Starhawk

by Jack McDevitt

“She was stopped by the bureaucrats. From what I understand, they have an established procedure, and she wasn’t following the procedure. So the people at Teegarden will have to wait a few extra days with no food.”

  Great, she thought. That’s going to enhance my situation around here.

  * * *

  HER DRINK ARRIVED. She tried it, and her link chimed. “Priscilla? This is Morgan White.”

  The supervisor at Operations. “Hello, Morgan. Anything wrong?”

  “No. I just got word about something, though. Thought you should know, if you haven’t heard already. When they went through the Baumbachner, the results weren’t so good. The techs are saying that there’s a good chance if you’d activated the drive, it would either have exploded, or made the jump and exploded the next time you tried to use it.”

  * * *

  “YEAH, PRISCILLA,” FRANK said, with a smile playing on his lips. “I heard about the Baumbachner an hour ago.”

  “I wanted to say thanks.”

  “It’s okay. You’ve been right all along. We should have an emergency vehicle. They’re trying to fix the Bomb now, but I still don’t trust it. We need an emergency vehicle, but we just don’t have the funds for it. And this is why we need to stay within the system. Okay?”

  * * *

  PRISCILLA WAS TASKED with composing a reaction to the news reports. She put together a statement which, when Frank and Patricia had finished tinkering with it, pointed out that the Grosvenor was proceeding to the rescue and was expected to arrive in the Teegarden system in about three and a half days. It added that the Baumbachner had not been permitted to proceed earlier because it was no longer capable of interstellar flight. “An attempt to take it to the Teegarden system,” someone added, “would have done nothing more than kill the pilot.” It also noted that the ship was being refitted and would be maintained as an emergency vehicle. Priscilla had been instructed not to mention the fact that the actual rescue was still probably five days away. The pundits brought that issue up on the talk shows, however, and the WSA was beginning to take another beating when they caught a break: Mickey Alvin, then at the peak of his comic career, got involved in a bar fight and was arrested early that evening. That became the next day’s main story.

  Priscilla got back to her apartment just in time to watch Alvin being hauled off in cuffs. They followed with a picture of the captain of the Grosvenor, Easy Barnicle, who was wearing his no-nonsense face and assuring everyone they’d get to Teegarden in record time.

  She wanted to throw something at the screen. Priscilla thought of herself as cool and even-tempered. But that night she was angry with the world. With herself, most of all, for neglecting the maintenance of the Baumbachner. With Frank, who didn’t even understand how she’d felt; with Easy Barnicle, who was doing what she could have done if the system worked decently, and with the people on the talk shows, who were beginning to picture her as a comic figure. “Lucky she didn’t blow herself up,” Ivy said.

  Quinn and Martha, and Esther Comides—that name rolled off her tongue for some reason—and Gustav Lisak and Bojing Chou. She’d never met any of them, but she felt as if she knew them.

  What was it Frank had told her? We almost never have any emergencies.

  * * *

  “PRISCILLA,” SAID FRANK, “we’re all set to go with the platform tours. I’ve sent you the details. We want to get the program up and running as soon as possible. Think you can manage that?”

  “How soon did you have in mind?”

  “If you could start the tours a week from Monday, that would be good. What we’d like you to do is to conduct them three times a week, Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. Mornings would be best. Probably about ten. Take everybody around the platform, let them see the dome, get a look at Operations. If possible, it would be a good idea to show them the inside of a ship. We could use the Bomb for that. And do whatever else you think might be good. We’ll run them for a couple of months, see how they go, then make an evaluation.”

  “Okay,” she said. “I’ll take care of it.”

  “Good. Let me know if you have any questions.”

  * * *

  LIBRARY ENTRY

  The prime objective of any bureaucracy is to ensure its own survival and proliferation. Whatever its stated function may be, whether ensuring the democratic operations of a nation or arranging the periodic pickup of the trash, nothing matters so much as its own continuity. It is the first consideration in time of crisis and the ultimate goal of whatever strategy is devised. Protect the organization. Those who are engaged in this immoderate pursuit are seldom conscious of any other reality. They believe they are performing their assigned tasks for the welfare of those who are theoretically being served. And when they win through, and the bureaucracy lives to engage another day, they feel they have done all that can reasonably be expected. They walk away with their consciences clear.

