Five passengers and the captain of the Vigilant, which disappeared without a trace during a mission to Aldebaran.
William Kostner, lost near VanMaanen’s Star. And Leonard McCutcheon, only twenty-five when he’d died during a lightning strike while trying to get his crew to safety.
There was space for more names, for heroes yet to come. She imagined Priscilla Hutchins listed there. When the Buckner Asteroid hit the Wheel, she stayed behind so others could live.
She stopped by the Galileo Fountain. Benches circled the area, and she sat for a while, listening to the sound of the water, and of the wind in the trees.
* * *
THE ACADEMY OFFICES were located inside the Volcker Building. She walked into a lobby. An AI greeted her and asked her business. “My name’s Hutchins,” she said. “I’d like to speak with someone about obtaining a position with the Academy Project.”
“May I ask specifically which type of position you’re seeking, Ms. Hutchins?”
“I’m an interstellar pilot.”
“One moment, please. You may sit if you wish.”
She settled onto a divan. Framed photos of unworldly landscapes and gleaming interstellars filled the walls. Two windows looked out over the campus. Music was playing in the background, a tune Priscilla remembered from her childhood.
Then a small, middle-aged man with a smile appeared. The smile didn’t reach his eyes, which told her immediately how this would end. “Ms. Hutchins,” he said, “I’m glad to meet you. My name’s Barkley. Why don’t you come on back for a minute?”
He led the way down the corridor and ushered her into a modest office. More interstellar pictures on the walls, and a photo on a desk of Barkley, a woman, and three kids.
They sat down on a couple of plastic chairs, and he asked if she would like some coffee. She passed, and he nodded. “I understand you’d like to sign on with us as a pilot.”
“That’s right,” she said. “I’d like very much to work for the Academy.”
“Yes. Of course.” The smile faded. “I wish I could offer you some encouragement, Ms. Hutchins. Unfortunately, we only have three full-time pilots. Occasionally, we pick up someone else for a special mission, but we just don’t have a regular position open at the moment. I’ll be happy to add you to our list of applicants. If—when there’s an opening, we’ll get in touch with you.”
* * *
ANOTHER OF THOSE who’d received accreditation with her, Mukarram Fakhouri, had been picked up by Celestial Transit. Two of the cadets had signed on with United Transport, one had replaced her with Kosmik, and one was still looking. Priscilla was already on United Transport’s list of hopefuls. She sent copies of her résumé to Celestial and to the Stellar Express. And that was it. There was no other corporate entity operating off the Wheel. Stellar Express called her in for an interview, and they actually seemed optimistic at first, but they, like Stargate, apparently just needed time to check the record. They declined without explaining why.
She was sitting in the Skyview on that final evening before the licensing ceremony, finishing off a dish of strawberries and listening to recorded piano music, when Frank Irasco came in, spotted her, and walked over. Irasco was the assistant director of Union Operations. “Mind if I join you, Priscilla?”
“Sure, Mr. Irasco. How are you doing?”
“I’m fine, thanks. How about you?”
“I’m okay.” She didn’t like Irasco. He always looked as if he understood quite clearly that he was superior to everybody else in the room. Mostly, it was the smug smile and the eyes. Despite his short stature, he always seemed to be looking down at you. Jake hadn’t liked him, either. But at the moment, she could use a friend.
“I heard what happened over at Kosmik,” he said. “Have you signed on with anyone else yet?”
“No, I haven’t.”
Irasco ordered coffee and a grilled salmon dinner. Then he turned back to Priscilla. “I assume you know that we’re being sued.”
“The Space Authority? No, I wasn’t aware of that. Why?”
“Joshua’s wife. She wants twenty million. It’s a waste of her time, of course.”
“I would think so. Her husband worked for Kosmik.”
“She’s suing them, too.”
“Why is she after the WSA?”
“She thinks our response time was too slow.”
“We got there as quickly as we could.”
