Odyssey

by Jack McDevitt

  And he knew how it had been done.

  But as he thought about it, and realized the implications, his heart sank.

  GLOCK BROUGHT IN a psychiatrist who had examined Beemer. “No, not clinically insane,” the psychiatrist said, “but disturbed. Mr. Beemer suffers from a radical strain of paranoia, induced by the religious environment imposed on him when he was a child. At the heart of that environment were the teachings of the church and its school regarding divine punishment.”

  When the session ended, MacAllister spoke briefly with Glock. “The truth is,” said the lawyer, “the wrong man’s on trial.”

  Outside, some in the crowd recognized MacAllister. “Try going to church once in a while,” someone called. And: “You’re damned, MacAllister. Repent while you can.” Sunflower seeds were thrown toward him. The seeds represented the argument that one should look toward the light and eschew the darkness. Some of the believers had bought into the notion there was a conspiracy to override the First Amendment and shut down the churches. That idea had gotten around, and though there was no chance of its happening, and in fact no likelihood MacAllister could see of Beemer’s not being found guilty, there were nevertheless some who were stoking precisely those fears.

  The organ, which had been silenced by police during the trial, was operating again. It was playing an inspirational tune while the crowd sang “Going to Meet My Lord.” They picked up the volume as MacAllister strode past.

  Beemer and Glock exited by a side door and were whisked away by police.

  It was like traveling in time, like watching the 2216 super-nova explode again. This must have been what it was like in Tennessee three centuries earlier during the Scopes trial. He retreated to his hotel and listened to the crowd thumping and banging in the streets. The counterdemonstrators, unfortunately, were just as fanatical. They probably would have closed the churches, had they been able. They were at the moment trying to shout down the organist and his choir. MacAllister looked around hopelessly. His supporters were every bit as deranged as those arrayed on the other side.

  The real enemy, he thought, was fanaticism.

  THE MEDIA REPORTED that state police were coming in to bolster the local force. And the hellfire trial was for them the story du jour. Even the moonriders were crowded out.

  He closed the blinds against the crowds and wished he could have shut out the noise. Getting a hotel in town had turned out not to be a prudent course of action. He’d expected some disarray, but nothing like this. The trial would probably end tomorrow. He suspected things would get worse.

  He called Wolfie.

  “They were running behind on construction,” he said. “But I haven’t been able to find out why. The official claim was that there was a supply bottleneck. But it was trumped up.”

  “Okay,” he said. “I don’t need details.”

  Wolfie grinned. “What’s all the racket? They still trying to save your soul down there?”

  “The crowd’s getting a little testy.” He heard glass shattering somewhere. And a scream.

  “You’ve been all over the news reports, Mac. You look pretty good. One guy challenging a mob. I bet you didn’t know what you were starting with this one.”

  “Are you paying attention, Wolfie?”

  “Sure.”

  “I want you to find out when the papers were filed to authorize construction of the Galactic.”

  “That should be simple enough.”

  “Then I want you to track back from that date, say, over a seven-year period. During that time span, somebody will have done survey work in the Capellan system. Check ships’ manifests, movement logs, whatever.”

  “All right.”

  “You might also want to take a look at scientific papers published during the period. Somewhere, you’ll find somebody, a planetary physicist of some sort, most likely, who was out there on a project.”

  “What was the nature of the project?”

  “Don’t know. Doesn’t matter. We want this person’s name.”

  “Okay.”

  “If we’re lucky, we’ll also discover a link with Orion Tours. Particularly Charles Dryden.”

  “Who’s Dryden?”

  “An executive over there. Wolfie, I want you to get on this right away.”

  “Will do, Boss.”

  “Let me know as soon as you have something.”

  HUTCH WAS DRAINED. Sitting in for Asquith was never a pleasure. There were always political meetings, public relations issues, and a host of administrative details. Most of the decisions could have been put on automatic by establishing policy, or, better, relegating them to lower-level executives. Like personnel matters, or which scientific entities should be given seats in the front at the next conference on star formation. But Asquith had never been good at delegating, so the people under him weren’t accustomed to taking action on their own. When Hutch kicked decisions in their direction, they tended to scramble and panic.

