Odyssey Page 9

  “I told Charlie we’d have to level with you,” said Asquith. “It all goes back to the funding issue, Hutch.”

  “And your problem,” said Dryden, “is our problem.”

  That much at least was true. Orion’s long-range tour operation was heavily dependent on the Academy’s bases for replenishment, and also as ports that allowed their passengers to get out of the confines of the ships for a day or two. Orion and the Academy were joined at the hip. “If the Academy went under, Orion would have to establish and maintain its own stations, or stick strictly to its tours of the local neighborhood.”

  “We can’t afford to let that happen,” Dryden said. “And we don’t intend to.” He pressed his fingertips together. Man in charge. Everything was going to be all right. “Hiram Taylor’s leading the effort in the Senate to cut you folks off at the knees. We need to make it politically uncomfortable for him to do that.” Back in the good old days, Dryden would simply have bought Taylor. Or tried to. There would have been big campaign contributions. But that sort of thing had gone out two centuries earlier. The country had been taken over briefly by a corporate autocracy and hopelessly corrupt politicians. Money bought access. But the Second American Revolution had happened, people began taking the Constitution seriously again, and the practice of renting and buying congressmen had been stopped by the simple expedient of getting money out of the campaigns. Contributions of all types became illegal. Campaigns were funded by the voters. You gave money to a politician, it constituted bribery, and you could go to jail.

  The world had changed. Politicians had come dangerously close to developing integrity. But as MacAllister would have said, they were no more competent than ever.

  “We need to find a purpose for the Academy,” Dryden said.

  She was getting annoyed. “I was under the impression we had a purpose.”

  “You do. You do.” He became apologetic. “You’re talking about science. But science doesn’t fly with the voters. Did you know that, among the major nations, nobody is more scientifically illiterate than we are?”

  “I’ve heard that,” she said.

  “Go after the moonriders. If you solve the riddle, you advance the cause of science. Even if you don’t, you stand a good chance of getting the voters excited about you again.”

  “They’ll laugh at us,” she said.

  “That’s probably true. Some will. But they’ll also be interested. Involved. Get this thing up and running, and you might be able to head off Taylor and his cronies.”

  She looked at Asquith, secure behind his desk. “Where would you get the ships? We’re already canceling missions.”

  “For the moment, we’d only need one,” he said. “Just enough to engage the public interest. And Charlie has offered to make an Orion ship available.”

  “It wouldn’t work if we use an Orion ship,” she said.

  “You’re right,” said Dryden. “Our ship would replace one of yours. It could take a mission out to Sirius or wherever, and free up one of your carriers.”

  “What it would do,” said Asquith, “is visit some of the local systems where these things have been seen. It leaves a monitor in each, something specifically designed to watch for, and do a spectrographic analysis of, the objects. If any of them show up.”

  “These sightings are rare,” said Hutch. “We’ll make a big thing of this, plant the monitors, and see nothing. In the end, we just look silly again.”

  Warmth and goodwill literally radiated from Dryden. “We’ve been seeing a lot of them along the Blue route, Hutch. Management has been trying to keep it quiet.”

  “The Blue route.”

  “It’s our tour of the local area. Capella, Alpha Cephei, Arcturus, places like that.”

  “Why would Orion management want to do that? Keep it quiet?”

  “They’re afraid it’ll scare away the trade.”

  They couldn’t possibly be that dumb. “I doubt they need worry about it. If anything, people would line up to get a good look at moonriders.”

  “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell them. But our management is a bit less”—he paused, searching for the right word—“creative, than yours.”

  Absolutely, she thought. They don’t get any more creative than Michael. “I’m not excited about the idea.”

  Asquith held up his hands. Not your call. “We’re going to do this, Priscilla. I mean, what can we lose? If we don’t take some action, we’ll be closing this place down in a few more years. You want to preside over that?”

  “We’ve seen a lot of them,” Dryden continued. “I don’t think it would take very long before you started getting hits. Hutch, I know you’re not excited about this. But please give it a chance. Give the Academy a chance.”