  —Roger Casik, Organizational Orgasm, 2177

  Chapter 32

  TRANSMISSIONS FROM QUINN and his people continued to come in, sometimes as cool analyses, sometimes in frustrated bursts. Priscilla studied their faces, weary, scared, angry, lost, knowing that when these images originated, relief was still several days away.

  It was easy enough to see that they felt a need to talk with the outside world, to reassure themselves that they weren’t alone. They ran out of water the day after they exhausted the food supply. But there was plenty of ice on the ground. They debated whether it was safe. The consensus was that it was unlikely any local microbe would be capable of doing damage to them. “We should be all right since we’re not part of the biosystem,” Quinn said. They boiled the water nonetheless, and of course still couldn’t be sure. But they knew what the likely outcome would be if they didn’t do something.

  “Hang on,” Frank told them while they watched the images. “The Grosvenor is coming.”

  Yes indeed. On their way.

  Priscilla would eventually look back on the experience as a time when she might easily have taken to drinking. The media beat the drums and posted countdowns. Two days until the Grosvenor could be expected to surface insystem. One day. And then, finally, they were there.

  But it became necessary to explain again that the ship was still almost three days away from the Teegarden world.

  Patricia showed up on Jack Kelly’s show. “We try to be there when we’re needed,” she told the host.

  Kelly looked skeptical. “But they’ve been out there with no food for, what, five or six days? And your guy is just now getting into the system. Why’d it take so long?”

  She smiled pleasantly, as if Kelly just didn’t understand reality. “It’s a long way to Teegarden’s Star. Twelve light-years, and I know twelve anythings doesn’t sound like much. But it’s an enormous distance. Jack, you have a son who’s what, about eleven?”

  “Jerry? He’s ten, Patricia.”

  “Okay. If, after you went home tonight, you were looking at that star through a telescope and it exploded, you wouldn’t see anything different. In fact, he’d be out of college before you’d see the blast.” Her voice softened. “The men and women who do the exploring, Jack, who carry out the missions, have a lot of courage. And they know how risky it is. How far they are from help. As I’ve said, we do everything possible. But there are limits to what we can do.”

  * * *

  THE GROSVENOR WAS due to arrive at the shelter Wednesday, January 27, six days after the shelter ran out of food. Unfortunately, there was no way for anyone to know for certain it had arrived because of the delay in transmissions.

  On that day, however, while the media tracked a virtual rescue they hoped was taking place, Priscilla got a call from Michelle Worth. Her defenses immediately went up.

  Michelle smiled at her out of the display. “You look happy,” she said. “It must feel good to know the rescue mission’s almost done.”

  “I hope so,” said Priscilla. “Where are you?”

  “Durham, North Carol
ina.”

  “That your home?”

  “It is now. The studio’s located here. And you’ve an open invitation to visit next time you’re in the area.”

  “Thanks, Michelle. What can I do for you?”

  “I’d like to do an interview.”

  “Now?”

  “If you don’t mind. The equipment’s all set.”

  Priscilla hesitated. “I’m not sure what I can tell you that you don’t already know.”

  “Why don’t you let me worry about that? Is it okay with you if we get started?”

  “I’m kind of busy, Michelle.”

  “This won’t take long. Or, if you like, I can get back to you when you’re free.”

  No easy way out. “Well,” she said. “Let’s do it now. But I’d like to keep it short, okay?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Is this going to be live?” She didn’t know why she asked the question. It wouldn’t make any difference whether it was live or not.

  “No,” she said. “We were hoping to run it in about an hour.”

  “Okay.”

  “Thanks, Priscilla. Just look directly into the screen. Yes, that’s it. That’s fine. If you’re ready, we’ll start.”