  Peter kept in touch and gave her the latest positions of the Carolyn Ray, the Bergen, and the WhiteStar ships. The Rehling had left Nok and was on its way. The others would all be en route within a day or so.

  When time allowed she watched the hellfire trial. She sympathized with Beemer, but couldn’t see that he had a chance. She was proud that Mac had taken his side. A few minutes after the judge had recessed the trial for the day, she got a transmission from Marcus Cullen, one of the passengers on the Rehling. It was for her personally, not for the commissioner. The transmission was only a minute or so long, the AI informed her. She could have ignored it until later, but she hated to put unpleasantries off. Cullen was a crank. He wielded a lot of influence, although his fellow physicists did not have a high regard for him. He seemed to be disappointed in his life, a guy who’d never really accomplished anything, had never even gotten into the race for any of the big prizes. So he’d concentrated instead on accumulating power. He was president of Duke University, and a close friend of the president.

  “Hutchins,” he said, “I am not happy with your action. You’ve added several days to a flight that was already tedious enough. Every day I have to spend out here costs my university heavily. I understand we are going to rescue, whatever that’s supposed to mean, the staff at Origins. From, as best I can tell, a nonexistent threat. You better damn well know what you’re talking about or your job is gone.”

  NEWS DESK

  COMMON SENSE COMMITTEE PLANS CONTACT EFFORT

  Will Look for Chance to Say Hello to Rock-Throwing Aliens

  Harper: “Our Opportunity for Major Advances”

  “May Be a Million Years Ahead of Humanity”

  CONGRESS CONSIDERS EMERGENCY MEASURES

  Arms Bill Will Pass Easily

  Global Effort to Mount Defenses

  Gallen: “If They Come for Us, We Will Be Ready”

  MARINES IN ORBIT

  Special Forces to Get Training in Space Operations

  FUNDAMENTALISTS DENY ALIENS EXIST

  “Another Effort to Undercut Biblical Teaching”

  WORLD COUNCIL OF CHURCHES SAYS BIBLE TRUTH INTACT

  “Nothing in the Bible Prohibits Others”

  “We’re All God’s Children”

  MOONRIDER GLOBES LATEST ACTION TOYS HIT

  What Do Moonriders Look Like? Toy Manufacturers Stand By

  REPORTS OF SIGHTINGS UP AROUND WORLD

  Globes Seen Everywhere

  Authorities Insist No Moonriders near Earth

  MOONRIDER “ABDUCTEES” GIVE WARNING

  “They’ve Been Watching Us for Years”

  “Nobody Would Listen”

  INTERSTELLAR BLUES OPENS ON BROADWAY

  Perfect Timing for Musical about Lost Alien

  MOONRIDERS STILL PRIMITIVE, SAYS BROWNSTEIN

  “If They Have to Throw Rocks, We Have Nothing to Fear”

  MOONRIDER REACTION RANKS WITH 20TH-CENTURY UFO HYSTERIA

  WE’VE BEEN WARGAMING THIS FOR YEARS

  Military Says
It’s Ready

  chapter 36

  Human beings, by and large, are a cowardly and despicable lot. They snuggle up to bosses. They support personalities rather than principles. They don’t pay attention when serious malfeasance is in the saddle.

  —Gregory MacAllister, Life and Times

  On the second day of the trial, Glock introduced a series of psychiatrists who testified they had treated persons with various disorders that could be ascribed to overzealous religious instruction when they were young. A psychologist argued that he had looked through the curriculum for the schools conducted by the Universal Church of the Creator and declared that students reared in that tradition, when they attended college, consistently lagged behind others in both the humanities and the sciences. “Their minds were closed,” he said. “It was not simply that they were indoctrinated with information that was demonstrably false, for example that evolutionary processes occur only on microscopic levels, but also that they were trained to resist competing ideas. No consideration whatever was to be given to any notion that did not comply with accepted doctrine.”

