Starhawk (22 page)

PRISCILLA RETURNED TO
her office, dropped into a chair, and stared at the link. Maybe she should call and apologize. Assure Irasco she'd stay in line from now on. Cause no more problems. She did not want to walk away from this job. Did not want to go back to Princeton, where she'd probably spend her time waiting on tables at the Chicken Stop. But there was no way she could bring herself to do that. Anyhow, he probably wouldn't back off even if she did.

Good-bye, Alpha Centauri.

She called the shuttle terminal and asked for a reservation. The afternoon flight was full. They could accommodate her in the morning. She locked it in and started gathering her personal belongings. It was easy enough; she hadn't really moved much stuff into the office. There was a
Liberator
desk calendar, with a fresh cartoon every day. The
Liberator
had the funniest cartoons on the planet. The current one showed an idiotic-looking clerk assuring his boss that he shouldn't worry about a thing. “I'll take care of it personally.”

She kept a change of clothes in the closet. She gathered her notebook and her pens and took down the wall calendar. It was all pictures of animals. January featured two kittens. (She liked paper calendars.) She picked up her toothbrush and, finally, the framed photo of the six graduating cadets, taken at the ceremony.

She put everything into her bag and decided to avoid saying good-bye to her coworkers. There was no way that could turn out well. As angry and frustrated as she was, she didn't want to leave in a trail of tears.

Maybe she could take advantage of her meeting with Dr. Campbell and get a position with the Academy Project. Though, probably, they wouldn't hire her once they learned what had happened. But she had nothing to lose.

Jolie Peters, a data-scan specialist, was outside in the corridor. “Hi, Hutch,” she said.

That meant she probably hadn't heard yet. You don't do jokes with somebody who's just been terminated. She said hello, took the elevator down, walked past more offices on the main deck, and went out into the concourse. A couple of hundred tourists were wandering around, looking out through the portals, filling the gift shops and the restaurants and the game centers. Maybe Frank had been right, maybe she should have stayed out of it. Done what she was told.

But she was still too close to the people caught in the lander to assume that it was okay to take chances, not worry too much about the details, just have faith that everything would be all right.

She went into one of the game centers and spent half an hour shooting down space invaders. They were evil-looking creatures with enormous eyes and crocodile snouts, and they kept landing in gravity-defying saucers and emerging in walking tripods, like the ones in H. G. Wells. She had never played the game before, had in fact not bothered much with shoot-out games after she got past twelve years old. But on that occasion she took considerable pleasure in mowing stuff down.

 * * * 

SHE STAYED AWAY
from the Cockpit that evening. And the Skyview. Best, if she wanted to eat alone, was probably the North Star, which mostly served tourists. It was pricey, but she owed herself a good meal. She ordered turkey and mashed potatoes and cranberry sauce and carrots, added a glass of burgundy, and ate by candlelight. There was music, of course, and a handsome young man tried to pick her up. He could not have chosen a worse night.

She had a second glass of burgundy, drank it slowly, and wondered when she'd be back.
If
she'd be back.

She was not ready to return to her hotel room, so she walked the concourse, lost in regret, and hardly noticed when she passed the North Star again. The concourse was circular, somewhat more than five kilometers around. She wondered what Jake was doing. Imagined what her mother's reaction would be when she heard the news. Speculated about whether anything would have been different had she been able to get the
Baumbachner
out through the launch doors. Her father would have been disappointed in her getting fired. Or no, maybe he wouldn't. He'd have been proud of her. Do the right thing regardless of consequences. It had been his mantra. Don't get caught up in the bureaucracy. Sometimes, you just have to take your chances.

She stopped in one of the viewport lobbies and looked down at Earth. They were over the Atlantic. Nothing but ocean down there, illuminated by starlight. The station was on the dark side of the planet, and there was no moon. She thought how nice it would be to buy a cabin cruiser and go to sea for a year or two. Pity she wasn't wealthy.

 * * * 

IT WAS GOING
to be a long night. She arrived back at her apartment, thinking about the time she'd spent on the
Copperhead
, waiting while they tried to ride out the fragmented rescue attempt. Then, she'd been distracted by the presence of the girls. And the truth was that she'd never been able to accept the idea that somebody would not survive even after she knew the numbers wouldn't work. Somehow, there'd been a sense that someone would show up, charge in while there was still time. She hadn't believed any other outcome was possible until she saw Joshua in the cargo bay.

