Cauldron

by Jack McDevitt

  “The clouds were produced millions of years ago,” Hutch said. “Whoever manufactured them is a long time dead.”

  The crowd divided on that one; some supportive, many skeptical. The blond man wasn’t finished: “Can you guarantee that? That they’re dead?”

  “You know I can’t,” she said.

  Someone wanted to know whether she believed the theory that an omega had destroyed Sodom and Gomorrah.

  Someone else asked whether the clouds were connected with the moonriders.

  The moonriders, known in various ages as foo fighters, flying saucers, UFOs, and beamrunners, had, until modern times, been perceived as myth. But the Origins incident of two decades earlier had removed all doubt. More recently, a flight of the objects had been seen, scanned, recorded by a team of physicists. “We don’t know that either,” she said. “But it feels like a different level of technology. If I had to put a bet down, I’d say they’re separate phenomena.”

  Did she know François St. John, the pilot of the Jenkins? Or the Langstons? Or Eagle or Tolya?

  “I know them all,” she said. “We’ll be glad to see them safely back.”

  When it was over, she thanked her audience for their donations and for being receptive. They applauded. She stayed behind to answer more questions, signed a few copies of her book (actually written by Amy Taylor, a senator’s daughter who’d grown up to achieve a lifelong ambition to qualify as a star pilot only to find no positions available), and wandered out into the lobby. She was pulling her jacket around her shoulders when an extraordinarily good-looking young man asked if he might have a moment of her time.

  “Of course,” she said. He was probably the tallest person in the room, with dark skin, dark eyes, leading-man features. The kind of guy who made her wish she was twenty again. “What can I do for you?”

  He hesitated. “Ms. Hutchins, my name is Jon Silvestri.” He said it as if he expected her to recognize it. “I have something the Foundation might be interested in.”

  They were standing in the lobby. Another man, a guy she thought she’d seen somewhere before, hovered off to one side, obviously also interested in speaking with her. “I don’t work for the Foundation, Mr. Silvestri. I’m just a fund-raiser. Why don’t you stop by the offices later today or tomorrow? They’d have someone available to talk to you.”

  She started to move away, but he stayed in front of her. “I’m Dr. Silvestri,” he said.

  “Okay.”

  “They asked you about the Locarno.”

  “And—?”

  He moved closer to her and lowered his voice. “The Locarno is legitimate, Ms. Hutchins. Henry hadn’t quite finished it before he died. There was still testing to be done. A few problems to be worked out. But the theory behind it is perfectly valid. It will work.”

  Hutch was starting to feel uncomfortable. There was something a bit too intense about this guy. “I’m sure, whatever you need, they’ll be able to take care of it for you at the Foundation offices, Doctor. You know where they’re located?”

  He must have realized he was coming on a bit strong. He stopped, cleared his throat, straightened himself. And smiled. There was a tightness to it. And maybe a hint of anger. “Ms. Hutchins, I used to work with Henry Barber. I helped him develop the system.”

  Barber had been working for years, trying to develop a drive that could seriously move vehicles around the galaxy, something with more giddyup than the plodding Hazeltine. “Riding around the galaxy with a Hazeltine,” he’d once famously said, “is like trying to cross the Pacific in a rowboat with one oar.”

  The other man was checking his watch. He was maybe forty, though with rejuvenation techniques these days it was hard to tell. He could have been eighty. She knew him from somewhere. “Dr. Silvestri,” she said, thinking she shouldn’t get involved in this, “how much work remains to be done? To get the Locarno operational?”

  “Why don’t we sit down for a minute?” He steered her to a couple of plastic chairs facing each other across a low table. “The work is effectively done. It’s simply a matter of running the tests.” A note of uncertainty had crept into his voice.

  “You hope.”

  “Yes.” He focused somewhere else, then came back to her. “I hope. But I see no reason why it should not function as expected. Henry did the brute work. It remained only to make a few adjustments. Solve a few minor problems.”

  “He died last spring,” she said. “In Switzerland, as I recall. If you’ve an operational system, where’s it been all this time?”

