Starhawk

by Jack McDevitt

  “Jack, this is unknown territory. We don’t really have solid evidence yet that we’re doing serious damage on Selika. Quraqua seems to be okay. But different worlds—?” He shrugged. “What we’re learning about Selika does suggest there might be a problem.”

  “If that’s the case, Senator, why don’t they just relocate to somewhere else?”

  “Because, at the moment, there is nowhere else. Not if you’re talking about establishing a colony. There are, in fact, about twenty living worlds. But in some cases the atmosphere is beyond reclamation. In other places, the gravity index is too high. Or too low. And I know that sounds strange, but most of us don’t adjust well if we have to spend a lot of time in low-gravity situations. Where it’s too high—” He smiled. “I don’t think many of your listeners would be much interested in putting on an extra two hundred pounds overnight. A couple of worlds might have been okay except that they have unstable ground conditions.”

  “So we have to look some more.”

  “That’s correct. Finding the right world is going to cost money. And it takes time. So far, we only have Quraqua. We thought we had a second place in Selika. Unfortunately, Jack, it looks as if that may not be working out.”

  Monika raised a fist.

  * * *

  THEY HAD JUMPED in unusually close to the Wheel. Ten hours later, the Venture pulled into dock. And it was, finally, time to say good-bye. Monika got her gear and paused at the air lock. The return voyage had been considerably easier than the outbound flight. “You want to ride with me next time,” Priscilla said, “just let me know.”

  “No charge?”

  “None at all.”

  “Good. Where are you going next?”

  “I have no idea.”

  Monika smiled. “Me, too. Look, let me know when you’re headed for Andromeda.” Priscilla offered her hand, but Monika embraced her. Then she stepped back. “One thing before I go: Don’t trust these people. Kosmik. Where they’re concerned, it’s strictly about the money.”

  * * *

  PRISCILLA WENT TO the Skyview for lunch. She was being shown to her table when her link chimed. It was Howard. “I’m glad to hear you’re back. How’d the flight go?”

  “It went okay,” she said.

  “No problems?”

  “No.”

  “All right. Good. What are you doing now?”

  “Just sitting down to lunch.”

  “When you’re finished, how about coming over to the office for a few minutes? No hurry.”

  * * *

  HE LOOKED UP from his desk, apparently happy to see her, and pointed to a chair. “You have another mission coming up. In six days. You have any problem with the schedule?”

  “No,” she said. “That sounds okay.”

  “Good. I just wanted to give you some advance warning.” He leaned forward and frowned. “There’s something else. You’d already left Amity before I found out why they were sending Monika back. I apologize for that. I wasn’t aware there’d been a stress-related problem, or we’d have handled things differently. She didn’t give you any trouble, did she?”

  “No. Not at all. She was fine.”

  “Okay. Good. I’m glad to hear it. We’re usually more careful.” He showed her a big, happy smile. “Anyhow, you’ll be leaving Wednesday, the twenty-third. You’ll be on the Venture again.”

  “I like the ship.”

  “I was sure you would. Obviously, you’ll be gone over Christmas. That’s okay?”

  “What’s the mission?”

  “Amity again.”

  Priscilla stared at him. “Amity?”

  “Something wrong?” he asked.

  “May I ask why?”

  “More supplies.”

  “More chemicals, you mean?”

  His good cheer faded. “Oh, come on, Priscilla. You’re not buying into all that nonsense, I hope? I guess that was the real risk of leaving you alone with Wolf for a week. It’s hard enough dealing with bomb throwers and crazy politicians. We’re trying to do what we can. But there’s no hard evidence for the charges. We’re doing the research, and there’s nothing solid.”

  “So you’re saying it’s not true?”

  “I’m saying nobody’s been able to show that it is true. Listen, we wouldn’t be doing this if we thought anything like that could happen. We’ve had a lot of experts look at the project. They say there’s no danger of anything like what people are talking about. We’re not killing off anything. Well, maybe some cellular stuff, but it’s not a planetwide extermination like they’re saying on the news shows.”