Maybe not even then.

She got out of her clothes, showered, set the alarm, and climbed into bed. There was nothing on the HV, just political talk shows, reruns of comedies and police procedurals, cooking directions, and how to upgrade your real estate. But she didn't want to deal with a silent room. So she left one of the talk shows on while she lay quietly staring at the overhead.

Some dark part of her
wanted
the rescue to go wrong, the
Grosvenor
to decline the assignment, to blow an engine, something that would prove her right. She realized what that would probably mean for Quinn and his colleagues, and that brought a rush of guilt, but on that night the guilt seemed secondary to everything else. She wanted to get even with Frank and Patricia. The director had to be involved, too. There was no way Frank would have terminated her without clearing it first with the boss. And Priscilla
did
have an option: She could go to the press. The downside to that was that she'd mark herself as a whistle-blower. That would destroy whatever remaining chance she might have to hire on with
anybody
.

In the morning, she dragged herself out of bed, dressed, and packed. Then she called her mother. “Coming home, Mom,” she said.

“When? What happened?”
She sounded, and looked, alarmed.
“Is something wrong?”

“I'll tell you about it when I get there.”

“When will that be?”

“Today,” she said.

“
Today?
Priscilla, what's going on?”

“It's just not working out, Mom. Listen, I'll talk to you later, okay?”

She went down to the lobby and checked out. “We're sorry to see you leaving, Ms. Hutchins,” said Laura, the lady at the desk. “We thought you were going to be staying with us indefinitely.”

“My plans have changed,” she said, “I'm sorry to say.”

She went outside and hailed a cab. They were small electric vehicles, automated, with open sides. Her bags went on top. She climbed in, touched her link to the connector, and told it to take her to the launch terminal. Mukarram came out of the Cockpit, which was located directly across the way. He waved, and she waved back. He looked happy.

She arrived at the terminal, got out of the cab, and went inside. It was early yet, and the place was almost empty. She checked in, dropped off her bags, and went back across the concourse to get some breakfast. Best for a quick meal was Belly Up.

She was just starting on some pancakes when Irasco walked in. He smiled weakly. “Mind if I sit down, Priscilla?”

She looked at him. Looked at the empty chair opposite her. “Good morning.”

“You're not always easy to get hold of. I've been trying to call you for an hour.”

“I was turned off.”

“Oh.”

Her waiter came over. A young man, ginger-colored hair, green eyes, nice smile. Much more likable than Frank. “Is there anything else I can get for you?” he asked. Then he turned to her former boss: “Did you want a menu, sir?”

“Just coffee,” he said. “Thank you.” He glanced down at Priscilla's pancakes. “And make it one check.”

“Separate checks, please,” said Priscilla.

The waiter smiled uncertainly and backed away.

Frank toyed with a fork. “I'm sorry about what happened.”

“What is it you want?” she asked.

“Well,” he said, “we talked it over last night. I probably acted a little abruptly. Priscilla, we'd like to keep you on board. Start over.” He gazed across the table at her. “If it's all right with you, we'll forget the whole thing happened.”

“Why?” she asked.

“I don't think you understand what we're dealing with here, what's at stake. You know there's a movement out there to shut the space authority down. Everybody's economy is in a shambles. Even the Germans are suggesting the space program's a waste of resources desperately needed elsewhere.”

“I'm aware of that, Frank. I don't live in a box.”

“Okay. Bottom line: I don't want to do anything to support their argument.”

Priscilla was tired of the debate. “Something goes wrong at Teegarden, and those people die; you think that won't be one more nail in the coffin?”

“I overreacted. Sorry.” He tried to rearrange himself in his chair. “We want you to stay with us. The only thing I'm going to ask of you is that you promise not to go off half-cocked like that again. Do we have a deal?”

“I don't think I can make that promise, Frank. Not if somebody's life is at stake.”

“Look, I don't want to restart this thing, but it wasn't a life-and-death situation. The question was whether they might miss a few meals. To be honest, I think we
both
overreacted. But I'll tell you what: If something comes up, and you feel that strongly again, just warn me first, okay? And so we're on the same page here, the drive unit on board the
Baumbachner
hasn't been used for years. There's no way to know how reliable it is. The only life that was at risk yesterday was
yours
.”

