—Wednesday, October 10
PART THREE
outbound
chapter 21
HUTCH WAS BARELY in the door when Maureen was on the circuit. She was glad the mission had gone well, but she was clearly upset.
It was probably guys again. Maureen fell in and out of love regularly. But she wasn’t inclined to relay the details. Hutch recalled how little she’d told her own mother. Remembered how shocked the woman had been when she’d announced she was going off to pilot superluminals. Stay home, she’d advised. Find a good man. Is this what we sent you to school for? Do you have any idea how much that cost?
“Everything okay, love?”
“I’m fine, Mom.” Maureen was an attractive young woman. Looked like her mother, Hutch thought with a sense of pride. She was a history major, also like Priscilla. She had her father’s easygoing manner. That latter characteristic inevitably betrayed her when she tried to hide being unhappy. “I’m glad you got home okay.”
“Maureen, we only went to Alioth.” She smiled at how that must have sounded. Maureen had never been farther than Moonbase. “It was a good flight.”
“I hear you’re going out again. To the middle of the galaxy.” It hadn’t taken long for the news to get around. “To the place where they make the omegas.”
“In November,” Hutch said. “We’re just making the trip to look around. And don’t worry. We’ll only be gone a few months.”
“I wish you wouldn’t.”
“I’ll be fine, sweetheart. We’re just going to take a look and come home.”
“You’ll get yourself killed,” she said. “What happens if the monsters come after you?”
“I don’t think we need to worry about monsters, Maureen.”
“You don’t know that. And the ship could break down. Who’s going to go after you? Who’d even know?”
“There’ll be two ships, Maureen. Orion’s lending us the James McAdams.”
“What if they both break down?”
“You know that’s not going to happen.”
“Mom, you’re not the most careful person in the world.”
“I promise I won’t do anything foolish.”
“I know. I’m just not sure what I’d do if something happened to you.”
They’d spent most of their time on the flight home talking about going deep, theorizing about the omegas. Talking about the Cauldron. The place where the omegas were manufactured. The clouds now moving through Earth’s general neighborhood had needed 1.7 million years to get this far. That meant, of course, that whatever was producing them very likely no longer existed.
Hence, there was probably no danger.
Even if they discovered a production facility of some sort, a mega-platform manufacturing and dispatching lethal visitors around the galaxy, Hutch certainly would not be inclined to go anywhere near it. “Nothing’s going to happen to me,” she said. “We’re just going for a ride. See what’s there.”
“Can I come?”
“That’s not a good idea, Maureen. You can’t just take a year off from school.”
“Why not?”
“Because Charlie would want to come. And then Matt’s nephew would claim a spot. Where would it end?”
“Mom, for me: Don’t go. Don’t do this.”
Hutch recalled the distance that had always existed between herself and her mother, who’d never understood how her child could leave the serenity and security of New Jersey to gallivant around—she’d actually used that term—in the superluminals. They were closer now. She was still alive and well in the family home in Princeton, eternally grateful that Hutch had eventually come to her senses, married, had a family, and settled down.
“Mom, it’s not funny. It really isn’t.”
“Sorry. I was thinking about your grandmother.”
“She won’t like it either.”
“I know.” Hutch turned serious. “Listen, love, I have to go with them. There’s no way I can stay home when this is happening. I was there at the beginning. I want to be around at the end. Or at least when we find out what’s going on.”
“Dad wouldn’t have wanted you to go, either.”
She was right about that. “You’re going to have to cut me some slack, Maureen.”
Her daughter had black hair, exquisite features, luminous dark eyes. She was in red slacks and a white pullover that read UNIVERSITY OF VIRGINIA. “Okay,” she said. “Have it your own way. You always do.” She went into a sulk.
“Look, love. Bear with me on this. When I get back, school will be out, and we’ll head for Switzerland. You and me. And Charlie, if he wants.”
“You’re trying to buy me off.”
“Am I succeeding?”
Finally, a grin broke through the clouds. “Okay.” Then serious again: “But make sure you come back.”
An hour later, Charlie called. He was almost three years younger than his sister. They’d obviously talked, and he satisfied himself with telling her he would absolutely like to go to Switzerland when she got home.
“Good,” she said.
He had his father’s eyes and jaw. And that quizzical expression that had so charmed her thirty years ago. She sighed. Time moves so quickly.
SHE’D BRIEFLY THOUGHT, years ago, that she’d solved the riddle of the omega clouds. At least partially. She’d seen a pattern of explosions that, observed from select points outside the galaxy, might have constituted a kind of light-show symphony. She’d been excited for a while, but the mathematicians to whom she’d shown the idea had smiled politely. It was, one of them said, a case of an observer seeing what she wanted to see. And he used the exploding omegas to produce different patterns. Seen from different perspectives.
SHE’D BE GONE at least seven months. Hutch was reluctant to take off for that long. Wouldn’t be back until June at best. Her kids were away at school, so there was really nothing to keep her home. Still, she worried she’d be in the way. Didn’t think Matt and Jon would want a middle-aged woman on board for that length of time. They’d told her sure, come, it’ll be the mission of a lifetime, but she was still unsure until the moment Rudy’s image sat in her living room, posing the question. “You were there at the beginning,” he said. “You were there when we figured out how to destroy the damned things. This’ll be the next step. You really want to be sitting home watching Clubroom?”