  “I did some research on the return flight, Howard. There are a good many experts who don’t agree with what you’re saying.”

  “Oh, listen, Priscilla, people always line up on both sides of any controversial issue. It gets them attention by the media. That’s all a lot of these people want.”

  She was trying to stay calm. “I couldn’t help noticing,” she said, “that most of the people who say there’s no problem had connections of one kind or another with Kosmik, or one of the other companies that are involved.”

  “I think that’s an exaggeration.”

  “You’re free to think what you like.”

  “Look, Priscilla, you have to understand that the Life Guard people have gone way over the top on this. We get threats all the time from lunatics who claim to be pro-life, but they don’t mind trying to kill anybody who doesn’t agree with them. My God, they’re shooting people. Did you hear about Senator Belmar?”

  “No.” Belmar was the pro-spaceflight candidate, running for the Gold nomination. “What happened?”

  “A kid with a plasma gun walked into a dinner where he was speaking. Killed a couple of people, and wounded, I think, seven or eight others. Fortunately, the senator wasn’t hit. The shooter’s aunt jumped in front of him. But he was the target. And, of course, Carlson put a bomb on the Gremlin and could have killed all those schoolkids. Is that really the side you want to be on?”

  “Lunatics are everywhere,” she said.

  “So you see my point.”

  “For the record, Howard, I’m not interested in being on anybody’s side. The kid with the plasma gun was a nutcase. That has nothing to do with what’s happening on Selika.”

  “Of course it does. It’s people like Monika, the true believers, who stir them up. Who are giving them a cause.”

  “I thought she made a lot of sense.”

  “Bear with me, Priscilla, but you’re not a climatologist.” There were voices in the corridor. And footsteps. The gravity level at the station was so light that one seldom heard people walking around. Somehow the sound seemed to add resonance to voices. His eyes cut into her. “Now, can I rely on you to be here next week?”

  Had he not asked the question, she might have gone ahead, said no more, and taken another load of superalgae out to Amity. But the question, somehow, turned everything into a confrontation. He was challenging her. He didn’t realize it, but he was making it impossible for her to duck the decision and simply do her job.

  “No, Howard,” she said. “I can’t do that.”

  “You’re being foolish, Priscilla.”

  She got up from her chair. “I guess I am. But what they’re doing out there—It’s something I don’t want to live with.”

  “You understand what this means? We can’t keep you on if we can’t depend on you.”

  “I’m sorry to hear it. But I can’t accept any Selika assignments.”

  “All right. Have it your way. We’ll issue a closeout payment to you later today.” He got up. “Good luck, Priscilla. I’m sorry it has to end like this.”

  She looked at him for a long moment. “Me, too.”

  * * *

  SHE NEEDED A job again. Blackwell was one of two long-range-touring companies. They specialized in taking their clients, as they referred to their passengers, to see the Great Monuments. And, of course, a few of the other spectacles within three days’ travel t
ime. She called them.

  “And what is your name, please?” asked a middle-aged woman with blond hair and a bored expression.

  “Priscilla Hutchins. I’d like to apply for a pilot’s position.”

  “I see.” The woman’s gaze locked on her. “Do you have any experience?”

  “I returned this morning,” she said, “from my first flight. Out to Amity. For Kosmik.”

  “You’ve separated from Kosmik?”

  “Yes, I have.”

  “Voluntarily?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “I have a problem with the terraforming issue.”

  “I see.”

  The woman pressed a few tabs, looked away at something Priscilla couldn’t see. Came back. “I’m sorry, Ms. Hutchins, but we aren’t accepting applications at the moment.”

  “It doesn’t say that at your Web site.”

  “Yes. Well, that situation fluctuates a good bit. We’ll keep your name on file.”

  Interstellar Transport told her that, unfortunately, they just had no need of pilots at this time.

  Wagner DeepSpace regretted they had no openings.

  United Transport would call her if anything developed.

