captain speaking. Welcome aboard Flight 111, through service to Centaurus and beyond. Federal regulations require you be belted in during takeoff, landing, and rendezvous.”

  “It’s okay,” Charlie said. “I wouldn’t want to miss this trip.”

  “That’s not true.”

  The captain’s voice again: “We’ll be taxiing out in just a few minutes.”

  “Sure it is.”

  “Jake, if it were, I’d be somewhere else.”

  “Does your family know about this?”

  “I called them. They told me to go for it.”

  The engines came to life. One of the thrusters belched, unleashing some dark smoke.

  Vicki checked the overhead compartments, spoke briefly to the people with the kids. “She looks good,” said Jake.

  “Yeah. She’s okay. Listen, we aren’t going to have to sit in these seats all the way to Alpha Centauri, are we?”

  Jake laughed. They both laughed.

  The thrusters, they were advised, would need a few minutes to warm up. “Then,” said Vicki, “we’ll be on our way.”

  In the distance, Jake could see the Penrose Ferry Bridge. Its lights tracked back to Philly. To steak sandwiches and Sundays at the Vet. And the army of secretaries on Chestnut Street. And Mary.

  It was the town of the Tornadoes. Scattered now across the country, maybe around the globe. Two that he knew of were gone to their graves. The team would never meet again, but they had been here once.

  “You okay, Jake?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine.”

  “You’re not having second thoughts, are you?”

  “No. Of course not.”

  Casey’s Bar & Grill still stood on Eleventh. And he wasn’t far from Hal Koestler’s place in Springfield where he’d met Mary. Their time together had been shor
t.

  He should have said goodbye to Cal Mooney and the guys at the bowling alley.

  The cabin jerked, began to move. Charlie sat silently. What was he thinking?

  “Charlie?”

  “Yeah, Jake.”

  “You figure they got bowling alleys out there? On Centaurus?”

  “Sure. What kind of place wouldn’t have bowling alleys?”

  Jake took a deep breath and looked down the aisle at Vicki, who was checking the overhead storage bins. “I think we want out.” He punched the service button, released his seat belt and climbed to his feet.

  Charlie didn’t move. “What are you doing?”

  “We’re not going. At least I’m not.”

  “Why not?”

  “Get your briefcase.”

  Vicki’s features were hidden in the semi-darkness. Jake thought her eyes actually, really, glittered.

  “No,” said Charlie. “I’m staying. You’re not going to load this on me. I’m here. You said this was what you wanted to do. I’m staying.”

  Jake nodded. “Suit yourself. I’m getting off.”

  Charlie crossed his arms.

  Jake pushed past Vicki. “Is something wrong, Mr. Cashman?” she asked.

  “I’ve changed my mind.”

  “Are you sure? Please understand, this offer cannot be repeated.”

  He looked into her eyes. His pulse kicked up a couple of notches. “Vicki, I wouldn’t want you to think I’m not grateful. But I’m the wrong guy for this.”

  “Okay.” She said something into her mike. The rumble of the thrusters slowed and stopped. “Your bags will be returned through baggage claim,” she said, opening the hatch.

  Charlie barged out of his seat. “Goddam, Jake, I wish you’d make up your mind.”

  “What now?” growled Charlie as they waited at the luggage pickup counter. The launch vehicle was just barely visible through a window on the other side of the concourse. It was still rising into the sky, its lights fading quickly amid dark clouds. “Back to the South Pacific?”

  “How about season passes for next year? Boxes?”

  “Yeah. Good.” He pushed Jake. “You know, say what you like, interstellars are bunk. You got to go for the things that really matter.”

  LUCY

  “We’ve lost the Coraggio.” Calkin’s voice was frantic. “The damned thing’s gone, Morris.”

  When the call came in, Morris had been assisting at a simulated program for a lunar reclamation group, answering phones for eleven executives, preparing press releases on the Claymont and Demetrius projects, opening doors and turning on lights for a local high-school tour group, maintaining a cool air flow on what had turned into a surprisingly warm March afternoon, and playing chess with Herman Mills over in Archives. It had been, in other words, a routine day. Until the Director got on the line.

  Denny Calkin is a small, narrow man, in every sense of the word. And he has a big voice. He was a political appointment at NASA, and consequently was in over his head. He thought well of himself, of course, and believed he had the answers to everything. On this occasion, though, he verged on hysteria. “Morris, did you hear what I said?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “We’ve lost the Coraggio.”

  “How’s that again, Denny? What do you mean, lost the Coraggio?”

  “What do you think I mean? Lucy isn’t talking to us anymore. We haven’t a clue where she is or what’s going on out there.”

  Morris’s face went absolutely white. “That’s not possible. What are you telling me, Denny?”

  “The Eagle Project just went over the cliff, damn it.”

  “You have any idea what might be wrong?”

  “No. She’s completely shut down.” He said it as if he were talking to a six-year-old.

  “Okay.” Morris tried to assume a calm demeanor. “How long ago?”

  “It’s been about five hours. She missed her report and we’ve been trying to raise her since.”

  “All right.”

  “We’re trying to keep it quiet. But we won’t be able to do that much longer.”

  The Coraggio, with its fusion drive and array of breakthrough technology, had arrived in the Kuiper Belt two days earlier and at 3:17 a.m. Eastern Time had reported sighting its objective, the plutoid Minetka. It had been the conclusion of a 4.7 billion-mile flight.