“Not really.”
“Hutch, if I tell you something, will you promise not to laugh at me?”
“Sure, Rudy.”
“I’ve always been envious of you. I mean, you’ve been at the center of so much. I know it’s Jon who’s at the front of the parade here. This is going to be remembered as the Silvestri mission. But they’re going to remember the crew, too. And I like the idea of having my name associated with yours.”
“Rudy, that’s very nice of you.”
“It’s true.”
That brought an awkward silence. “So when do we leave?” she asked. “Do we have anything firm yet?”
“November. The fifteenth.”
“You’re kidding. That’s less than two months.”
“That’s the launch.”
“Okay. I’ll be there.”
“Sorry about the short notice. There’s a move in Congress—”
“I heard.”
“We’re concerned about the possibility of a cease and desist order, prohibiting further testing.”
“They’re worried we’ll stir up whatever’s out there.”
“That’s what they’re saying.” That was nonsense, of course. But the Greens had gotten elected by trying to scare people to death. We’ll protect you, they claimed. We want them to stay away from us, so we’ll stay away from them.
TWO DAYS LATER, they did a conference call. “I’ve been looking into getting adequate shielding for the ships,” said Rudy. He made a face, looked unhappy. “It’ll be expensive.” Radiation within sixty light-years of the core was substantial.
“
How much?” asked Matt.
Rudy quoted the figure. For the investment to armor the two vessels, they could have bought a third ship, new. If new superluminals were on the market.
“That’s painful,” said Jon, “but it shouldn’t be a problem. The corporates want to give us money now.”
“But it always comes with strings,” said Hutch. She turned back to Rudy. “Can we raise it from donations?”
“We have a decent chance. My question is simply whether it wouldn’t be smarter to go somewhere else. Not go to the core. Maybe save that for later.”
Jon glanced at Matt. “What’s your feeling, Hutch?”
They all looked at her, and she realized the three of them had talked earlier, had debated the issue, had been divided, and that somehow they’d agreed to abide by her opinion. They could make for one of the nebulas filled with ancient class-G suns. Who knew what they might find there?
Or they could head for Cygnus X-1, the original black hole, the historic one. And thereby become the first mission ever to tread on that particular sacred ground. So to speak. It was, what, six thousand light-years away? Three weeks’ travel time.
Or maybe Eta Carinae, the mad star. Occasionally four million times as bright as Sol, bright enough to outshine Sirius, even though it lay ten thousand light-years from Earth. At other times, invisible. With luck they could get there in time to watch it explode.
“Hutch?” Rudy looked at her, waiting for an answer.
The omegas were the great mystery of the age. “Make for the core,” she said. “Let’s find out what’s going on.”
They exchanged glances. Nods. Jon delivered an unspoken I told you.
“Good enough,” said Rudy. “Hutch, I’ll need you to help raise the money.”
CAMPAIGNING FOR THE Foundation became sheer joy. Money poured in. They were also getting requests for passage on the Mordecai flight from around the world. It seemed as if everybody on the planet wanted to go.
Much of the enthusiasm could be credited to Antonio, who depicted the mission to Alioth as one of the great human achievements, up there with the invention of democracy, the discovery of Jupiter’s moons, and Hamlet. For a while, it was impossible to turn on the VR without seeing Antonio modestly explaining how it had felt to travel with the Locarno. And what the implications were.
She also found time to conduct an inspection of the McAdams. She took Matt with her. The ship seemed serviceable, so Rudy completed the deal with Orion. No money changed hands. The corporate giant got some good public relations and a tax break.
When that had been completed, work began to mount extra shielding on both ships.
Rudy pressed her about piloting one of the ships. “It’s been a long time,” she said.
“Are you still licensed?”
“No.” She laughed. “It’s been a while.”
“Can you requalify?”
“I don’t know. Why don’t you hire somebody who’s a bit more current?”
“I’d prefer having you to bringing a stranger on board.”
“You figure you get more publicity this way?”
“That wouldn’t hurt,” he said. “But it’s not the reason. This will be a historic flight. And we don’t really know what we might run into. You’ve been through some wild stuff already.”
“And—?”
“I trust you.”
HUTCH HAD ENJOYED herself thoroughly during the Alioth flight and its aftermath. When they’d returned, she was still on a high, and could have gotten down from the space station without a shuttle. It obviously showed because she’d quickly become the media’s darling for interviews. They’d decided before they came home that they’d try to downplay the Mordecai aspect of things. Antonio agreed to go along with it, although he insisted the omegas were simply too big a story to be hidden. “I won’t push it,” he’d promised, “but if it takes off on its own, I’ll have to jump on board.”
It had. And he did.
All the exciting stuff was at the core. Stars crammed together like commuters on a train. Giant jets. Black holes. Astronomers had been arguing for centuries about details at the center. It was the big boiling point for the galaxy, the Cauldron.
