Odyssey к-5

by Джек Макдевитт

“Okay.”

  “She wants to see the lander.” The lander from the Shanghai was on display at the far end of the courtyard. It gleamed in the sunlight.

  AMY HAD BROWN hair combed into bangs and wide brown eyes and restless energy and a smile that was both charming and unsteady. Hutch felt sorry for her. Growing up with the senator would not be easy. What she knew of him suggested he wasn’t flexible enough for parenting, and the wife had taken off years ago with somebody. Another political figure, but she didn’t recall whom.

  “Good to see you guys,” Taylor said, with a hearty handshake. Quick smile in Hutch’s direction, but his eyes leveled on Asquith. “Pretty scary with the Heffernan, Mike. What’s the latest?”

  “We haven’t heard anything yet, Senator. We’ll have a couple of ships arriving in the area tomorrow to look for them.”

  “But you really don’t know where they are?”

  “Not for certain, no.”

  “How’d it happen?”

  “We don’t know that either. Yet. But we’re on top of it. I’ll keep you informed.”

  “Old ships,” said Hutch, as Amy joined them.

  Taylor turned a quizzical look in her direction. “You’re telling me they’re a hazard?”

  “The commissioner has ordered them grounded,” she said. Asquith studied the tops of the trees.

  “When were you going to tell me, Mike?” he asked.

  The commissioner smiled. One of those smiles you get from a guy who’s just fallen off his cycle and is telling you he’s okay, it’s not as bad as it looks. “Senator, it’s one of the reasons I was glad you decided to come by today.”

  Taylor let them see he was surprised that they might have defective ships. Then he shrugged. It was of no consequence. “Priscilla,” he said, “this is my daughter Amy. Amy is quite an admirer of yours.”

  The child blushed and squirmed. “It’s nice to meet you, Ms. Hutchins. I’ve read all about you.”

  Hutch took her hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Amy. And my friends call me Hutch.”

  Amy’s smile widened. “I was reading Janet Allegri’s book about you.”

  “The Engines of God.”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s not really about me, Amy. It’s about the omegas.”

  “And Quraqua. I’d like to go there someday.”

  It was a world of ruins. She recalled how they’d looked in the moonlight. She’d been young then, only a few years older than Amy. Most of the ruins were gone, swallowed by the terraforming effort, begun and later abandoned when it got too expensive, and things went wrong. “How much do you know about Quraqua, Amy?”

  “I’ve seen the holos. But it would be different actually to go there. To touch some of those places.” She took a deep breath. “I’m going to be a pilot.”

  “She doesn’t really want to do that,” the senator said, talking as if Amy had gone for a walk. “It’s too dangerous. And there’s no future in it.”

  “It’s not dangerous, Dad.”

  “Tell that to the people on the — what is it? — the Bannerman?”

  “The Heffernan, sir,” said Asquith.

  “Whatever. Anyhow, Amy, you’re young yet. We’ll see how things go.” He patted her on the shoulder. His expression suggested she was basically a good kid. Just a bit slow. “We’re planning law school for her.”

  Taylor’s first name was Hiram. He was tall and aristocratic. He didn’t so much have a Southern accent as a distinct Southern flavor emanating from an education at Yale or Harvard. His hair was darker than Amy’s, as was his smile. It lasted longer, though. In fact, it never really went away. It was as if the world always contained something that Taylor thought mildly amusing.

  Amy asked when Hutch had begun her piloting career, asked to see the lander, wanted to know what it felt like to walk on another world.

  Hutch saw a signal pass between the senator and Asquith. The commissioner relayed it to her and glanced toward the lander. A few tourists stood in a short line, waiting to go inside. “Come on, Amy,” Hutch said. “Let’s go take a look.”

  The girl led the way. They got into the line, and Hutch did not look back, but she knew they’d be talking seriously, or rather Taylor would and Asquith would be listening. It wasn’t hard to guess the way it was going, either. If you have to take the ships off-line, do it. We don’t want any more of these Heffernan things. The work’s just not that important.