She looked at him. Into those frustrated eyes. “Okay, Frank.”

“Then you'll come back?”

“Yes.”

“Excellent. Take the morning off and get yourself together.” His coffee arrived. He tasted it, paid both bills, and got up. “I'll see you this afternoon.”

“All right. And Frank?”

“Yes?”

“Just for the record.”

“I'm listening.”

“You remember who you assigned responsibility to for maintaining the
Baumbachner
?”

“Sure.
You.
”

“Right. And you can take my word for it that, if we need it, the
Baumbachner
will be ready to go.”

“I hope it doesn't run up the bill.”

 * * * 

NEWSDESK

INVISIBILITY BAN GOES TO COURT

Do Potential Benefits Outweigh Risks?

Brockmoor Labs: Ban Unconstitutional

AFRICAN FAMINE INTENSIFIES

World Group Aid Insufficient

GLOBAL POPULATION PASSES ELEVEN BILLION

Churches, Religious Groups Break Tradition, Urge Use of Contraceptives

PRIEST TALKS WOULD-BE SUICIDE OFF CHICAGO EXCHANGE LEDGE

They Sit Together Forty Stories Over North Ave for Three Hours

ECONOMY: PRESIDENT NORMAN REASSURES NATION

“It's Just a Burp.”

CUBS PUT BOOM-BOOM ON WAIVERS

Age, History of Injuries Factors

Fifth Straight Title Now a Long Shot

MTB OUTBREAK IN WESTERN INDIA

Crippling Disease Strikes Millions

SAUDI ARABIA ELIMINATES CAPITAL PUNISHMENT

FOUR DEAD AS GUNMAN ATTACKS EX-WIFE AT CHURCH SERVICE

She Survives; Pastor Among Victims

WATKINS OUT OF GOLD PARTY RACE

McGruder Continues as Likely Nominee

TERRAFORMING RESEARCH CENTER ATTACKED
BY SPRAY PAINTERS

Six Nuns Among 17 Arrested

FINANCIAL DIRECTOR OF NEVADA SCHOOLS CHARGED WITH FRAUD

Wrote School-System Checks to Cover Gambling Debts in Las Vegas

Nobody Noticed for Three Years

THUNDERBOLT
OPENS TONIGHT

Captain Brandywine and the
Valiant
Back in Action

JAMAICAN TRAWLER SINKS

Search for Five Fishermen Called Off Until Dawn

HIPPOPOTAMUS GIVES BIRTH IN SEATTLE ZOO

Provides New Hope That Species Might Survive

TORNADOES HIT MIDWEST

Seven Dead, Thirty Hurt as Storms Rake Plains

SERIES OF SHARK ATTACKS ON SOUTH FLORIDA COAST

Beaches Closed; Warm-Water Currents Blamed

GUNMAN KILLS WESTRUM

Kosmik CEO Led Terraforming Effort

Life Guard Society Denies Link

“MOM, EVERYTHING'S OKAY.
I won't be going back to Princeton after all.”

“All right, dear. I guess I'm glad to hear it. What happened?”

“Well, it was just a misunderstanding. The problem's gone away.”

“Listen, love, it was the boss, wasn't it?”

“What makes you think that?”

“It's
always
the boss, Priscilla. I met him that night at the party. I don't think you want to work for somebody like that. I'll tell you, you'd be a lot better off if you were a lawyer. Then you're your own boss.”

“It's not that big a deal, Mom. I did something he didn't want me to. It was my own fault.”

“What did you do?”

“Well, we had an incident. Some people needed help, and I tried to go after them without proper authority.”

“Priscilla,”
she said,
“always play by the rules. Isn't that what we taught you?”

“Yes, Mom, it is.”

“All right. If you're going to stay there, please be more careful.”

“Okay.”

“And you know you always have a place to land if you need it.”

“I know, Mom. Thanks.”

“By the way, I think Tawny misses you.”

 * * * 

HER FIRST ACT
when she arrived back in her office was to order an inspection of the star drive on the
Baumbachner
. “And affiliated systems,” she added. “If anything's broken or questionable, fix it.”

