Starhawk (A Priscilla Hutchins Novel)

by McDevitt, Jack

  “Okay,” she said. “Thanks.”

  She went online and did a search. The problem on Selika was that the atmospheric oxygen level was only about 16 percent. Earth-based life likes it at 21 percent. So it had become necessary to increase the content. They were doing it by placing the kelp in the oceans. The superalgae grew fast and began producing oxygen immediately. The kelp has large broad leaves that serve as bladders, which protect the superalgae. It also has leaves that do photosynthesis and thereby support the metabolism.

  Well, okay. She’d take their word that it actually worked.

  She called Broderick. “How’s the security on the Venture? Are we sure there won’t be a bomb on board?”

  “Yes, Priscilla.” He let her see that he was being patient with her. “No need to worry. We’ve put very good security in place. We are certainly not going to permit a second incident. And we’ll go over the ship again before you leave.” He smiled. Nothing to worry about.

  * * *

  SHE WASN’T ESPECIALLY sleepy, so she went down to look at the Venture. A security station had been set up. They wouldn’t even let her on board without a second call to the Kosmik watch officer.

  The ship had been connected to feeder lines, and the kelp-algae mix was being pumped into storage tanks belowdecks.

  She stood at the dock for several minutes, admiring the vehicle, its smooth silver hull, the pair of slotted wings that would allow her to maneuver in an atmosphere if necessary, the sleek bridge wraparound, the arrow-shaped prow. And, most of all, the twin engines, mounted on either side of the hull. Dream come true.

  She went inside and checked out the passenger cabin. It was about the same size as the one on the Copperhead, but it was more luxurious, with leather chairs and walnut bulkheads. Not bad. It had four individual cabins, a washroom, and a workout area.

  And, finally, she went onto the bridge. She’d been saving it for last. Or pretending it wasn’t all that big a deal. She wasn’t sure which. Lights were moving out in the dome. A work crew. The bridge was dark save for a single lamp on the control panel. She sat down in the pilot’s seat.

  “Lily,” she said, addressing the AI, “hello.” The ship remained silent. “You’re not activated yet, are you?”

  She listened to the low hum of the life-support system.

  Top of the world.

  * * *

  WHEN SHE ARRIVED next morning, they were loading food and equipment. She went inside, picked a sleeping cabin, and stored her bags. She came back out and found Broderick entering through the air lock as the last of the techs left. Two security guards were with him, carrying what she presumed were bomb detectors. “All right, gentlemen,” he said, “it’s all yours.”

  One of the guards descended into the cargo area, the other went aft. “All set, Priscilla?” Broderick asked, lowering himself into a seat.

  “I will be in a few minutes,” she said.

  “Good. We’re going to be working together, so you might as well call me Howard.”

  “All right, Howard.”

  “And you can relax. I don’t bite.”

  “I’m aware of that.” His manner was relentlessly formal. Not an easy guy to take on a first-name basis. She was glad he wasn’t coming along.

  “You know how to get to Selika?”

  “Yes, Howard.” She made no effort to keep the annoyance out of her voice.

  “I’m just kidding.”

  “I know.”

  “Okay. You should get back here several days before the ceremony. But don’t push it, okay? I suggest you don’t stay out there to visit the way some of our people do.”

  “Okay.”

  “And don’t forget you’ll be bringing Dr. Wolf back with you.”

  “Sure. Is she okay?”

  “She’s fine. Just wants to come home.”

  “Anything else?”

  “That’s about it. And, Priscilla, I appreciate your willingness to take this on at short notice. I know we interrupted your plans. But I won’t forget.” He got to his feet. “Enjoy your trip. And I’ll see you when you get back.”

  They shook hands. His grip was firm and somehow encouraging. A smile flickered across those thick lips. Then he turned and left.

  Fifteen minutes later, the two security guys told her the ship was clean. Then they, too, departed. She closed the air lock, did a quick inventory, and went onto the bridge.