  Morris was always unfailingly optimistic. It was a quality he needed during these days of increasingly tight budgets. “It’s probably just a transmission problem, Denny.”

  “I hope so! But I doubt it.”

  “So what are we doing?”

  “Right now, we’re stalling for time. And hoping Lucy comes back up.”

  “And if she doesn’t?”

  “That’s why I’m calling you. Look, we don’t want to be the people who lost a twenty-billion-dollar vehicle. If she doesn’t respond, we’re going to have to go out after her.”

  “Is the Excelsior ready?”

  “We’re working on it.”

  “So what do you need from me, Denny?”

  He hesitated. “Baker just resigned.”

  “Oh. Already?”

  “Well, he’s going to be resigning.”

  Over in the museum, one of the high school students asked a question about the Apollo flights, what it felt like to be in a place where there was no gravity. The teacher directed it to Morris, and he answered as best he could, saying that it was a little like being in water, that you just sort of floated around, but that you got used to it very quickly. Meantime he made a rook move against Herman, pinning a knight. Then he said what he was thinking. “I’m sorry to hear it.” It was an accusation.

  “Sometimes we have to make sacrifices, Morris. Maybe we’ll get a break and they’ll come back up.”

  “But nobody expects it to happen.”

  “No.” There was a sucking sound: Calkin chewing on his lower lip.

  “It leaves us without an operations chief.”

  “That’s why—.”

  “—You need me.”

  “Yes, Morris, it’s why we need you. I want you to come to the Cape posthaste and take over.”

  “Do you have any idea at all what the problem might be?”

  “Nothing.”

  “So you’re just going to send the Excelsior out and hope for the best.”

  “What do you suggest?”

  “In all probability, you’ve had a breakdown in the comm system. Or it’s the AI.”

  “That’s my guess.”

  “You’ve checked the comm system in the Excelsior?”

  “Not yet. They’re looking at it now.”

  “Good. What about the AI?”

  “We’re going to run some tests on Jeri, too. Don’t worry about it, Morris, okay? You just get down here and launch this thing.”

  “Denny, Jeri and Lucy are both Bantam level-3 systems.”

  “So what are you saying, Morris? That’s the best there is. You know that.”

  “I also know they’re untested.”

  “That’s not true. We ran multiple simulations—”

  “That’s not the same as onboard operations.”

  “Morris, there’s no point doing all those tests again. We’d get the same results. There’s nothing wrong with the Bantams.”

  “Okay, Denny. But we’ve got a battle-tested system already. We know it works. Why not use it?”

  “Because we’ve spent too much money on the Bantams, damn it.”

  “Denny, Sara’s done all the test flights with the Coraggio. If we use her, it removes one potential source of trouble from the equation.”

  He liked the sound of that, he’d have smiled if he could, while he finished a press release for an upcoming welcome-back event for several cosmonauts and astronauts. He felt sorry for them. They’d been on active duty for an average of nineteen years, and none of them had ever gotten beyond the space station. Calkin responded just as he was sending the document to the public information office. “We’ll talk
about it when you get here.”

  He hung up, and it was a long minute before Morris put the phone down. He’d been an astronaut himself, more years ago than he wanted to remember. Now he sat staring out the window. And finally he took a deep breath: “Sara?”

  “I heard, Morris.”

  “What do you think?”

  “The most vulnerable piece of equipment on the ship is the AI.”

  “You wouldn’t really mind that, would you? If the Bantams are screwed up some way. “

  “That’s not true, Morris. I’m just answering your question.”

  “And you’d love to go to the rescue, right?”

  “As opposed to what? Opening the mail in the Admin Building? Sure.”

  “Yeah. It would be nice. But don’t get your hopes up, kid.”

  The Bantam Level-3 was billed as the most advanced AI on the planet. I’m a Level-2, and I’m a Telstar product, purchased during a previous period of austerity.

  The Bantams, Lucy and Jeri, were easy to get along with, and did not adopt a superior attitude. It would in fact have surprised me had they done so. They were simply too smart to behave like that. Sure, I was moderately jealous of the attention they received, and maybe of their abilities. How could I not be? Still, I kept it under control, and we’d become friends despite having only limited time together. It’s what civilized entities do. When they arrived I was conducting training simulations at the Kennedy Space Center. A few days later, suddenly redundant, I was shipped to Huntsville.

  I hated thinking of Lucy adrift out there, in the Kuiper Belt, almost five billion miles from Earth. She was probably trying to deal with a power failure. Which meant she might be alone in a dark ship so far away that a radio transmission would take seven and a half hours to reach her.

  I’d been picked up during the Global Space Initiative with high hopes of leading the exploration of the solar system, and ultimately taking the new VR-2 vehicle, with its fusion engines, into the era of interstellar travel.

  But I shouldn’t complain. I did get offworld. I’d taken the Coraggio to the asteroid belt on a test run. There, I’d secured an asteroid to the grappler and used it to fuel the return flight. And that had been about it for me. Although more than any astronaut had managed, it was nothing close to what I’d been led to expect. So yes, the disappearance of the Coraggio presented a golden opportunity, and I would have given anything to take over the Excelsior or the Audacia and ride to Lucy’s rescue. It wouldn’t happen, though. Not with Jeri available. So I decided to try for a compromise. “Morris, couldn’t you send us both out? It wouldn’t be a bad idea to have a back-up. Just in case.”