Then she went in to ask Frank how the rescue was going. “Ross 248 should have received our message by now,” he said. “
Grosvenor
will be getting there by midafternoon tomorrow. At Ross 248, that is. They'll be informed of the problem when they do, and they'll make their turn and get started for Teegarden.”

“Tomorrow,” she said. “They'll need four days to reach the system, and probably two more to get to those people after they surface.”

“Are we going to start again, Priscilla?”

“Damn it, Frank, we need a better way to do this stuff.”

“The system that's in place works pretty well.”

“It doesn't work at all.”

“All right. Look, that's enough. I understand how you feel. To be honest, I feel the same way. But there's nothing I can do. So let's just back off, okay?”

 * * * 

FRANK HAD BEEN
right about the star drive. The
Baumbachner
needed a new one. And, unfortunately, they didn't come cheap. Priscilla forwarded the request to his office for approval and was surprised when he signed on.

At the end of the day, she wandered over to the operations center. Yoshie Blakeslee was on duty again. She was an attractive young woman, Asian, with black hair, dark eyes, and a captivating smile. She looked up when Priscilla walked in. “Hi, Hutch,” she said. “I'm surprised they let you in here.”

“What do you mean, Yoshie?”

“Usually, when they let somebody go, they revoke her clearance.”

“Oh. Well, it's all right. They were just kidding. I'm back.”

“You're serious?”

“More or less.”

“Well, I'm glad to hear it. I was rooting for you yesterday. Too bad you didn't get out the door.”

“I think if that had happened, they
would
have let me go.”

A supervisor came into the space. He was an African-American, tall, bent, wrinkled, with a ridge of gray hair around a bald skull. “You're Hutchins?” he asked.

“Yes, sir.”

He nodded. “I thought you were older.” His features softened, and he reached out to shake her hand. “I'm Morgan White.”

At that moment, she felt pretty good. “Pleasure to meet you, Morgan.”

“I owe you a drink.”

“Why's that?”

He looked as if she'd asked a ridiculous question. “Talk to you later.” He passed a chip to Yoshie and left.

“That because of yesterday?” she asked.

“I think you made a few friends, Hutch. Is it okay if I call you that?”

She thought about it. Why not? “
Hutch
is good. I wanted to say thanks for the assist yesterday.”

“It was my pleasure.”

“You didn't get into any trouble, did you?”

“No, I'm okay.”

“Yoshie, do we have any news on the Teegarden thing?”

“Nothing new. They have probably been trying to stretch their food supply, but we think they'll have used the last of it by tomorrow.” She put the Teegarden ground module on the display. “This is about three days old. Taken from the
Proxmire
.” The shelter consisted of a double dome. Lights were on, but they were smeared in the murky twilight.

“Not the most cheerful place. Is that as bright as the sky gets?”

“That's it, Hutch. The planet's almost in tidal lock. A day there is about three weeks long.”

“Yoshie,” she said, “if anything changes, let me know, okay?”

 * * * 

THE STORY ABOUT
the marooned biologists at Teegarden made the news that evening. Rose Beetem, on the Black Cat network, talked with a retired pilot, Aaron Abdullah, about the dangers of spaceflight. “This stuff still seems to happen,” she said, “despite all the technology.”

“That's true,” said Abdullah. “We're in an exploration era a little bit like the fifteenth century was for ocean travel.” He was speaking from home, seated in an armchair in front of a wall decorated with a portrait of a forest at night with two moons overhead. “We don't really have the technology or the resources to make these flights safe. People go out there, they're a long way from anybody else, and just getting a message where it'll do some good can take days. The people at Teegarden need fifty-two hours, roughly, to get a subspace transmission to the Wheel.”

“How long,” asked Beetem, “would a standard radio transmission need to get here?”

“Thirteen years,” he said. “It's a long way. And we tend to forget that because we can take shortcuts through space. When you go out there, you take your life in your hands. Eventually, I think that'll change, but I don't expect to see it in our lifetime, Rose.”

Priscilla stared at the images. Abdullah was tall and sounded authoritative. There was something vaguely intimidating about him. But we
could
make it safer, she thought.
If we tried harder. Made a serious effort. Tell them, damn it. Aaron, you have a platform. Say something.