  “All right.”

  “Priscilla, welcome to the show. I wanted to ask you about the people stranded at Teegarden. Everybody knows it takes days to pass messages from one star system to another. You tried to save time by going to the rescue as soon as you got word of the problem out there. But the bureaucrats stopped you. I wonder if you wanted to comment on that?”

  “The bureaucrats stopped me?”

  She laughed. “You must be a bit frustrated, aren’t you? I mean, the assumption is that the Grosvenor got there today, or will get there before the day’s over. Or maybe tomorrow or Friday. But you could have been there two days ago.”

  “Maybe,” she said.

  “What do you mean?”

  Priscilla hesitated. She didn’t want to admit that the Baumbachner would have blown up if she’d tried to make the jump with it. Of course maybe Michelle already knew that. “They didn’t want me taking the ship because it wasn’t equipped for interstellar travel. I didn’t know that. My boss saved me a lot of wasted time.”

  “You’re a pilot, aren’t you? How could you not know it couldn’t go interstellar?”

  “If your viewers have twenty minutes or so, I can probably explain it.”

  “Let it go, Priscilla. Was there another vehicle on the platform anywhere that could have been used to make the flight?”

  “No, Michelle. Not at that time.”

  “Why not? I mean, how does it happen that the World Space Authority doesn’t have a single ship that can respond to an emergency?”

  “Because we’re underfunded,” she said. “If we’re going to do interstellar travel, we should get serious.”

  * * *

  THAT EVENING, A message came in from Easy Barnicle, confirming the ship’s arrival in the Teegarden system. “The good news,” Barnicle said, “is that we’re only six hundred thousand kilometers out. We’ve made contact with Quinn. I think they’re pretty happy to know we’re here. Should be there by Wednesday.”

  Minutes later, they had a transmission from Quinn: “At last,” he said. “Thank God.”

  It had by then become the biggest story in the media. Barnicle and the rescue mission were all over the newscasts and the talk shows. Relatives of the stranded scientists cried openly during interviews, the Gold Party’s hopeful nominees and the president all made it a point to congratulate Captain Barnicle. Senator Belmar and Governor McGruder both assured the voters that, if they were elected, they would, in McGruder’s words, “take steps” to reduce the possibility that anyone would ever have to go through this again. McGruder did not elaborate, but Belmar promised to provide “faster vehicles” to the rescue service. He did not seem to be aware there was no rescue service or that, if the physicists had it right, interstellar travel through Barber space imposed a speed limit.

  The president assured everyone he was “looking into it.”

  It was a big moment for the Authority, and for the civilized world. And it got even bigger when, on Friday, everyone was watching pictures of the Grosvenor making rendezvous with the Proxmire, taking off supplies, then, two hours later, its lander coming to rest beside the double-dome module that had protected the ground team for the better part of two weeks. Priscilla watched with tears in her eyes as Quinn and his people, in Flickinger gear, stumbled out to the vehicle and helped carry food and water back to their quarters. Inside the shelter, Barnicle was greeted with a level of energy one would never have expected from the half-starved occupants.

  Priscilla was sitting in the Cockpit with eight or nine people from Operations and the admin offices. Somebody started applauding, and they all picked it up. Then they refilled their glasses and drank a toast to everyone involved.

  * * *

  IN THE MORNING, Frank wandered through the Authority admin area, which would normally have been empty since it was a Saturday. But everyone was there, shaking hands, accepting and giving congratulations for a job well done. Willard Falkin, the new CEO of Kosmik, Inc., which owned the Grosvenor, was among the many passing and accepting compliments.

  Later in the day, they received another transmission. Quinn and the other members of the scientific team were still inside the module. But they looked good. Music was playing, they were talking and laughing. Crisis averted. A tech from the Grosvenor had restored power to their lander. Easy Barnicle, with Gustav on one side and Martha on the other, waved at the imager. “We’ll be leaving,” Quinn said, “in a few minutes.”

  Martha leaned over and kissed Captain Barnicle.