  Glock placed a copy of the curriculum and several studies in evidence.

  The prosecution introduced experts who testified that religious training helped people adjust to a disorderly and often frightening world. Religious people live longer. They are less likely to acquire police records. They are, by most measurable standards, happier with their lives. The Reverend Pullman was merely providing the training in morals and decency that parents everywhere desired for their children.

  It went back and forth while the crowds outside grew larger and noisier. Glock asked for simple fairness, for an understanding that the defendant was haunted by the visions of his youth and should not be punished for striking out at a person who had so abused him during those early years.

  Objection, Your Honor. Abuse is a stretch.

  The prosecution had the final word. “The defense has tried to put the Reverend Pullman, and indeed Christianity, on trial. The Reverend Pullman has done nothing that is not sanctioned by the U.S. Constitution. Indeed, he did nothing other than meet his obligation to the Church and to the greater society he serves. Mr. Beemer, on the other hand, has committed simple assault. There is no question about it. There are witnesses. The defense does not deny it.”

  When the prosecutor had concluded, the judge thanked both counsels and adjourned.

  “What do you think?” MacAllister asked Glock.

  The lawyer gave Beemer an encouraging smile. “It’s okay, Henry. Try to relax. I think we’ll be all right.” He turned back to MacAllister: “We’re asking him to find against the Constitution. That’s not going to happen. It can’t happen. But Henry will very likely get a minimum sentence. And I think we’ve started a national debate.”

  MACALLISTER HAD CHECKED out of his hotel before going to the courtroom. He went back to pick up his bags and grabbed a taxi. An hour later he was on a glide train to Alexandria.

  In some respects he had never grown up. He’d had a model train when he was a kid and still loved riding through the countryside. He sat back and gazed out at the rolling hills and fields. Mostly farmland. Orange-growing country.

  He got up after a while and walked to the dining car. He hadn’t had lunch and was looking at the menu when Wolfie called. “There’s an Elenora Delesandro,” he said, “who did a study of asteroids in the Capella system six years ago. She published her results in The Planetary Field Journal, May, 2230.”

  “Good. Is there any mention of a giant asteroid? I’m trying to remember the size of the thing.”

  “Six hundred kilometers. But it doesn’t show up in her report.”

  “Where is she now? Delesandro?”

  “She teaches physics at Broken Brook.”

  “Which is where?”

  “Fargo.”

  He wandered over to the service bar, ordered a tomato-and-cheese salad, and carried it back to his table. Then he opened his notebook and called up Delesandro’s article. It was titled “Capella: Stellar Winds and the Shell-Burning Phase.”

  It was too technical for MacAllister’s tastes. He went through it several times before he was able to follow the argument. Capella A is a giant star, and consequently went through a period in which it blew off the outer layers of its atmosphere. Delesandro seemed to be trying to determine the nature of this supersolar wind, whether it had come off uniformly or streamed out in jets.

  Had the wind come off uniformly, the asteroid orbits would have tended to become circular. If the gas erupted in jets, eccentricity would have been pronounced.

  If a dominant gas giant exists in the system, asteroids will orbit the star in half the time that the gas giant requires. The situation at Capella is complicated by the fact that there are two stars forming a single gravitational center. But it was possible to adjust for the complexities, and it was apparently this challenge that had drawn Delesandro’s interest initially.

  There is a Jovian world at Capella. It completes an orbit every fifteen years. The average asteroid then, under normal circumstances, and after applying Delesandro’s formula, would have needed seven and a half years to circle the sun. Wind interaction would have altered that. And smaller asteroids would be more disturbed than larger ones. So looking at the difference between small and large provides a researcher with considerable data.