This was the time when the term came into wide use. They’re going into the Cauldron.
God knows what’s being cooked up.
The Texas Rangers, a popular singing group of the period, even came up with a song, “The Cookpot Blues,” which went right to the head of the charts.
Hutch would have discouraged it had she been able. It was the wrong image.
The reporters loved the story and kept it alive. They even covered the crash training program she underwent to get her license renewed.
Hutch was asked constantly whether they’d get close enough to see the central black hole?
No, she said.
That was a pity. You go all that way and don’t get to see the core.
Too much radiation, she explained.
Can’t you put more shielding on the ship? And what about the omegas? You keep denying the mission is about them. But aren’t they the real reason you’re making the flight?
That last question surfaced at every press conference, at every appearance.
Well, she said, we’ll probably take a look, see what it’s about. If we get time. Mostly what we want is to demonstrate that the new star drive can manage this type of initiative.
Yes. Initiative. That doesn’t sound dangerous. Have to be careful how you respond to these things.
SHE TREATED HERSELF to some new clothes for the flight. In the old days, she’d have been running around in one of those jumpsuit uniforms that made her look like a boy. Not this time. She might have to perform as pilot, but she was not going back into uniform.
The people at Orion, at the signing ceremony that handed the McAdams to the Foundation, suggested to Rudy that he was making a mistake allowing her on the bridge. “It’s not that they don’t trust you,” Matt told her over dinner the following night at Max’s German Restaurant on Wisconsin Avenue. “They’re just concerned because you’ve been inactive for so long. They think you should step down.”
“I’ve requalified,” she said.
“I know. And I have complete confidence in you.” That comment irritated her more than the advice from Orion.
“Then what’s the problem?”
“That you haven’t kept up. You’ve done it all at Dawson.” That was the center in Ohio where pilots could requalify virtually. It made no practical difference whether you sat in the VR carrier or took something out to Vega, but you couldn’t always explain that to the world’s bureaucrats.
“So what are you telling me?” she asked, unable to keep the edge from her voice.
“I was just passing it along.”
“Good. Fine. For the record, Matt, if Rudy wants me to walk away from this, all he has to do is say something and I will.”
“No. No, please. That’s not what I meant at all.”
“Then what—?”
“I just wanted to be sure you were comfortable.”
“I was.”
“Okay.” He took a deep breath and cleared his throat. Now that we’ve got that out of the way: “Do you care which ship you run?”
“The Preston.” It was older. Like her. And more familiar.
“Okay. By the way, did you hear Antonio’s coming along again?”
“No,” she said. “Worldwide is going to let him do it?”
“He says nobody else wants the job. Big story or not, seven or eight months inside a ship doesn’t appeal to the other reporters. At least that’s what Antonio says.”
JON REPORTED PROGRESS on targeting. “On an initial jump, we’ll always miss our destination by a substantial amount,” he said, “because we’re covering such enormous distances. But we should be able to do a second TDI and get reasonably close.” The Transdimensional Interface was official terminology for a jump. “We’ll also have a hypercomm.”
He and
Matt went out in the Preston, took it to Jupiter, an eye blink, and then to Uranus, another eye blink. In both cases they got within four hundred thousand klicks of the target. On short range it was as good as the Hazeltine. Actually, a bit better.
ON A BLEAK, unseasonably cold day in early November, they sat down in the Foundation conference room to plan the mission. The walls were covered with star charts and pictures of superluminals gliding through starlit skies.
The Mordecai Zone was hidden behind vast agglomerations of dust, enormous clouds, some measuring in the light-years, orbiting the galactic core. For all they knew, the source of the omegas might be located in the center of a cloud. Or in a cluster of artificial modules. Who knew?
“We have a maximum range of about seven thousand light-years on a jump,” Jon explained. “Maybe a bit more. Again, it’s hard to be certain until we try. That means we’ll have to make some stops. We could just go in a straight line, or we could do some sightseeing en route.”
Sightseeing. That caught Rudy’s attention. “What did you have in mind?”
“We thought maybe the Wild Duck Cluster,” said Matt. “Lot of stars, jammed together. The skies would be spectacular.”
Jon nodded. “There’s a microquasar, too. It’s a little bit out of the way, but it might be interesting, up close.”
Rudy chuckled. “I don’t think you’d want to get too close.” He glanced at Hutch. “What about you, Priscilla?”
“Me?” She smiled. “There is a place I’d like to visit.”
“And where’s that?”
“It’s not out of the way.”
“Okay,” said Matt, inviting her to finish.
“It would be an opportunity to solve a mystery.”
“What mystery?” asked Matt.
“The chindi.”
“Oh, yes. You were part of that, too, weren’t you?”
She tried to look modest. “I’m still limping from that one.” The chindi was an automated sublight ship that moved from system to system, apparently looking for civilizations and God knew what else. Where it found a target, it left stealth satellites to observe and record. The ship itself was enormous, far and away the largest artificial object she’d seen (unless you counted omega clouds as being artificial). As well as constructing a vast communications network, it also collected artifacts and served as a traveling museum.
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