Cauldron

by Jack McDevitt

  “Yeah. Let them read about it.”

  “So we can pick it up tomorrow?”

  “They want another day or two to complete certification. Say the end of the week to be safe.”

  “Okay, Jon. I’ll set up a launch date. You have any preferences?”

  “Sooner the better.”

  “All right. Meantime, we’ll leave it where it is until we’re ready to take it up to the station. We can do that, right?”

  “Yes. That’s no problem. There’ll be a charge.”

  “That’s fine. We can cover it.” He called Union Ops, got the watch supervisor, and explained what he wanted.

  “Okay,” the supervisor said. “I hope it goes better this time.”

  “Thanks.”

  “I assume you’re speaking for the Foundation?”

  “It’s not involved anymore.”

  “All right.” He was studying a monitor. “Things are slow. We can do the launch tomorrow if you want.”

  “We won’t be ready that quickly. We’ll need three or four days. Make it four.”

  “How about Monday? Around 0900 hours?”

  “Okay. That’s good. Can I arrange to have one of the scopes track the lander until it makes its jump? Like we did last time?”

  “There’ll be a nominal charge.”

  “Do it.”

  THE CONTRAST BETWEEN the launch of the Happy Times two months earlier and the send-off given to the MacElroy High School lander could hardly have been more stark. The observation area had a decent crowd, but the tension was different. You might have said expectations were low. There was a comedy hour aspect to the proceedings.

  Matt invited Hutchins, and she showed up with Rudy, but there were no other VIPs on the scene, no politicians, only one or two scientific observers. There were a few people from the Liberty Club and a delegation from the high school.

  The media was represented, but they were primarily there for the sideshow aspects of the event. They were interviewing the kids and their teacher-escorts, and each other. Also on the scene were a few members of the fringe press. These were the guys who specialized in hauntings, scandal, prophecies, and celebrity marriages and breakups. One of them wanted to know whether they’d removed the AI, as Rudy Golombeck had for the earlier attempt. “After all,” he said, with a nod to his colleagues, “we wouldn’t want to hurt anybody.”

  They all had a good laugh at Rudy’s expense. Pulling the AI had never occurred to Matt. It was after all just talking hardware. But he did feel a bit uncomfortable, now that he thought of it. Well, it was too late.

  The questions, this time, were a bit off center. “Even if the lander makes it out to Pluto, do you anticipate the jump would have any negative medical effects on a pilot?”

  “If it doesn’t work this time, do you plan to try again?”

  “Did you know that some people who traveled with the Hazeltine system had a history of bad dreams on their return? Do you think that might happen with this new system?”

  “Dr. Somebody had suggested the possibility that the Locarno, after it crumpled the Happy Times, took it into another reality. Did Dr. Silvestri want to comment on that possibility?”

  When Matt replied that the questions were becoming strange, one reporter, from Scope, laughed and said sure they were, but all they wanted was an entertaining answer. We know nobody takes this stuff seriously.

  “We’ll use the same general plan as last time,” Jon explained to the crowd. “This time the AI will be running things. It’ll take the vehicle out about forty minutes and make the jump. It’ll travel 3.7 billion miles, to the orbit of Pluto. And, if all goes well, it’ll send a radio signal back.”

  He sat down in front of one of the viewports. Matt wished him luck.

  “It’ll be okay,” Jon said. “I corrected the problem. This one’s going to Pluto.”

  They got the call from Union Ops at 8:23 A.M. “Okay, Matt,” said the watch officer, “we’re ready to go.”

  Jon sat back, nothing to worry about, and folded his arms. On-screen, the restraining lines let go and began to withdraw. Attitude thrusters fired. The vehicle moved away from the dock and redirected itself toward the exit. Launch doors opened. The MacElroy High School lander eased out of the station. When it was well away, its engine ignited, and the lander began to accelerate.

  Jon took a deep breath. Somebody said, “Here we go.”

  The onboard AI had been named in honor of Henry Barber. “All systems in good order,” Henry said. “Estimate thirty-seven minutes to transit.”