  The Academy wasn’t high on the list of things the public was worried about. Taylor had presidential ambitions, and he was laying groundwork for the future. The environmental damage done over the past two centuries had been the major issue in the past several presidential campaigns. If you thought rising water was okay, that warm winters were temporary, and a wheat belt that kept heading north would correct itself, you could forget about the White House. Those days were long over. If you advocated spending money on frivolous causes, like the interstellar missions that never seemed to produce anything, you could be made to look irresponsible.

  The controls were roped off. Tourists were able to look into the cabin, try the seats, even bring the harness down to secure themselves. Hutch would have liked to bypass the lines, put the child in the pilot’s seat, let her touch the yoke, maybe even activate the AI so she could talk with it, but with people waiting it wouldn’t set a very good precedent.

  Maybe another time.

  WHEN SHE RETURNED Amy to her father, he looked pleased. The commissioner was nodding, a man in the process of accepting something he didn’t like. He was saying okay, we’ll do what we have to.

  The conversation stopped dead on their arrival. Hutch waited a moment, but no one spoke. Time to lighten the mood. “Senator,” she said, “if you’d like to bring Amy over sometime when things aren’t so rushed, I could take her on a personal tour. Better yet, if you like, I could even arrange to take her up to Union.”

  “That’s very kind of you, Hutch, but it’s really not necessary.”

  “I’d be happy to,” she said.

  He studied her, the smile still playing about his lips, pointless, as if he’d forgotten it was there. “Would you like to go to the space station, Amy?”

  Would she? Does the sun rise in the east? “Yes, Dad. Please. I’d love to go up there again.” And back to Hutch: “Would you really do that?”

  “Tell you what,” Hutch said. “I have a daughter, too. She’s a bit younger than you. But if you’ll help me keep an eye on her, we’ll all go. Okay?”

  Taylor thanked her. His flyer reappeared and descended onto the tarp. They climbed in while Amy waved. Hutch and the commissioner waved back, the door closed, and the vehicle lifted into the late-afternoon sun and circled out over the Potomac.

  “I think you’ve made a friend,” said Asquith.

  “Maybe a new pilot.” They started back. “How bad was it?”

  A shadow settled on his face. “It was pretty much what I expected. He’s not going to support us.”

  “No increase at all?”

  “Another cut. He says they need the money elsewhere.”

  “They waste enough on construction projects and military bases and naval vessels. When’s the last time anybody tried to threaten the NAU?”

  “I know, Hutch. You’re preaching to the choir.” He jammed his hands into his pockets. “He says we may be near the end of the interstellar program. Suggested I get my résumé ready.”

  The basic problem, she knew, was that the corporate effort intended to carry space exploration through the century had never happened. The corporations were there, but the only profits to be made came from government contracts. The sole exceptions were a couple of transport companies and Orion Tours.

  “You know,” he said, “none of this is going the way we thought it would forty years ago. Before your time, Hutch. Once the drive became available, we thought we were opening up the stars. That there’d be no stopping us.”

  It was a time when people assumed everyone would want to go out
and look at the Big Show, but transportation, even with Hazeltine technology, simply took too long. It wasn’t like a cruise to the Bahamas, where you could wander across the deck at night and enjoy the sounds of the ocean. Tourists were locked inside steel hulls. Shipboard VR was okay, but it was still VR, and they could do that at home. Everybody’s favorite was the Goompahs, the race we’d saved at Lookout. But Lookout was a couple thousand light-years away, and it took almost nine months to get there. It was three months to Rigel. Even nearby Betelgeuse, the destination of the Heffernan, was close to three weeks away.

  There was considerable interest in black holes. But none was known that could be reached inside a year. And these were all one-way numbers.