  * * *

  LIBRARY ENTRY

  In other breaking news, Cameron Richards separated from his longtime girlfriend, Taia Blanchard.

  —Western Broadcasting, January 30, 2196

  Chapter 33

  PRISCILLA CONDUCTED HER first tour the following Monday. But she could not stop thinking that it could have been her riding to the rescue instead of Barnicle. If she’d taken care of her job and seen to the maintenance of the Baumbachner, and if Frank had gotten out of the way and let her go.

  Spilled milk. But lesson learned: Be prepared.

  Approximately fifteen people showed up in the visitors’ lounge for the tour. They were pumped about the rescue and would have loved to board the Grosvenor. Unfortunately, it wasn’t available, but she was able to do the next best thing. She co-opted Skyview, led her charges into the restaurant at midmorning when it was not busy, and seated them at the long window. Then, using the imagers, she provided a virtual flyby: The Grosvenor appeared in the distance, at first nothing more than a dim star that gradually brightened, morphed into several lights, and finally into the vessel itself. It raced toward them, coming so close that they ducked as it passed overhead. When it was gone, they applauded.

  Priscilla had been somewhat nervous about that first tour, afraid she’d freeze when she got in front of the group. But the tourists were enthusiastic about seeing the operations center and she took them on a virtual tour of the Baumbachner. They took pictures of one another on the bridge and in the passenger cabin. Some even asked her to pose with their kids. Next they went to the Cernan Room, where she’d prepared a virtual display that featured appearances by original astronauts and cosmonauts. Susan Helms and Pete Conrad took questions; Anatoly Solovyev and Roger Chaffee oversaw a display of spectacular pictures of places around the solar system; Alan Shepard and Neil Armstrong described the early days. The old Saturn rockets once again lifted off from the Cape, and the command modules splashed down in the ocean. There was some laughter, and one teenager, looking at one of the twentieth-century shuttles, commented on how much guts it must have taken to go into orbit “in one of those things.”

  She took them to the science center, which was devoted primarily to managing the telescopes stationed at L4 and L5. One was b
ringing in images of a galactic eruption that had been in progress for several thousand years. The other was tracking a supermassive black hole that seemed to be swallowing its galaxy. “Where’s the hole?” said one of the kids.

  An astronomer standing nearby smiled and offered to explain. Priscilla gave way and saw again how much experts enjoy talking about the idiosyncrasies of their profession.

  The reaction to the tour was so enthusiastic that they ran thirty minutes overtime. Priscilla enjoyed it probably as much as anyone. The virtual images were dazzling. She made a note to make the imager an integral part of the program. And she’d add a comet, maybe, as well as one of the deep-space stations. And what the hell, why not do a close encounter with an asteroid? She wouldn’t be able to use Skyview on a regular basis, though. Management had made a special effort to accommodate her on this occasion, and she couldn’t ask them to do that three times a week. But she might be able to set a program up at the Lookout Lounge. That would work just as well. They even had a snack bar.

  * * *

  TWO DAYS LATER, on the Wednesday tour, as Anatoly Solovyev prepared to take a group of about twenty through the Neptunian rings, she got a surprise. Cal was with them.

  He smiled. His lips formed hi.

  She stared back. Realized her jaw had dropped. Then raised a hand. Hello.

  He faded back into the crowd when Solovyev’s hologram blinked off. They made stops at the science center, the docks, Lookout Lounge, and the Baumbachner. The tour ended, of course, at the gift shop. She thanked everyone for coming. One of the children, a boy about eight years old, wanted to know if she’d ever been out in a ship.

  “Yes,” she said. “I’ve been out a few times.”

  “How did it feel?”

  The child was an African-American. He wore a huge smile, and his eyes were locked on a picture of the Thompson, which adorned the bulkhead. “You’d like it,” she said.

  * * *

  CAL WAITED UNTIL the group had dispersed. Then he approached. “You put on a pretty good show.”

  “Thank you, Calvin. I didn’t expect to see you up here.”