“She has a point, though. We responded with the closest ship. That was you. We should have sent out something with more capacity. Something that could have taken everyone off. The Kruger could have done that.”
“But would it have gotten there in time to evacuate them before the Gremlin went down?”
“Well, that’s the problem. It probably would have. If it hadn’t, we’d be getting sued for not sending the closer vehicle. In fact, we should have sent both. The truth is that we screwed up. But in any case, the legal action’s a waste of time.”
“Why?”
“There’s a no-liability clause. It’s in everybody’s contract. So she won’t get anything. But when it’s all over, we’re not going to look very competent. That’s why she’s doing it.”
Priscilla sighed. “I’m sorry to hear it.”
His coffee arrived. It was, of course, in a cup designed to accommodate the centripetal swing of the station. He tasted it. “I have an offer for you, Priscilla. I need a staff assistant. You know your way around here pretty well. It doesn’t pay much, and you probably won’t get off the station, but you’ll be close by if something develops.”
She hesitated. “Mr. Irasco, did you see the Leon Carlson statement?”
He nodded. “I saw it. Terrible thing, that. I still can’t believe it.”
“Is he right? Is the WSA complicit?”
“You mean about helping Kosmik? Of course it’s true. That’s why we’re here. Our job is to assist anybody who’s traveling off-world. That’s the whole point of our existence. As long as they’re not breaking the law, we are bound to do what we can to help.”
“Regardless of what they’re doing?”
His eyes closed, and he shook his head. “Priscilla, we aren’t empowered to make ethical judgments.” He looked suddenly tired, and she realized he’d been having this conversation on a regular basis since Carlson went viral. “Look, we have no choice in these things. What they’re doing does not break any laws. Until they do, we can’t refuse to assist them.”
“Okay,” she said.
“Now, let me ask you again: Would you like to work for us?”
“Mr. Irasco, I appreciate the offer, but I’m not sure I’d be a good fit for a staff job.”
“Priscilla, I want a backup pilot. Somebody who can jump into a ship and get things done if there’s a problem. We’ve been taking a beating because we don’t have that capability. It doesn’t look very good when the Authority has an emergency, and we don’t have a pilot available.”
“Mr. Irasco, you don’t have a ship available.”
“Call me Frank. And sure we have a ship available. We have the Bomb.” Priscilla couldn’t resist a tolerant smile. The Baumbachner was a maintenance vehicle. It had a Hazeltine drive, but it was ancient. And it was the ugliest ship in service. “Jake tells us you’re pretty good. Understand, you probably won’t really be going anywhere. Maybe to Moonbase once in a while. Or out to L2. The reality is we almost never have any emergencies. Despite this recent series of events. But I want to be able to say that at least we have a pilot ready if we need one. Mostly, what you’ll be doing is sitting in front of a computer. And we’re going to set you up to do some tours, too. We don’t have those yet, but we want to start them.”
“Tours of what, Frank? The solar system?”
“The space station. If you can live with that, and the possibility of being on hand to respon
d to an emergency, we’d be happy to offer you a position.”
* * *
PRISCILLA’S JOURNAL
It’s an office job. But I guess I’m going to have to take what I can get. I just never would have believed that I’d wind up sitting behind a desk on the Wheel. Tomorrow, I’ll take a picture of the Baumbachner and send it to Jake. With my love.
—December 21, 2195
Chapter 22
PRISCILLA CALLED HOME that evening—it was midafternoon in Princeton—to let her mother know she had picked up a staff job. Mom tried to sound enthusiastic, but what came through was relief that her daughter wouldn’t be hanging out near black holes. “At least,” she said, “you’ve got something. I’m happy for you.” She passed the news to someone else. Then: “You know, I’ve never been excited about any of this, Priscilla. But in the end, I can’t believe you won’t get everything you want.”
The following morning she reported to the Yuri Gagarin Ballroom at the Starlight to receive her certification. She wore the blue-and-silver uniform of an Authority pilot but without the symbolic rocket clip. She joined the other five cadets, who were seated on a small stage. They constituted the year’s entire class of newly minted interstellar pilots. There was an audience of about sixty-five people, mostly parents and family members.