  “I’ve been working on it.”

  “You have.”

  “Yes. You seem skeptical.”

  He looked so young. He was only a few years older than Charlie. Her son. “Barber hadn’t been able to make it work,” she said. She looked back to where the other man had been standing. He was gone.

  “Henry was close. He simply didn’t have all the details right. What we have now is essentially his. But some things needed to be tweaked.”

  She started to get up. Just tell him to drop by the office. Maggie can deal with him.

  “I’m serious,” he said. “It will work.”

  “You sound uncertain, Dr. Silvestri.”

  “It hasn’t been tested yet. I need sponsorship.”

  “I understand.”

  “I came here today because I wanted to make it available to the Prometheus Foundation. I don’t want to turn it over to one of the corporations.”

  “Why not? You’d get serious money that way. We wouldn’t have anything to give you.”

  “I don’t need money. I don’t want it to become a moneymaking operation. There aren’t many people left doing deep-space exploration. I’d like you to have it. But I’ll need your help to run the tests.”

  It didn’t feel like a con. That happened occasionally. People tried to get the Foundation to back various schemes. They’d ask for a grant, hoping to take the money and run. The organization had had a couple of bad experiences. But this guy either meant what he said, or he was very good. Still, the possibility that he had a workable drive seemed remote. “You know, Dr. Silvestri, the Foundation hears claims like this every day.” That wasn’t quite true, but it was close enough. “Tell me, with something like this, why don’t you get government funding?”

  He sighed. “The government. If they fund it, they own it. But okay, if Prometheus isn’t interested, I’ll find somebody else.”

  “No. Wait. Hold on a second. I guess there’s nothing much to lose. How sure are you? Really?”

  “Without running a test, I can’t be positive.”

  An honest answer. “That wasn’t my question.”

  “You want me to put a number on it?”

  “I want you to tell me, if the Foundation were to back this thing, what would our chances of success be?”

  He thought it over. “I’m not objective,” he said.

  “No way you could be.”

  “Eighty-twenty.”

  “Pro?”

  “Yes.”

  “What kind of improvement could we expect over the Hazeltine?”

  “Canopus in about ten days.”

  My God. With present technology, Canopus was three months away. “You’ll need a ship.”

  “Yes.”

  “The truth, Dr. Silvestri, is that you’re here at the worst possible time. We just lost the Jenkins.”

  “I know.”

  “You probably also know I’m not authorized to speak for the Foundation.”

  “I’m not sure about your formal position, Ms. Hutchins. But I suspect you have influence.”

  “Give me a number,” she said. “I’ll be in touch.”

  THE FOUNDATION ROUTINELY set up a green room at its fund-raisers. Guests were invited to drop by, bring friends, and meet the people behind Prometheus. When Hutch walked in, Rudy was cloistered in a corner with a group of Rangers. That was the designation given to contributors who met a given minimum standard. It seemed a trifle juvenile to
Hutch, but Rudy claimed it made people feel good and brought in additional money.

  She picked up a scotch and soda and commenced mingling. She was never entirely comfortable during such events. She enjoyed playing to an audience, had discovered she could hold listeners spellbound, yet had never really learned the art of simple one-on-one socializing. She found it hard to insert herself into a group already engaged in conversation, even though they invariably recognized her and made room for her. The Foundation events were particularly difficult because she always felt that she was essentially begging for money.

  When she found an opportunity, she drifted off to a side room and asked the house AI to provide whatever it had on Jon Silvestri. “A physicist,” she explained. “Associated with Henry Barber.”

  One of the walls converted to a screen, and a list of topics appeared. Silvestri and Barber. Published work by Jon Silvestri. Silvestri and Propulsion Systems.

  He’d appeared in several of the major science journals. Had been on the faculty at the University of Ottawa for two years before being invited by Barber to join his team in Switzerland. Born in Winnipeg. Twenty-six years old. Named to last year’s “rising stars” selections by the International Physics Journal.

  There were lots of pictures: Silvestri on the Ottawa faculty softball team. Silvestri performing with a small band in Locarno. (He played a trumpet.) She listened to a couple of their selections and was impressed.