  “A mission to look for moonriders,” she said.

  Asquith cleared his throat. “I’ll need you to set it up, Priscilla. Have it ready to go within six weeks.”

  “What about the monitors?”

  “I’ve already talked to Mike.” The Academy’s chief engineer. “They’ll be ready.”

  “Okay,” she said. “Whatever you want.”

  Dumb. Orion had nothing to lose, but the Academy’s credentials were about to go into the tank.

  LIBRARY ENTRY

  When one considers the state of the global environment, and of the global economy, the notion of spending enormous sums of money on star travel seems bizarre. There might be more stupid ways to throw money away, but it’s hard to think of one.

  —Marie Culverson (G-ME),

  The Congressional Daily, Wednesday, February 18

  BEEMER OUT ON BAIL

  Preacher Will Press Charges

  chapter 10

  Talking with most people usually involves a search for truth. Talking with congressmen is strictly special effects.

  —Gregory MacAllister, “I’ve Got Mine”

  Hutch caught a break. The Ron Peifer was coming in Saturday morning with Abdul and his passengers. It meant she could make the dawn flight out of Reagan and be on hand to join the party. That had meant rearranging things with Amy. But the girl didn’t mind. “You’re going to pick me up at four thirty? I’ll be ready.”

  “Glad you’ll be there,” Asquith told her. “We should have someone on hand when they come in.”

  She invited Tor to go along. But he was still involved in his exhibition. So it happened that Hutch, accompanied by her four-year-old, Maureen, collected Amy Saturday before dawn at the senator’s Virginia home and headed for Reagan. There they caught the shuttle up to Union. Maureen had never been off-world before, and she sat in her harness straining to see out the cabin windows as the vehicle rose through a rainstorm and plunged into a sea of clouds.

  It was fun. Hutch felt seventeen again, and they laughed and told jokes and had a good time. Amy took charge of Maureen, and the girls became fast friends. “You said you’ve been up there before,” said Hutch.

  “Yes. Years ago with my folks. It had something to do with work, and Mom and I went with Dad and we spent a few days there. We stayed in the Starview.” The hotel. “And I was also there last year with my class.”

  “Why do you want to be a pilot?”

  “It’s what I’ve always wanted. Don’t ask why. I can’t give you a reason. My father’s not happy about it, but”—she shrugged—“it’s what I want.”

  “You’ll enjoy it,” said Hutch.

  “How did your parents feel about it? When you told them you were going to be a pilot?”

  That was a long time ago. “My father was dead by then, Amy. I think he expected me to become a librarian. Or maybe an accountant.”

  “Why?”

  “He used to tell me I wasn’t active enough. I guess I was something of a homebody. ‘You need to go out and get some sun, Prissy.’ That was what they called me. ‘Prissy.’”

  Amy giggled.

  “I wouldn’t answer to ‘Prissy.’ The other kids started using my last name. Which got shortened pretty quickly.�
��

  “How about your mother?”

  “She was there when I got my license. She’d resisted it the whole time. Wanted me to find a good man and settle down. But I could see she was proud.”

  “Good.”

  “She never liked the idea of my being far away. She got rattled once when we went on a class trip to Lexington, Massachusetts. There was no way she was going to be happy about my heading off to Alpha Centauri.”

  They slipped into orbit, and the sky turned dark. The attendants served eggs and biscuits.

  “But you did get married,” Amy said. She smiled down at Maureen, who was waving a toy shuttle around. “So everything had a happy ending.”

  “Yes. I’d say so. But it kept my mom nervous for a long time.”

  Amy grinned. The thought of making the senator nervous must have appealed to her.

  There were times that Hutch missed piloting. She had loved taking researchers out, especially ones who’d never been in space before, to see the objects they’d spent a lifetime studying. She’d been with Berghoff, the lifelong brown dwarf specialist, the first time he’d actually seen one. And with Dupré, who’d go on to do groundbreaking work on radio pulsars, when he got his first look at JO108-1431.