  There was a lot of talk about developing a better drive. Periodically, somebody announced a breakthrough, but it never seemed to lead anywhere. “You might want to start looking around for a new career yourself, Hutch,” Asquith said. “Maybe write your memoirs.”

  They started up the steps to the main entrance. She expected him to complain that she’d taken the initiative with the senator, but he said nothing about it. Maybe he’d had enough confrontation for one day.

  He stopped in front of the entrance. “Listen, Hutch, I appreciate what you tried to do back there. But it’s going to take a lot more than that.”

  “What I tried to do?” He was obviously not talking about grounding the fleet. “You mean Amy?”

  He nodded. “You were pretty good with her.”

  “For the record, Michael, it had nothing to do with politics.”

  LIBRARY ENTRY

  The current effort to reduce Academy funding can only accelerate with the Heffernan incident. Insiders have been reporting for years that the Academy’s ships are not safe. A decision will have to be made whether the interstellar program is to continue or be abandoned. We hope the Congress and the World Council will have the foresight to recognize that the human future lies in the stars, that they will not give in to those who want to spend the money on their own projects. We’ve seen only a very small piece of what Ory Kimonides calls The Far Shore. To conclude there’s nothing significant left to find, as some so-called experts are suggesting, would be terribly remiss.

  — Yokohama Calling, Monday, February 16

  chapter 6

  Idiots are not responsible for what they do. The real guilt falls on rational people who sit on their hands while the morons run wild. You can opt out if you want to. Play it safe. But if you do, don’t complain when the roof comes down.

  — Gregory MacAllister, “Ten Rules for a Happy Senility”

  Hutch stayed late in her office, ate almost nothing, thought about going home, finally called Tor and asked whether everything was all right. “Can you take care of Maureen tonight?”

  “Sure,” he said. “You’re not going to stay there all night, are you?”

  “The Wildside is due to hit the search area at about 0200. I want to be here when it does.”

  “You haven’t heard anything from them yet? From the Heffernan?”

  “No.”

  “That pretty much means they’re dead, doesn’t it?”

  “No. What it means is they don’t have a working hypercomm. That wouldn’t be a surprise if they’d lost their drive. But they should still be able to use the radio.”

  “What happens if you don’t hear a radio signal?”

  She didn’t want to think about it. “To be honest, Tor, I don’t expect to. At least not right away. The search area’s too big. I’m hoping we’ll get lucky.”

  “And if you don’t?”

  “We’ll keep looking until we do.”

  He took a deep breath. “You okay?”

  “Ask me after we find them.” There wasn’t really anything she could do here that she couldn’t do equally well from home. But this was where she should be.

  “Let me know if I can do anything, Love.”

  She kept him on for a while, to have someone to talk to. But eventually he had to get to Maureen, and Hutch was alone.

  She tried doing some work, then tried reading. She checked in with Peter to let him know where she was. He was putting in overtime, too. She switched on the VR and watched three people arguing politics.

  At around eleven she dimmed the lights and sank onto the couch. She’d just closed her eyes when she was startled by footsteps in the corridor. And a knock at the door. “You in there, Hutch?”

  It was Eric. She opened up, and he came in. With a box of brownies. “I saw the light and thought you could use some company.”

  “What are you doing here at this hour?”

  “Same as you, I guess. Waiting for news.” He sat down opposite her, opened the box, and held it out to her. “They’re good.”

  She took one.

  “What are we hearing?”

  “So far, not a thing.”

  “I’ve written two statements for the pool,” he said.

  “Press conference tomorrow?”

  “At nine.”

  “Two statements? One if we find them; one if we don’t?”

  “Yes.”

  “It may take a while before we have anything definite.”

  “I know.” He hesitated. “Hutch, I heard you’re going to close down some of the flights. Is that true?”

  “Yes.”

  “Which ones?”

  She told him. “But I’d appreciate it if you’d keep it quiet until I give you the all clear. I want to talk to the people who will be affected before they hear about it over their VRs.”