  It wasn’t great music, but it wasn’t the clunky sort of stuff you expected from amateurs.

  There was no mention of specific awards, but she suspected he might have been overshadowed, working with Henry Barber.

  Satisfied he was legitimate, she returned to the green room.

  WHEN THE RECEPTION was over, Rudy took her aside and thanked her. “I thought contributions would be down,” he said. “But I suspect they find you irresistible.”

  She returned a smile. “What would you expect?”

  Rudy was short, energetic, excitable. Everything, for him, had a passionate dimension. He lived and died with the Washington Sentinels. He loved some VR stars, loathed others. He enjoyed country music, especially the legendary Brad Wilkins, who sang about lost trains and lost love, and who had died under mysterious circumstances, probably a suicide, two years earlier. He knew what he liked at the dinner table and would never try anything new. Most of all, he thought humanity’s future depended on its ability to establish itself off-world. The failure of the Academy, he maintained, marked the beginning of a decadent age. “If we don’t get it back up and running,” he was fond of saying, “we don’t deserve to survive.”

  He had started as a seminarian in New England, had gone through several career changes, and had eventually become an astrophysicist. He was the only astrophysicist Hutch had met who routinely used terms like destiny and spiritually fulfilling. Rudy was the ultimate true believer.

  On this night, however, he was not in a good mood. “They think space is dead, some of them,” he said. “Pete Wescott says that unless we can find a way to make money out of it, he’ll have a hard time justifying further support. What the hell—? Nobody ever told him this was going to be easy.”

  “I have a question for you,” Hutch said.

  “Sure.” He drew himself up, as if expecting bad news. He’d had a bit too much of the wine. Rudy had a low tolerance for alcohol. She’d suggested once or twice that he not drink at these events, but he inevitably waved it away. Silly. Never had a problem.

  One of the Rangers tried to corral him for a picture. “I’ll be right along, George,” he said, and then turned back to Hutch. “What’ve you got?”

  “Do you know Jon Silvestri?”

  He made a face while he thought about it. “One of Barber’s people.”

  “He was here today.”

  “Really? Why?”

  She pointed to a chair. “Sit for a minute.”

  Rudy complied. He looked worn out. “What does he want from us?”

  “Oh, Rudy.” She sat beside him. “He might have something to give us.”

  He looked around at the few people left in the green room. “Was he back here?”

  “No.”

  “So what did he want to give us?”

  “He says he’s been working on Barber’s FTL drive.”

  “The Locarno.”

  “Yes.”

  “It was a failure.”

  “He says that’s not so.”

  Rudy’s eyes closed and a pained smile appeared. “Lord,” he said, “would that it were true.”

  “Maybe it is.”

  “I doubt it. So what’s he want with us?”

  “It looks as if he’s going to ask for a ship. To run some tests.” She recounted their conversation.

  When she’d finished, he sat staring at the wall. At last his eyes came back to her. “What do you think? Does he know what he’s talking about?”

  “I have no idea, Rudy.”

  “The Locarno. Think what a break that would be.” His eyes brightened. “If he does want a test vehicle, we’d have to use the Preston.” With the loss of the Jenkins, it was all they had left. He scratched a spot over his right eyebrow. “Did he seem to think he could really make it work?”

  “He says probably.” Two hotel bots came in and began collecting leftover food. The Ranger who’d been standing at the doorway, waiting to talk with Rudy, wandered off.

  “Well,” he said, “let’s find out.”

  SCIENCE DESK

  SCIENCE HAS ENDED, SAYS JULIANO

  “Issues That Remain Are Not Open to Scientific Inquiry”

  Connected Story—see editorial:

  WHY IS THERE SOMETHING AND NOT NOTHING?

  WORLD COUNCIL WILL CLOSE SERENITY

  Last Interstellar Base Outlives Usefulness

  Will Shut Down at End of Year

  BRING EVERYTHING HOME, SAYS MARGULIES

  “Deep Space Never Made a Dollar”

  SPACE FLIGHT AMBITIONS A DELUSION?