  Time to get started. She put on her cap, squared her shoulders, grinned at her own exaggerated sense of accomplishment, and sat down in the captain’s chair. “Ready to go, Lily?”

  “Yes, indeed, Captain. At your pleasure.”

  “Very well.” Priscilla leaned over the mike. “Ops,” she said, “this is the Venture.” She smiled. “Ready to move.”

  A male voice responded: “Very good, Venture. There’s nothing in the neighborhood. We’re opening the launch doors now. Depart at leisure.”

  “Roger that.”

  She sat quietly for a few moments. Unlike the Copperhead, Venture did not have shielded ports. She could actually see outside. The docking area, illuminated by sunlight, was big, large enough to accommodate eight vehicles.

  My first solo. “Ready to go, Lily?”

  “Whenever you are, Priscilla.”

  They were facing into the docking area, so she’d have to back out.

  A couple of guys in chocolate-brown work suits, protected from the void by Flickinger fields, were outside moving boxes from one storage unit to another. They turned toward her to watch. She paused, enjoying the moment before giving her first order as a ship’s captain: “Lily, start engines.”

  She heard the low rumble as they came to life.

  “Release the lines.”

  Lights blinked on the control panel, and she felt a slight tremor as the magnetics shut down and the Venture began to drift away from the dock. “Lines released, Priscilla.”

  She pulled her harness down over her shoulders. “Activate forward thrusters, Lily. Back us out.”

  The dome’s vast curved interior began to move past.

  God, this felt so good. She was tempted to take the ship out herself, but standard protocol leaving the station was to turn everything over to the AI. So she did.

  Somebody behind one of the observation ports waved. Priscilla would have liked to blink her lights, but that would have been unprofessional. Not that anyone would have taken offense, but she would have known. It was time to play the role.

  Only one other ship was present: the Baumbachner, lying dark and inert on the far side of the port. She watched it pass out of view as they approached the launch doors. The Venture moved through into the void. Lily waited the requisite six minutes. Priscilla adjusted course toward the target star, 107 Piscium. Then she fired the engines and began to accelerate.

  Forty-eight minutes later, with the Earth and Moon both dominating the sky behind her, the Venture jumped into transdimensional space.

  * * *

  IT WOULD BE a long ride out to Selika. Eight days submerged, and another two or three days after arrival to get to the world itself. At least, this time, she had ports and a wraparound that weren’t blocked by shielding. That was the good news. Unfortunately, there was nothing outside save the dark mist, which moved slowly past. The Venture could easily have been traveling at about two knots.

  Located in the direction of the constellation Pisces, 107 Piscium was an orange-red main-sequence star. It was about six billion years old. The planetary system consisted of two gas giants and two rocky worlds, one of which was two billion kilometers from the sun, frozen beyond any possibility of life.

  The other rocky world was Selika. It was in a Goldilocks situation, orbiting at a range that provided a temperate climate. The name derived from Roger Selika, the billionaire explorer, who’d designed and built his own ship and had been fir
st to arrive in the system. He was rewarded by the discovery of what was then, other than Earth, only the fourth known living world.

  The ship’s library was loaded with material about the planet, pictures of vast forests and broad prairies, of rolling hills and jungles with vegetative growths that looked like nothing she’d ever seen. There were beautiful images of inordinately high mountains, broad oceans, and a snow-covered landscape, often illuminated by two or three of Selika’s moons. And of a swirling chaotic surf, its confusion probably caused by the multiple satellites.

  Priscilla was intrigued by the animated vegetation. It was somewhat disorienting when she first looked at it, vines and branches and sometimes even stems that stretched and weaved and literally reached out for her. And the animals: Some looked lethal: creatures that might have been crocodiles walking on two legs, others with large claws and feline grace bearing a resemblance to tigers except that they, too, were bipedal. And there was something that seemed to look out of a web of six tentacles with eyes that were eerily human. That was the sexapod. Somebody had shown a sense of humor. The sexapod was by far the most chilling creature Priscilla had ever seen. She couldn’t help noticing that none of these monsters had shown up in Leon Carlson’s appeal. After she’d turned off the sexapods, which had watched her as holograms from the other side of the passenger cabin, she found herself listening for strange sounds elsewhere in the ship.