  But she was happily married now, and if Tor wasn’t always as exciting as, say, a flight to Procyon, it was okay. She wanted her life to be a bit dull. Dull was good.

  She must have been thinking aloud. “You don’t really believe that,” said Amy.

  Hutch laughed. “I didn’t mean for you.”

  THEY NEEDED TWO hours to overtake the station. When they did, Maureen clapped while Amy commented how beautiful it was. The senator was going to have trouble keeping her on the ground, Hutch thought.

  They slipped under Union’s flaring approach modules and banged clumsily into the dock. Harnesses lifted, and Hutch led her charges out through the airlock, along the ramp, and into the concourse. A press shuttle had arrived just moments earlier, and the boarding area was filled with journalists. She got past without being recognized. Minutes later they stopped at one of the viewports to get a look at the Earth. The ground was invisible through a solid layer of clouds, but they could see patches of ocean to the east.

  The Peifer was due in a bit less than an hour. She checked in with Peter and let him know she’d be there when it arrived.

  “Is the commissioner coming?” he asked.

  “No,” she said. “He had work to do.” It was another thing she disliked about the job, covering for him.

  After Peter signed off, she turned to the girls. “Okay, what do we do first?”

  The concourse was filled with shops—buy a souvenir cap, enjoy a pizza, get a space station jacket, pick up a better piece of luggage. “Could we look at one of the ships?” asked Amy. “Maybe go on one?”

  “Sure,” said Hutch. “We’ll go on board the Peifer when it arrives. Meantime, how about some snacks?” They strolled along the concourse. The girls looked out the viewports at the blue planet beneath them, at the moon and stars. They stopped for cinnamon buns and saw a supply ship leave for somewhere. Amy insisted on watching it until its lights dwindled to a rapidly dimming star.

  WHEN THE TIME drew near, they went down to the lower levels and turned onto one of the loading ramps. Hutch watched the girls react as they walked through a connecting tube giving them a view of the entire maintenance area. One of the ships, Maracaibo’s Alice Bergen, cast off as they passed and started out. They stopped to gawk.

  “It’s beautiful,” Amy said.

  Hutch wasn’t given to nostalgia. She’d learned early the importance of being able to cut ties and move on. Still, while she stood watching the long, gray shape slide through the doors, her heart skipped a beat. She wondered, not for the first time, if she’d made a mistake pulling the plug on her career so early. She had no passion for assembling flight schedules and assigning priorities to missions. She had done it not because she wanted to move up in the bureaucracy, but because she wanted to secure a stable home life. Because she wanted Tor and Maureen.

  It had been a long time since she’d felt the emotions associated with making an approach to a previously unvisited world, or with standing in front of a temple built thousands of years ago by alien hands.

  Peter broke in to warn her the Peifer was only minutes away. She didn’t take the girls directly to the boarding area because visibility was limited. Instead, she slipped into Peter’s communications section, where they could see the dim star that was the approaching vessel. It was coming in over the rim of the moon, growing progressively brighter, and they watched it blossom into a cluster of individual lights. At last they could see the outline of the ship itself, the sleek prow, groups of thrusters, the line of lighted windows marking the bridge. It was even possible, as it drew nearer, to see people inside. They watched it brake and finally disappear beneath the line of the viewport.

  Hutch took them below so they could see the ship ease into its dock. “It’s so big,” Amy said.

  It was an electric moment. One Hutch suspected Amy would remember.

  A boarding tube snaked out and connected with the airlock. The reception area was crowded with Academy technicians, journalists, family members, and probably others who just happened to be at Union and had come down to watch the excitement. They heard voices in the tube, everyone pressed forward, and the passengers began to come out. Four were the biologists who had been on the Heffernan; the others were passengers on the Peifer.

  There were cheers and embraces. Then Abdul appeared. And finally the Peifer’s captain, tall and resplendent, the hero of the hour. His name was Koballah, and he had, until then, enjoyed a relatively quiet career.

  The media crowded in, asking questions, getting pictures. “How did it feel?” they demanded of the biologists. “Were you scared at any time?” And, “Are you glad to be home?” Several backed Abdul into a corner.