  The arrival of the superstellar wind phase signals the start of shell-burning. At this point, hydrogen fusion has begun in the shell instead of in the core itself, which, of course, is made up of helium. (Of course it is, thought MacAllister.)

  This is the stage during which the star begins to evolve away from the main sequence and expand into a red giant.

  Delesandro had included a table of asteroids, listing their dimensions and their orbital periods. One fit the dimensions of the Galactic asteroid quite closely.

  He finished his salad, looked up the astrophysics section at the American Museum of Natural History, picked an astrophysicist at random, and made a call. An AI informed him the individual was not available, so he asked who was, and got through to an Edward Moore. “How can I help you?” Moore asked, in a gravelly voice. He was a broad-shouldered athletic-looking guy. Obviously worked out a lot. Gray hair, thick mustache, casual demeanor. He was wearing a white lab jacket.

  MacAllister introduced himself. “We’re looking at the asteroid that hit the Galactic construction.”

  “Yes,” he said. “I saw that. Strange stuff.”

  “I have an article in front of me from The Planetary Field Journal, of May 2231. It’s about asteroids near Capella, by Elenora Delesandro. Are you by any chance familiar with it?”

  “No,” he said. “I’m sorry to say I’m not.”

  “We’re trying to determine what really happened.”

  “Good,” he said. “Somebody needs to look into it.” He asked his AI to retrieve the Journal. “What exactly did you want to know?”

  “There’s a table of asteroids on page 446.”

  “One moment.” His brow furrowed. “Okay. I see it.”

  “Down near the bottom there’s one, 4477, that has a diameter of 613 kilometers.”

  “Yes. That seems to be correct. Is that the one that hit the hotel?”

  “That’s what I wanted to ask you.”

  “Hold on a second.” He looked through the pages. “There’s a data file attached. Give me a few minutes to look at the numbers.”

  “Okay.”

  “Where can I reach you?”

  WOLFIE GOT BACK to him as he was returning to his seat. “I’ve got a link between Delesandro and Dryden.”

  “Excellent,” MacAllister said. “When and where?”

  “At something called the Bannerman Award dinner. Given annually in Fargo on the university campus. In 2229, Dryden was one of the speakers. Delesandro was on the guest list.”

  “That’s two years before the construction license was issued.”

  “That’s correct. I can also tell
you that, at the time, they were planning to put the hotel at Terranova.”

  “When did they change their minds?”

  “Not sure. The first mention I can find of Capella is in an interview given by an Orion executive six months after the award dinner.”

  “Does he say why they were making the switch?”

  “He doesn’t mention Terranova at all. And something else: Delesandro changed her address during the next semester.”

  “Don’t tell me. From poorer to richer.”

  “I couldn’t get the specifics, Boss, but I got a look at the properties. The new one’s definitely upscale.”

  Wolfie said he’d let him know if he got anything more. MacAllister rode the train into Alexandria, got off, and was on his way up to the street when Moore called again. “I checked the data file,” he said. “And the pictures.”

  “And—?”

  “It’s not the same object.”

  “You mean the asteroid that hit the hotel is not in the file.”

  “That’s correct.”

  “But it was one of the larger objects in the system, Dr. Moore. Doesn’t it seem strange that she didn’t include it in the general catalogue?”

  “Not necessarily. A planetary system is a big place. She might simply have missed it.”

  HE GOT HOME, glad to be away from the noise and general tumult in Derby. He dropped his bags inside the front door, collapsed onto the sofa, and called Hutch. She was in a meeting, but she got back to him a few minutes later. “What’s going on, Mac?”

  “How well do you know Charlie Dryden?”

  “Not that well. Why?”

  “Don’t trust him.”

  “I don’t. What brings the subject up?”

  “I’m pretty sure the attack on the Galactic was faked.”

  Her eyes slid momentarily shut, and her lips tightened. “What makes you think so?”

  “I’m still working on the details. I’ll give you everything I have when I can.”

  “I don’t see how it’s possible, Mac.”

  He explained how it might have been managed.