  Enough of that. She took to concentrating on friendlier animals. And there were plenty. Some looked as if they would indeed have made exquisite household pets. Furry, cuddly creatures that would nuzzle you, that would want to share a bed with you.

  * * *

  WHEN SHE’D BEEN on the qualification flight with, first, Harry Everett, and then Jake, they’d watched a lot of HV. They’d enjoyed concerts, watched episodes from the new Sherlock Holmes series, and laughed at the antics of Venable High, which recorded the adventures of the students at a private girls’ school who, definitely, were not to be taken lightly. “Here at Venable High,” the headmistress said at a graduation ceremony, “we expect that anyone who underestimates our young ladies will pay an appropriate price.”

  Jake had set the shows up to portray Priscilla in the role of Maggie, one of the more aggressive students, and himself as Charles, the inept local police chief, who was terrified of the girls. In her favorite episode, a few gangsters make the mistake of kidnapping two boyfriends and holding them for ransom. The police are effectively helpless, but the thugs have no chance against the girls, led by an outraged Maggie.

  When she’d finished her research, she decided to go back to Venable High. But she became quickly bored. It should have come as no surprise. Priscilla had never been much interested in watching HV or going to the theater alone. She needed company to make entertainment work. Though maybe she had an option. “Lily?”

  “Yes, Priscilla?”

  “Would you be interested in watching a show this afternoon?”

  “Absolutely. What did you have in mind?”

  She thought her best bet was to find something that would be intellectually challenging for Lily. “How about The Broken Seal?” she said. “It’s a murder mystery.”

  “That sounds good.”

  She put it on. Grant Seagal was a homicide detective who always seemed overmatched by the killer. But the killer’s tendency to underestimate the inspector inevitably proved his undoing. The audience always knew from the start who had committed the murder, and it never took Seagal long to figure it out. The suspense always lay in discovering how the detective would establish the truth.

  The Broken Seal was a good show. But watching it with an AI who was effectively invisible turned out to be not much different from watching it alone. Priscilla stayed with it, but she was glad when it ended.

  * * *

  IN THE MORNING, she had breakfast in her pajamas and sat down on the bridge and gazed out at the mists. She played a couple of games of chess with Lily, and, when the eggs and toast had settled, got into her workout gear and did her daily physical routine. Then she went looking for a book and came up with a collection of plays by Jason Woodwell, the celebrated dramatist whose career had spanned the early years of the century. She decided to try Square Pegs, in which a pair of government workers decide to opt for honesty and efficiency and discover there’s an innate danger in an effective bureaucracy. She could read it, or watch it, as she preferred. She didn’t feel much like watching another show, so she stayed with the book version.

  “Lily,” she said, “I need some music.”

  “What would you prefer, Priscilla?”

  “Rachmaninoff,” she said.

  “Are you serious?” Lily sounded shocked.

  “Yes. Why, is that a problem?”

  “You seem rather young to have a taste for classical music.”

  “Put him on the piano,” she said. “Nobody’s better.”

  “How loud do you want it?”

  “Keep it soft. It’s for background.” And she started on the first act.

  * * *

  THEN SHE READ Paper Tiger, another Woodwell play, a political drama that had won the Americus Award. It had been one of her assignments in college, but Priscilla had not been able to get past the first act. This time she enjoyed it thoroughly. Background music came from Joel Martin, the string guitarist who had brought in a new era a few years back with his light-speed rhythms. She read Woodwell’s other plays as well, Firelight, Taking the Plunge, Gift Horse, The Last Virgin, Harmony Island, and kept going, usually at a rate of two per day. She also read several of his essays, which weren’t as much fun as the plays, but they were interesting and helped pass the time.