  * * *

  STARGATE TOURS, BLACKWELL’S competitor, invited her in for an interview. But by the time she arrived, they’d changed their minds. They were polite but pointed to her inexperience as the reason she would not be a good fit and apologized for wasting her time. She called Jake and asked what he thought was happening.

  “I think they’re not happy with a pilot who quits her first employer after one mission.”

  “Even if I had a good reason?”

  “Priscilla, there probably is no good reason.”

  * * *

  A FEW DAYS before the certification ceremony, she saw Carlos Ashwan in the Cockpit. Carlos was tall and lanky, the guy who always played the piano at parties. He would be one of the new pilots receiving his license. “You catch on with anybody yet?” she asked him.

  “More or less,” he said.

  “How do you mean?”

  “I’ve signed with the Academy Project.”

  “The deep-space explorers?”

  “Yep. It’s sponsored by Wilson University. In DC. I really like what they’re doing. All they’re interested in is what might be out there. Blue-sky science. But of course there’s always a downside.”

  “What’s the downside?”

  “Funding. They don’t pay real well. And the missions are long. You spend a lot of time in the fog. At least that’s what they tell me. I’ll be leaving on my first flight next week.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “To 23 Librae.”

  “What’s 23 Librae? Where’s that? I never heard of it.”

  “It’s eighty-five light-years out.”

  “Carlos, you’re going to need a month to get there.”

  “Actually twenty-four days.”

  “What do they expect to find?”

  “As far as I’m aware, the only thing they know about the place is that it’s got a planetary system. They think one of the worlds will have water.”

  Priscilla ordered a tuna sandwich and coffee. “Enjoy the trip.”

  “I hope. How’ve you been doing?”

  “I just walked away from one job.”

  “Really? What happened?” She explained, and he shook his head. “Well, you shouldn’t have any trouble finding somebody else.”

  “Carlos,” she said, “you think the Academy Project might have an opening?”

  He passed their address to her and smiled. “Tell them I recommended you.”

  * * *

  SHE RODE THE shuttle down and arrived the following morning at the Academy grounds in DC. Christmas shoppers were everywhere, birds were singing, and a warm off-season breeze was coming in from the Potomac. She strolled across the campus of George Wilson University, which of course was named for the president who’d forged the North American Union. A few people were at the Memorial Wall, taking pictures or just enjoying the weather. The Wall, of course, was dedicated to those who’d lost their lives during Academy operations. Names and dates were engraved, along with a brief account of the final mission on which they’d been embarked. Here was Chan Ho Ling, who’d died when his lander was caught in a horrific storm on a world orbiting Beta Comae Berenices. And Lyn Benedetti, stranded at Delta Pavonis and dead for lack of air before anyone could get to her. John Yaniwicz and Andrea Khoury, who’d constructed a boat and launched it into a river on Epsilon Reticuli III. Neither they nor the boat had ever been seen again.

  Five passengers and the captain of the Vigilant, which disappeared without a trace during a mission to Aldebaran.

  William Kostner, lost near VanMaanen’s Star. And Leonard McCutcheon, only twenty-five when he’d died during a lightning strike while trying to get his crew to safety.

  There was space for more names, for heroes yet to come. She imagined Priscilla Hutchins listed there. When the Buckner Asteroid hit the Wheel, she stayed behind so others could live.

  She stopped by the Galileo Fountain. Benches circled the area, and she sat for a while, listening to the sound of the water, and of the wind in the trees.

  * * *

  THE ACADEMY OFFICES were located inside the Volcker Building. She walked into a lobby. An AI greeted her and asked her business. “My name’s Hutchins,” she said. “I’d like to speak with someone about obtaining a position with the Academy Project.”

  “May I ask specifically which type of position you’re seeking, Ms. Hutchins?”

  “I’m an interstellar pilot.”

  “One moment, please. You may sit if you wish.”