  A couple of the journalists, including a woman from The National, tried to raise the level of conversation, asking about the nature of the project in which the Heffernan had been engaged, and whether, in view of recent cancellations, there were any plans to reschedule the mission. In response to one of the questions, Abdul looked toward Hutch, and the press spotted her.

  They left him and hurried in her direction, firing questions. What kind of condition were the Academy’s ships in? Could she guarantee there wouldn’t be more incidents? What exactly had happened? “I don’t have any answers yet,” she said. “You can see I have my hands full.” She glanced down at the girls and got a laugh. “For now,” she concluded, “we’re just glad everybody got home safely. We’ll let you know what happened as soon as we know the answer ourselves.”

  “Why,” asked The Washington Post, “were you looking for the Heffernan in the wrong place?”

  “We just didn’t know where it was, Frank. It’s pretty big out there.”

  She congratulated Abdul and his people on their safe return and took time to express her appreciation to the Peifer’s original passengers for their patience. She shook Koballah’s hand and thanked him for bringing everybody home. Then she took the girls in tow and edged toward the tube. “Would you guys like to go on board the Peifer now?”

  Amy said yes, could they look at the bridge? That was enough to engage Maureen’s enthusiasm.

  “Absolutely,” said Hutch. She got Koballah’s okay, and started up the boarding tube, which was transparent from the interior. Maureen looked out at the ship.

  “It’s pretty, Mommy,” she said.

  ON AN ADJOINING dock, the Academy’s Edward Barringer was undergoing an engine overhaul. The rear of the ship was laid open, and three or four people, all in e-suits, were clambering across the hull. The Barringer was a Lakschmi class. It was of more recent vintage than the Colby, but by no means new.

  Hutch used her link to ask Bobby Watson, the maintenance team chief, what was happening.

  “It should be junked,” he said, “if you don’t mind my
saying so, ma’am.” Watson had been there since before Hutch started her career. He was near retirement, gray-haired, bearded, not inclined to put up with nonsense. “There’s no one single problem, Hutch. As far as we can see, it’s okay. It’ll probably get where it’s supposed to go. It’s just”—he shrugged—“these things have a lot of parts. They reach a point after a while where you don’t trust them.”

  “That bad?”

  He looked across at her and glanced at the girls. “You wouldn’t want to take those two out on this one.”

  “Bobby,” she said, “give me a copy of the report. Okay?”

  Amy led the way through the hatch into the Peifer. The engine room had already been sealed off by a maintenance unit, but Hutch showed them the living compartments, the VR tank, the workout area, the common room, and, finally, the bridge.

  Amy beamed as she slipped into the pilot’s seat and ran her fingers across the controls, dreaming what it would be like to direct the power of a superluminal. “I don’t suppose we could go somewhere now?” she asked.

  Hutch smiled. “I don’t think the mechs would approve.” She activated the status screen. It blinked on, turned red, and flashed NEG. “Needs fuel and a recharge.”

  “Do you think I could go out in one of these, Hutch? Not today, maybe, but when you have a chance?”

  “I’ll see what I can do.”

  She grew thoughtful. “This is the one you piloted, isn’t it?”

  “Yes. This was one of them.”

  “Why would you ever stop?” she asked. “Now you work in an office.”

  “Yes, I do. It’s complicated, Amy.” She looked around the bridge. “Bill, are you there?”

  The ship’s AI responded. “Hello, Hutch. Welcome to the Peifer. Are these your daughters?” Amy lit up. Daughter of a star pilot. She liked that. Hutch introduced them. Bill said hello to the girls and commented that Maureen looked like her mother. “Hutch,” he added, “I’ve missed you.”

  “I’ve missed you, too, Bill.” The girls were looking through the viewports. All they saw, of course, were spotlights, cables, docks, and bulkheads. “I wish I could take you out,” she told them. “You’d like riding with Bill.” She could have arranged a virtual ride, but they’d know. Amy would, anyhow. And it wouldn’t be the same.