  He questioned her about the search pattern, shook his head while she described it. “Doesn’t sound hopeful,” he said.

  “It depends on whether Abdul was able to do what he was supposed to do.”

  He nodded. It would be the first question he’d face in the morning.

  After a while he commented that she looked sleepy, that he was tired himself, and he got up and headed for the door. “When you hear something,” he said, “I’ll be upstairs.” Then he was gone, and the silence closed in.

  TWO O’CLOCK CAME and went. She knew not to expect immediate information. But when the clock struck four, and there was still no word, she started thinking about calling Peter. She was about to when Marla told her he was on the circuit.

  “Hutch,” he said, “the Wildside has exited hyperspace. So far, though, no signal.”

  Damn.

  “Okay.” Moonlight filtered through the curtains. Maybe the al-Jahani would hear something.

  “They’re three hours out. Hutch…”

  “Yes, Peter?”

  “I’m not optimistic.”

  She called Eric and passed the word. He grumbled something about bad luck. But you can’t expect to find them right away. As if he knew something about it. She kept him on the circuit, talking about nothing of consequence. She just wanted the company. Probably they both did, and her respect for him, which had never been very high, went up.

  She opened a window and looked out at the sky. She debated calling Tor, but he had an exhibition in the morning. Better to let him sleep. So she went back to the sofa and lay in the dark, listening to the hum of insects, wondering why she insisted on putting herself through this. Maybe, when it was over, it would be time to move on.

  She dozed off. But it was a fitful rest, and she was awake again as the sky began to brighten. Time to get some air. She showered, toweled off, and paused momentarily in front of her mirror. Still look good, babe. She had a son on the way, but no one would have known.

  She selected fresh clothes from her wardrobe. It was one of her guiding principles that she never allowed people to see she was under pressure. Stay relaxed. Dress well. Always look as if the situation is under control.

  She was on her way out the door when Peter called again. “The al-Jahani has made its exit. Approximately four minutes farther down the track. Still no signal.” It would coordinate a search pattern with the Wildside. Meantime, she would have to get more ships out there.


  The area was simply too big. Even if they scrambled everything they had, finding the Heffernan was not going to be easy.

  She had no appetite but decided to go to breakfast anyhow. She needed to get some people around her. The only nearby place open that early, though, was Stud’s. Not her favorite. She crossed the Academy grounds, strolled past the Retreat, dodged traffic on the Parkway, and went into the Academy Mall. It always irritated her that the hucksters had stolen their name.

  She walked into Stud’s. There were maybe a dozen people inside, a couple from the Academy, most from local businesses. She ordered a bagel and coffee and smeared a ton of jelly on the bagel.

  Living dangerously.

  BACK IN HER office, Marla greeted her with a cheery good morning, as if Hutch hadn’t been there all night. Sometimes Marla didn’t seem to function properly. “Today is Tuesday, February 17,” she said. “Staff meeting is scheduled at eight thirty.”

  “Thanks, Marla.”

  “You have several calls. Priority is low, so I did not think you’d want to be disturbed.”

  “Queue them. I’ll get to them later this morning.”

  She sat down in the armchair and let her head drift back. Within minutes she was asleep.

  ASQUITH, WHO — LIKE pretty much everyone else — didn’t understand the distances involved, assured her everything was going to be okay. “They’ll find them,” he said. He was convincing because he believed it. The commissioner did not think in terms of light-minutes or billions of kilometers. To him a flight to Capella took about four days. Four days was not a long time, ergo the distance covered couldn’t be all that far.

  “Maybe. But we need more ships.”

  “We can’t do that. We don’t have more ships available.”

  “I can get some corporate help. We should also freeze everything we’re doing until we get this thing settled.”

  “And how long do you think that might take?”

  “Weeks. Maybe a month or more.”

  “My God. Really?”

  “Yes. Really.”

  “Do they have enough food and water on board? To survive that long?”

  “Yes. They have plenty of rations.”