  “Time to Grow Up,” Says President

  “Coming Home Marks Beginning of Maturity”

  MAMMOTHS DOING WELL IN INDIA, AMERICA

  WHALE BEACHINGS A MYSTERY

  Scientists Test the Water

  COMET OLDER THAN SOLAR SYSTEM

  9 Billion Years and Counting

  PHYSICISTS, THEOLOGIANS DISCUSS END OF DAYS

  Fourteenth Annual Vatican Symposium

  Lights Out in a Few Trillion Years

  Does Anybody Care?

  SCIENTISTS ANNOUNCE IMMORTAL CHIMP

  Will Not Age, Researchers Say

  Treatment to Be Available for Humans by End of Decade

  But Where Will We Put Everybody?

  SOUTH AMERICAN REFORESTATION PROGRAM NEARS COMPLETION

  COLLAPSE OF ICE SHEETS MAY BE IMMINENT

  Race Is Close Between Stabilization Effort and Ongoing Melting

  PUERTO RICAN AMAZON PARROT SPECIES FOUND

  Believed Extinct in 21st Century

  Bird Alive and Well in Lesser Antilles

  THIS YEAR’S HURRICANE SEASON EXPECTED TO FOLLOW TREND

  Number, Intensity of Storms Should Decrease

  Chief Forecaster Hopeful Worst Is Over

  SCAM ARTISTS CLAIM TECHNOLOGY TO HARNESS VOLCANIC POWER

  Investors Bilked

  Police: “They Got Away Clean”

  Tidal Wave Technology Next?

  Victims Mostly Elderly

  STUDIES SUGGEST MARRIAGE, BUT NO CHILDREN, KEY TO LONGEVITY

  BLACK HOLES MAY DISSIPATE MORE QUICKLY THAN PREVIOUSLY THOUGHT

  ARK ON ARARAT MAY NOT BE NOAH’S

  Replica Probably Built in Ancient Times

  Intended to Commemorate Biblical Event?

  ARE LITTLE PEOPLE SMARTER?

  Studies Suggest Correlation Between IQ and Size

  Smaller May Be Better

  chapter 4

  MATT WASN’T ENTIRELY sure why he’d wanted to speak with Priscilla Hutchins. He d
idn’t really know her. He’d just been starting his career when she’d left the Academy. Maybe it was no more than the craving to say hello, I used to pilot superluminals, too. I understand what you’re talking about.

  “There’s almost always someone, after one of these events,” she had told her audience, “who asks how I got my start. ‘I have a nephew who talks about piloting starships,’ he’ll say, in a tone that suggests the kid has other problems as well. ‘Never been much into travel out there myself. The Earth’s big enough for me.’ And you know, I feel sorry for him. The train’s long since left the station, and he’s still standing on the platform.

  “I honestly can’t imagine what my life would have been without the opportunity to sit on the bridge of a superluminal, to cruise past Vega IV. To see Saturn’s rings from the surface of Iapetus. To stand on the beach at Morikai, on a warm summer afternoon, with the wind blowing behind me and a silver sun high overhead and to know that I’m the only living thing on that entire world.

  “And I know what you’re thinking. This is a woman who’s spent a lot of time alone. In strange places. You have to expect she’d be a bit deranged on the subject.” That drew laughter from the audience. “But let’s talk about why the interstellar effort matters.

  “Once you’ve been out there, and seen what it’s like, how many worlds there are, how gorgeous some of these places are, how majestic, you can never settle for staying in Virginia.” She talked about good times on the flight lines, described what we’d been learning about our environment and about ourselves, and even brought in Destiny and DNA. “If some of the current politicians had been around a few thousand years ago,” she’d said, “we never would have gotten out of Africa. Boats cost too much.

  “To close everything down now, to say we’ve had enough, let’s just park on the front porch, which is what we’re doing, is a betrayal of everything that matters.” She’d looked out over her audience. “What would we think of a child who had no curiosity? Who was given a sealed box and showed no interest in its contents? In the end, we have to decide who we are.”