  Matt got fresh coffee for them both. Hutch came over and gave him a calming smile. However things go, it won’t be the end of the world. Rudy huddled a few minutes with Jon. A news team from Worldwide moved in and set up.

  The display gave them a crisp picture of the lander, as well as the rim of the Moon.

  Matt drank his coffee, talked with reporters, talked with people who’d just wandered in to watch, talked with Rudy. Rudy congratulated him for coming up with the idea to use the lander. “Wish we’d thought of it earlier,” he said.

  Exactly on time, Henry informed them the ship was about to make its jump. “I will be in touch with you this afternoon,” he said. “At seventeen minutes after three. Give or take a few minutes.”

  Then it wasn’t there anymore. The last thing Matt saw was the MacElroy fourmaster emblazoned on its hull.

  Jon pulled the recordings up, and they studied the images during the seconds before transit. The lander remained clear and bright as the time ran down to tenths of a second. They went through it methodically, moment to moment. The lander looked okay. No twisting or collapsing this time. No indication of any problem.

  They looked at one another, and Jon ran it again. Slower. Hundredths of a second. And again it simply winked off. Between 76/100’s and 77/100’s of a second. No bending. No crumpling.

  Jon rested his chin on his folded hands. “I think we’ve got it this time, Matt.”

  THEY FOUND HUTCHINS seated in the Quarter Moon, talking with a reporter. She introduced him, George Somebody from the Savannah Morning News. “I know you needed a vehicle,” George was saying, “but whichever one of you folks came up with the idea of using the one at the high school was pure genius. And it’s a great way to get students interested in science.”

  “Here’s the guy,” said Hutchins, nodding at Matt. “He’s been contributing his time to the school off and on for years.”

  Matt tried not to look too pleased. George asked a few questions, mostly about how the school became involved. “Creative teachers,” he said. “And Myra Castle.”

  “Who?”

  “A school board member who cares.” He had a hard time delivering that one with a straight face, but he did his best.

  “Okay,” said George. “Good.”

  “Something else,” said Jon. “We got some kids interested in what we’ve been doing these last few weeks. If some of them go on to careers in the sciences, maybe that will have been enough.”

  George turned off his recorder. He looked at Jon and smiled. “You don’t really mean that, but I like the sentiment.” He thanked them, saw someone else, and hurried away.

  Matt turned back to Jon. “That will have been enough? Are you serious?”

  “Am I serious?” said Jon. “Listen, Matthew, I want to hear that signal come in at three o’clock. It’s all I really care about.”

  Matt sighed and looked at the overhead. “Whatever happened to simple honesty?”

  “It’s all PR,” said Hutchins. “If we ever produced a person who was unrelentingly honest, everybody would want him dead.”

  At the far end of the dining room, a bank of clocks showed the time in Tokyo, Paris, Berlin, London, New York, and Rome. Union was officially on GMT, but visitors were free to maintain whatever time zone they wanted. All services operated on a twenty-four-hour schedule. Restaurants could always provide breakfast or dinner or a nightcap.

  The Locarno experiment was runni
ng on Washington time, where it was just after noon.

  They collected more reporters and some MacElroy students, but Jon and Hutchins were both good at dealing with them, so Matt relaxed and enjoyed the show. Hutchins pointed out to several of the kids that “Jon’s device” might one day take them to the far side of the galaxy.

  One of the kids wondered if we’d ever be able to go to Andromeda.

  “Who knows?” she said. “Maybe.”

  Everyone they met wanted to know whether the Locarno would work this time.

  Jon inevitably shrugged his shoulders. “We’ll have to wait and see.”

  THE ORIGINAL PLAN had been to retreat to Matt’s room after lunch, but things went so well in the restaurant that, with the encouragement of management, they stayed. People began coming in from the concourse to shake their hands and wish them well. Rudy wandered in and bought a round of drinks.

  Janet Allegri called Hutchins to wish her luck. The name struck a chord with Matt, but he couldn’t place her until Hutchins explained. She was part of the original mission that had uncovered the omegas. She’d written a best-selling account of those events.

  Strangers asked for autographs, took pictures, introduced their kids.