Jake showed up for the ceremony, not wearing a uniform even though he was entitled to do so. He sat down in the rear. When their eyes met, he gave her a thumbs-up. Moments later, she was shocked when her mother came in, accompanied by Uncle Phil, Cousin Ed, and his bride, Miriam. Incredible! How on earth had they gotten Mom onto the shuttle? It was probably a good thing Miriam was there in case she passed out. But her mother looked as happy as Priscilla could remember ever having seen her. They raised their hands in guarded waves. Priscilla returned a smile.
Then, finally, Patricia McCoy entered, swept down the aisle, mounted the stage, and took her place behind the lectern.
Patricia provided a tall, smooth, commanding presence. “Ladies and gentlemen,” she said, “welcome to the twenty-first certification ceremony of the World Space Authority. Today, we will recognize those who have qualified during the past six months as interstellar pilots. These are the people who will literally take us to the stars.” She glanced at the cadets, seated to her right. “Our future lies on other worlds, places where no one has walked, places that, at this time, no one has yet seen. These young women and men will show us the way.” She described qualities needed to pilot interstellars and stated that the six cadets on the stage had demonstrated those qualities. She went on in that vein for several minutes.
Jake remained expressionless throughout, his eyes seemingly gazing at another place.
“When we talk about the cosmos,” Patricia said, “we don’t know how far, in the end, we’ll be able to go. But we can be certain that as long as we continue to produce young men and women like these, the road lies open.” She looked across the stage at the candidates. “Please stand and raise your right hands.”
They got up and raised their hands.
“Repeat after me.” The audience leaned forward as one. Mom’s eyes touched hers. “I solemnly swear to abide by the code of conduct prescribed in the official statutes.”
Priscilla, with the others, delivered the line and waited.
“To use all due care to maintain the ship entrusted to me and to complete the mission.”
Again, they followed the lead.
“And especially to make every effort to ensure the safety of the passengers and crew who are given over to my care.”
When they’d finished, the room was silent for a few moments. Then Patricia said, “The pilots may be seated. We will now present the certificates.” That brought a stirring in the audience. “Visitors will please hold their applause until we are done.” She reached down and produced a scroll. “Carlos Ashwan.” He was from Vera Cruz. “Carlos, please come forward.”
She handed him the scroll and the rocket pin that designated his grade, and shook his hand. “Congratulations, Captain Ashwan. Make us proud.”
He accepted the document and returned to his seat.
“Mukarram Fakhouri.” Patricia waited with a smile while he approached. “Perform to your capabilities, Captain Fakhouri, and all will be well.”
Priscilla knew she was next. She tensed.
“Priscilla Hutchins.”
She stood, went to the lectern, and accepted her scroll.
“Thank you,” Priscilla said.
Patricia nodded. “Captain Hutchins,” she said, “continue as you’ve begun.”
When the ceremony had ended, her mom, Uncle Phil, and Ed engulfed her. Miriam smiled her approval. They presented her with a diamond necklace in honor of the occasion. Eventually, Jake also got to her. “Congratulations, kid,” he said. “Enjoy yourself. And call me if you need anything.”
* * *
THE CELEBRATION HAD barely begun when the whispering started. Priscilla was sitting with her family when Carlos came over. “You hear about it yet?” he asked.
“Hear about what?”
“The news reports. They’ve got more stuff about the animals.”
There was an HV in the ballroom. Mack Keever, one of the network anchors, was running images of alien creatures, some fur-bearing, some reptilian, many with feathers, all with eyes that somehow connected them with the animals one might see in a shelter. Except that these were dying.
“It’s all over the Internet,” Keever said. “And it’s not only animals.” They switched over to desiccated forests. “This is what we’re doing on other worlds.”