  She settled onto a divan. Framed photos of unworldly landscapes and gleaming interstellars filled the walls. Two windows looked out over the campus. Music was playing in the background, a tune Priscilla remembered from her childhood.

  Then a small, middle-aged man with a smile appeared. The smile didn’t reach his eyes, which told her immediately how this would end. “Ms. Hutchins,” he said, “I’m glad to meet you. My name’s Barkley. Why don’t you come on back for a minute?”

  He led the way down the corridor and ushered her into a modest office. More interstellar pictures on the walls, and a photo on a desk of Barkley, a woman, and three kids.

  They sat down on a couple of plastic chairs, and he asked if she would like some coffee. She passed, and he nodded. “I understand you’d like to sign on with us as a pilot.”

  “That’s right,” she said. “I’d like very much to work for the Academy.”

  “Yes. Of course.” The smile faded. “I wish I could offer you some encouragement, Ms. Hutchins. Unfortunately, we only have three full-time pilots. Occasionally, we pick up someone else for a special mission, but we just don’t have a regular position open at the moment. I’ll be happy to add you to our list of applicants. If—when there’s an opening, we’ll get in touch with you.”

  * * *

  ANOTHER OF THOSE who’d received accreditation with her, Mukarram Fakhouri, had been picked up by Celestial Transit. Two of the cadets had signed on with United Transport, one had replaced her with Kosmik, and one was still looking. Priscilla was already on United Transport’s list of hopefuls. She sent copies of her résumé to Celestial and to the Stellar Express. And that was it. There was no other corporate entity operating off the Wheel. Stellar Express called her in for an interview, and they actually seemed optimistic at first, but they, like Stargate, apparently just needed time to check the record. They declined without explaining why.

  She was sitting in the Skyview on that final evening before the licensing ceremony, finishing off a dish of strawberries and listening to recorded piano music, when Frank Irasco came in, spotted her, and walked over. Irasco was the assistant director of Union Operations. “Mind if I join you, Priscilla?”

  “Sure, Mr. Irasco. How are you doing?”

  “I’m fine, thank
s. How about you?”

  “I’m okay.” She didn’t like Irasco. He always looked as if he understood quite clearly that he was superior to everybody else in the room. Mostly, it was the smug smile and the eyes. Despite his short stature, he always seemed to be looking down at you. Jake hadn’t liked him, either. But at the moment, she could use a friend.

  “I heard what happened over at Kosmik,” he said. “Have you signed on with anyone else yet?”

  “No, I haven’t.”

  Irasco ordered coffee and a grilled salmon dinner. Then he turned back to Priscilla. “I assume you know that we’re being sued.”

  “The Space Authority? No, I wasn’t aware of that. Why?”

  “Joshua’s wife. She wants twenty million. It’s a waste of her time, of course.”

  “I would think so. Her husband worked for Kosmik.”

  “She’s suing them, too.”

  “Why is she after the WSA?”

  “She thinks our response time was too slow.”

  “We got there as quickly as we could.”

  “She has a point, though. We responded with the closest ship. That was you. We should have sent out something with more capacity. Something that could have taken everyone off. The Kruger could have done that.”

  “But would it have gotten there in time to evacuate them before the Gremlin went down?”

  “Well, that’s the problem. It probably would have. If it hadn’t, we’d be getting sued for not sending the closer vehicle. In fact, we should have sent both. The truth is that we screwed up. But in any case, the legal action’s a waste of time.”

  “Why?”

  “There’s a no-liability clause. It’s in everybody’s contract. So she won’t get anything. But when it’s all over, we’re not going to look very competent. That’s why she’s doing it.”

  Priscilla sighed. “I’m sorry to hear it.”

  His coffee arrived. It was, of course, in a cup designed to accommodate the centripetal swing of the station. He tasted it. “I have an offer for you, Priscilla. I need a staff assistant. You know your way around here pretty well. It doesn’t pay much, and you probably won’t get off the station, but you’ll be close by if something develops.”

  She hesitated. “Mr. Irasco, did you see the Leon Carlson statement?”