  Matt knew he should have been enjoying himself. But he’d have preferred the good times after he was assured of success. This was premature. “Better to do it now,” said Hutch, in a moment of cold honesty. “Might not be able to later.”

  When it got close to three, they broke away and, trailing kids and reporters, went down to the lower deck and made for the observation area. This time there was no plan for an actor’s voice announcing good news from Pluto, or whatever the message was to have been. When the transmission arrived, a white auxiliary lamp mounted on the panel would switch on. That would be it.

  A small crowd waited. And if the tension had been missing earlier, it was present now. People shook their hands and made way as they entered. One of the kids, seated in Jon’s chair, hurriedly evacuated. Others made room for Matt and Hutchins.

  The room became quiet, except for whispered comments. They sure the radio beam has enough energy to get here?

  I don’t think I realized Pluto was that far.

  Matt’s eyes drifted shut. He was tired. Not sleepy. Too rattled to be sleepy, but he had no energy left. He wanted it to be over.

  It was 3:03. Fourteen minutes to go. Matt thought how it would be to return the lander to the school after a successful test. He’d circle the school a couple of times and, while a cheering crowd watched, set it down in its accustomed place. Get out and shake everyone’s hand.

  He held the picture in his head, replaying it, and finally opened his eyes. It was 3:04.

  The launch bay was nearly empty. Only two ships were visible. While he stared through the viewport, not even aware he was doing so, somebody took his picture. One of the MacElroy science teachers. “Hope you don’t mind,” she said. And whispered good luck. A few people hurried through the doors, fearful they were late.

  He looked around to see Hutchins watching him. She smiled as their eyes connected. Mouthed the words Almost there.

  Jon was holding on to his coffee cup, not drinking any of it, just hanging on while his gaze wandered around the room. It swept across Matt, not pausing, not reacting. Whatever facade he’d been using, it was gone now. Only one thing mattered.

  Somebody put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. Julie. She hadn’t been there earlier. “Hi, Matt,” she said. “Big day, huh?”

  There was a fudge factor. No way to be sure precisely how far the lander might have traveled. The signal could be as much as a minute early. Or a minute late. Probably no more than that.

  Could be anytime now.

  Everybody was watching the signal lamp.

  He became aware of a barely audible heartbeat in the deck and bulkheads, rhythms set off by the systems that supplied power to the station.

  One of the kids giggled.

  A chair scraped.

  Jon seemed not to be breathing.

  A girl whispered, “Stop.”

  Then it was 3:17.

  Matt looked at the lamp. It was one of several status lights set in a vertical row. Six of them altogether. The one he was watching was four from the top.

  Then it was plus thirteen seconds.

  Fourteen.

  Fifty-two.

  He closed his eyes. When he opened them, about a minute later, the lamp was still unlit.

  TABLOID ROUNDUP

  PSYCHIC SAYS INFERNAL FORCES BLOCKED STAR DRIVE TEST

  Josh Coburn, the celebrated psychic from Havertown, PA., said today that dark forces are at work to ensure that humans do not succeed in making long-range penetration into the greater galaxy.

  OMEGA CLOUDS MAY BE A HOAX

  EDEN FOUND

  Former Paradise Now Desert in West Saud<
Bones May Have Been Adam’s

  Scientists to Try DNA Analysis

  GHOST OF AI HAUNTS MISSISSIPPI TOWNHOUSE

  END OF DAYS NEAR

  “All Signs Point to November,” Says Harry Colmer

  HEAVEN LOCATED

  Astronomers Reveal Shocking Photos

  Giant Star Cloud on Other Side of Galaxy

  JESUS’ FACE SEEN ON EPSILON AURIGAE MOON

  WOMAN HAS CHILD BY NOK

  First Human-Alien Hybrid

  Experts Said It Couldn’t Happen

  Named Kor After Father

  HURRICANE MELINDA SENT BY GOD?

  Billy Pat Thomas Says Evidence Points to Divine Anger

  Church-Going Back Up in Mississippi

  ATLANTIS FOUND

  VAMPIRE LOOSE IN ALBANY?