* * *
PRISCILLA’S JOURNAL
This was the day I’ve been looking forward to as long as I can remember. I’d expected it would be the happiest day of my life. It has been happy. But there’s a shadow over it.
—December 22, 2195
Chapter 23
THEY PARTIED INTO the night. Mom had a glorious time, Uncle Phil drank a little too much, and Ed turned an ankle trying to dance in the near-nonexistent gravity. Miriam formed what would turn out to be a lifetime friendship with Denise Peifer, Drake’s sister.
Meantime, Preacher Brawley took Priscilla aside and told her he understood she didn’t have quite the position she’d hoped for. “But Jake has told me about you. Just be patient, Priscilla. Your day is coming.”
Jake had gone missing.
They spent the next several days on the Wheel, sightseeing, hitting the restaurants and gift shops, and touring the launch bay. When the Exeter arrived on Christmas Eve, carrying tourists who’d been looking at one of the monuments—Priscilla was so caught up in the celebration that she didn’t pay any attention to which one it had been—they had front-row seats. Mom especially liked Skyview, and said it was the wildest place for hamburgers she’d ever seen. And, finally, it was time to go back to Princeton. Priscilla went with them.
She was still on the shuttle when Wally Brinkman called. “Congratulations,” he said. Wally had sent chocolates to her at the Starlight. “I was hoping we could get together when you get home. I’d love to see you again.”
“Sure,” she said. “I’d enjoy that.”
“How about we do dinner, then go to the Corel? They’re doing Midnight Special.” Live theater. Midnight Special had been a major hit a half century earlier. The Corel featured an amateur troupe, but they were good. “Absolutely,” she said.
* * *
TWO NIGHTS LATER they were headed for the theater, with a stopover at Maroni’s Italian Restaurant, where she treated herself to a fettuccini alfredo. Then it was off to watch the show. She’d seen Midnight Special performed when she was in college. It hadn’t exactly been the laugh riot her teacher had promised, but it was okay. Maybe, she thought as she and Wally took their seats near the front, it would work a bit better tonight.
One
of the lead characters, Mark Klaybold, is a public relations guy who takes special pride in his ability to create markets for worthless products. He generally has his way with women until he meets Amanda, with whom he falls in love. Amanda, however, finds it impossible to take him seriously as anything other than a scam artist. “The world is all about perception,” Mark tells her when they first meet. “If you can get people to believe something, anything, that makes it true.”
They were only a few minutes into the first act, though, when her mind began wandering. How long would it take her to get a serious position? Could she talk her way into the Academy Project within the next year or so? Occasionally, she tuned the show back in, laughed at Mark’s fumbling efforts to persuade Amanda he sincerely loved her. That she could trust him not to lie.
Despite everything, Mark was a likable character, a charmer, good-looking, but constantly overreaching. Constantly in trouble. He meant well but even when he tried to be honest, communication breakdowns left him looking not only deceitful but clumsy.
* * *
THE TRADITION AT the Corel was that, after the performance, the cast lined up outside to shake hands and talk with the patrons. It was, for Priscilla, a major part of the show, meeting the people who’d been onstage. She’d envied her classmates in high school and college who’d participated in the theater programs. She would have loved to play Erica in All for Love or Maureen in Moonbase. Any of the romantic roles in the school shows. But the prospect of memorizing a part and getting out in front of the curtains without forgetting her lines and making a fool of herself overwhelmed her. No. It was never going to happen. And it never had.
So she smiled pleasantly at the director, and at each of the six actors, congratulating them and telling them how well they’d performed. From her perspective, if you got through without blowing the material, you’d done all that could be expected.
Mark had been played by a young man whose name was Calvin Hartlett. Somehow, the good looks that carried Mark to his various conquests had disappeared. He was tall, with brown hair and gray eyes. But offstage and out of the lighting, he looked rather ordinary. Maybe it was that the energy had drained out of him. He was at the end of the line, with his leading lady. Priscilla smiled at them. “Nice performance, guys.”
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