 * * * 

MORE PICTURES ARRIVED
from Teegarden Thursday morning. They were images from Tuesday, interiors from the ground station, clips of Alexander Quinn and his team, looking worried, weary, fragile. One of the two women commented, with a wry smile, that she'd been wanting to lose weight for years but not like this. “We'll be able to eat until about Thursday,” she said. “Then we'll be switching to the gelatin desserts.”

Quinn looked at the woman, then out at Priscilla. “Martha made another effort today to get the lander started. She's our pilot, as you may know.” Martha smiled helplessly. “But the thing's flat-out dead. In case anyone's wondering, we can't eat anything that grows here. So all we can do is wait.” His anger and frustration were palpable.

The transmission had been sent two days ago.

 * * * 

SHE BROUGHT UP
the Teegarden mission file and read a little about the objective, which had something to do with cellular-energy restoration. She'd hoped the mission purpose would sound consequential. And probably it was. But it wasn't anything that would excite the general public.

Quinn was one of the pioneers in his field, author of several books, and apparently one of the people who'd set the Academy Project in motion seven years before. Martha Manning, the pilot, was, coincidentally, also from Princeton. Well, almost. She had grown up in Bagwell, a small town a few kilometers east.

The other woman was Esther Comides, a biology professor at the University of Athens. She looked good, or probably would have with a decent meal under her belt. She had red hair and dark eyes. It was hard to imagine her male students concentrating on cellular reproduction while she was standing in the classroom.

And the two guys. They were postdocs, Gustav Lisak, from Oxford, and Bojing Chou, from Shanghai University. Both on their first assignments since getting their degrees. Bojing was another potential candidate for a leading-man assignment. Lantern jaw, intelligent eyes, good smile. It wasn't hard to imagine how much enthusiasm they must have carried with them on that first visit to another world. She wondered how much they'd take home.

 * * * 

SHE WENT INTO
her office Friday morning hoping to hear that the
Grosvenor
had surfaced at Ross 248, gotten the message, and was now on its way to Teegarden. But her inbox was empty, so she called Ops.
“Nothing yet, Ms. Hutchins,”
they told her.
“We'll get back to you as soon as something comes in.”

She was staring out at the stars when Jake called.
“Able to talk?”
he asked.

“Sure. How's life in the Blue Ridge? You still on track with Alicia?”

“Pretty much,”
he said.
“I was happy to see you got your job back.”

“How'd you hear?”

“The Authority isn't very good at keeping secrets, Priscilla. But I wanted to congratulate you on what you did. It was a gutsy move. And what Frank should have ordered in the first place.”

“Thanks.”

“Be careful, though. The only reason you're still there is because they don't want to be back on the news shows again. They screwed up, and it cost Joshua his life. If something were to happen at Teegarden, they wouldn't want it to come out that they'd fired the young lady who tried to go to the rescue. They
had
to put you back on. But they'll be looking for an excuse to get rid of you. Don't give them one.”

“I'll try not to, Jake. But I can't make any promises.”

“How's it going? You have word on the
Grosvenor
yet?”

“We're waiting for it now. It should have arrived in the Ross area Tuesday. Let's hope.”

“Other than that, how are you doing?”

“Okay.”

“You don't sound enthusiastic.”

“Well, I'm still behind a desk.”

“Those people are idiots. But your time will come, Priscilla. Just hang in.”

 * * * 

AN HOUR LATER,
Yoshie called:
“Ross is reporting that the
Grosvenor
came in on schedule, Priscilla. They got the message. So they should be well on their way by now.”

 * * * 

PRISCILLA'S JOURNAL

I was glad to hear about Alicia. I didn't think Jake would ever be happy down on the Blue Ridge. But he's fallen in love, and that's great. I was seriously worried about him when he left, but he seems to be adapting pretty well. He tells me he still misses life up here, but he sounds perfectly content. I can hear it in his voice. I hope he's smart enough to hold on to her. She looks good, but she's a lot younger than he is. So who knows? Well, I guess I should have realized all along that he would find somebody. I'm happy for him. And I don't want to admit this, but I'm almost jealous.

Still no explosion from Monika. I guess she was all just talk.

—January 22, 2196