  She talked about her reactions with Lily, who showed, of course, a complete familiarity with Woodwell’s work. And that was the problem. She knew all the facts but didn’t really grasp what the plays were about. She did not understand why, for example, characters would want to cling to belief systems not supported by evidence. Unlike people, Lily had no fear of being turned off. Or proven wrong.

  Each morning, Priscilla arrived on the bridge, asked Lily if anything had changed since the previous night, heard the negative response, and went back to the passenger cabin, where she had breakfast. Two hours later she was in the workout area. She hadn’t expected to miss Jake as much as she did. Or miss having somebody on board. Thank God, she thought, for Monika Wolf.

  * * *

  PRISCILLA’S JOURNAL

  This is the first time I’ve been out here by myself. I thought I understood about the solitude, when I was alone with a few other cadets, or with Jake. But when there’s actually nobody else in the ship, nobody within light-years, it takes on a whole new aspect. I can’t help wondering whether, eventually, being alone under these conditions might not have a deleterious effect on emotional stability.

  —December 5, 2195

  Chapter 18

  JAKE WAS SITTING with Alicia at Burstein’s German Restaurant in Roanoke, enjoying sauerbraten and red cabbage, when she surprised him. “Are you doing anything tomorrow evening?” she asked.

  “Well,” he said, “I can’t say I have any plans that can’t be broken. Why? What’s going on?”

  “I was wondering if you’d be interested in watching a basketball game?”

  That sounded as if she had a nephew or someone playing for one of the local high schools. The prospect of spending two hours watching teenagers run up and down the court wasn’t exactly appealing. “Who’s playing?” he asked, making no real effort to hide his feelings.

  She delivered a mischievous smile. “I am.”

  “You are?”

  “I play for the Christiansburg Hawks. We’re playing Pulaski tomorrow evening.”

  “I didn’t know you were a basketball player.”

  She produced a ticket and held it out for him. “It’s at the Pulaski Recreation Center. If
you’re interested.”

  “Sure,” he said. “I love watching beautiful women play basketball.”

  * * *

  THEY DROVE OVER in Jake’s car. “I don’t usually start,” she said.

  “They put you in when the game’s on the line.”

  “Right. You should also know that the Jets—that’s the Pulaski team—are in first place.”

  “And you guys are right behind them?”

  “I wish. No, we’re down in the middle of the pack.”

  “Well, knock this crew over, and I’ll treat for drinks afterward.”

  “How about if we don’t knock them over?”

  “That’s not exactly a championship attitude, Alicia.”

  She laughed. “Call it reality.”

  Maybe it would be just what he needed, now that he had a second death to feel guilty about. He was trying to persuade himself Leon’s suicide wasn’t his fault, either. It wasn’t. Not really. But had he met his responsibility and turned him over to the Feds, he’d still be alive.

  “You okay?” asked Alicia.

  “I’m fine.” He hadn’t told her about Leon’s visit, hadn’t told anyone. He’d hated Leon after he found out he was the culprit. He’d never forget those terrible hours on the Copperhead while they waited for news of the Thompson. And the moment when he’d stood silent while Joshua went down to the cargo bay. Nobody had actually confronted him about that. Even Patricia had ducked. Or tried to. But she’d been the one who had framed the words that had cut him so deeply: “To be clear, nobody’s blaming you for what happened.”

  Leon’s body remained in the hands of the FBI. His church refused to provide a memorial ceremony because he’d died by his own hand. (Apparently it had been an overdose of some kind.) But his family announced there would be a farewell event at a veterans’ club in Vineland, New Jersey.

  He was thinking about attending. It was ridiculous. But he wanted to go. Maybe, he thought, it would give him some release from the dark shadows that haunted his nights. Leon, the Leon who’d been a friend for more than fifteen years, would not have deliberately harmed anyone. And he could not forget the desperation of that visit the day before he’d ended it. There was, in the end, no way he could not attend. “No, Alicia,” he said, “I’m fine. Couldn’t be better.”