  Six Victims Drained of Blood

  Bite Marks on Throat

  Police Baffled

  PSYCHIC TREES ON QURAQUA

  Branch Patterns Reveal Future, Experts Say

  SHOCKING TRUTH BEHIND MURDER OF PREACHER’S WIFE

  chapter 14

  MATT HAD RESERVED his room at Union, expecting, hoping, to party through the night. Instead he canceled out, said good-bye to Hutchins and Jon, and caught the earliest available shuttle back to Reagan. Some of the students were on board. They wished him better luck next time.

  Reyna called him en route. “Sorry,” she said.

  He looked out the window. The skies over eastern North America and the western Atlantic were clear. “I guess we lost the school’s lander,” he told her.

  “I guess. But they knew there was a chance that would happen.”

  “I know. Maybe next time we should just send a missile.”

  “Is that practical?”

  “I don’t know. Probably not.”

  She didn’t say anything for a minute. Then: “You okay?”

  “Oh, yeah. I’m fine.”

  “What will you do now?”

  “Back to my desk at Stern and Hopkins.”

  “No, I mean, are you going to give up on the drive?”

  Two kids across the aisle were laughing hysterically at something. “It’s not really my call. But unless somebody is willing to donate another lander, yeah, I’d say my part in this drill is finished.”

  Another pause. “What time are you getting in?”

  “A bit after eight.”

  “Can I treat for a drink tonight? Meet you at World’s End?”

  “I appreciate it, Reyna, but it’s been a horribly long day. Let’s do it tomorrow, okay?”

  MATT RARELY ATE at home. He didn’t like eating alone, so he usually went to Cleary’s or one of the other local restaurants. But not tonight. He picked up a roast beef sandwich at Reagan and took it with him in the taxi. It was a fifteen-minute flight below threatening clouds. As the vehicle descended onto his ramp, rain began to fall. He paid, went inside, said hello to the AI, kicked off his shoes, and turned on the news. There was nothing on the Locarno. Religious warfare was heating up in Africa and the Middle East, and a squabble was developing between the NAU and Bolivia over trade agreements.

/>   He switched to Loose Change, one of the season’s dumber comedies, but it played just about at the level he needed. He poured a cup of coffee and nibbled his way through the sandwich. Not much appetite.

  Jon had been hiding his feelings when they’d said good-bye. He’d thanked Matt and pretended not to be discouraged. There’ll be somebody out there, he’d said, who’ll be willing to take a chance.

  And the truth was, he had less reason to be discouraged than Matt did. Jon could go back to tinkering with the theory. The corporations would come forward, and he’d get to try again. But Matt was done. He could expect to spend the rest of his life in northern Virginia, moving town houses, and wondering how things had come to this.

  Well, he told himself, at least you have your health.

  He could not sleep, so he stayed up, and was watching Last Train to Bougainville, a more or less incomprehensible mystery, when the AI’s voice broke in: “I’m sorry to disturb you, sir. But you’ve a call.” The room was dark except for the blue ring of light emanating from the clock. It was a few minutes short of midnight. “It’s from Union. From Dr. Silvestri.”

  No. He was done with it. Didn’t want to talk about it anymore. “Just tell him to go away, Basil.”

  “Are you sure, sir?”

  He tried to straighten himself. One of the cushions fell on the floor. “Yes. No. Okay, put him through. Audio only.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Hello, Jon.” Matt rolled over onto his back. His eyes were closed. “What’s going on?”

  “Matt.”

  “Yeah.”

  “We’ve got it. It came in.”

  “What came in?” A new pledge of support? An offer of another lander?

  “The transmission.”

  That brought him awake. “The one we were waiting for?

  “You know any others?”

  “What happened? Why the delay? Did the equipment break down?”

  “It must have. We don’t know.”

  “When? When did you hear it?” He was already annoyed that Jon had been so slow to let him know.

  “A few minutes ago.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  He flicked on the visual. Jon was sitting in an alcove off one of the concourses. He looked tired, relieved, and puzzled. “Do I look as if I’m kidding?” he said.