Beckman’s posture is that of a military man receiving a dress-down. His right hand is balled into a fist tucked behind his back. “Sorry.”
James leans on his desk. “I don’t want an apology. I want a reason.”
“I insulated you.”
“From what?”
“From me.” When Beckman pauses, it’s clear James isn’t accepting that as an answer, and he continues. “I have some contacts in Homeland Security, and we were bending a few rules. I didn’t know what we would find or how deep I’d get into it, so I kept you out. If you don’t know anything, you can’t be held accountable.”
“Beckman, I am accountable for everyone on our team regardless of whatever they think.” James walks around his desk, limping slightly, and squares up with Beckman. Beckman keeps his eyes forward. “You put Ananke in danger.”
“We took a terrorist out of play.”
“Yeah, your ends were good, but your means used Ananke as bait. You didn’t think to talk to me about that first?”
“Respectfully, James, you don’t own Ananke.”
That hits a nerve, and James raises his voice. “Don’t give me that bullshit. I care deeply about Ananke, and you risked her for your gamble.”
Beckman breaks his forward-facing gaze and makes eye contact with James. “Ananke makes her own decisions, and it wasn’t my gamble. It was her idea.”
James scrunches his eyebrows, pulling back a little.
“She didn’t want to tell you because she thought you might stop her,” Beckman continues. “She asked me not to say anything.”
James retreats a step and sits on his desk, thinking. “Did you approach her with the Cajetan info?”
“She came to me. Iris had visited her a couple of times, and she wanted to talk about it. She suspected that Iris was related to the attack. I told her what I knew about Birk and Cajetan. When Iris started fumbling around Florida, Ananke figured out pretty quickly that she was baiting her. That’s when she came up with the idea to flip the trap.”
James sighs. “Okay.”
“Took guts doing what she did. She’s got my respect.”
James takes another deep breath, thinking. He’s still angry, but now he doesn’t have a target. “All right, so Ananke calls her own shots. But I want to be clear. Don’t cut me out again. I can make my own calls on risk and don’t need you to make the decisions for me.”
Beckman maintains eye contact. “Understood.”
James keeps the eye contact an extra beat, evaluating him, then eases up. “What happens next with Iris?”
Beckman relaxes his posture. They’ve segued out of the reprimand into the update. “That’s a good question. No one’s ever detained an AI before. They think she’s the head of the Guardians faction in the Subversives. They’re a screwed-up faction that’s all about closed borders and forced conflict.”
“What about Cajetan?”
“Feds picked him up. He was sloppy, and they had more than enough to charge him once they started poking through his life. They’d only left him in play as bait for Iris.” Beckman examines James curiously. “What are you going to do next?”
James bobs his head. “Fix up Promise. Talk with Willow about another sit-down with Holden.”
“How’s Willow doing? I know Grant got pretty banged up in the attack. He’s not exactly on my Christmas list, but Willow cares about him.”
“She’s hanging in there. Grant’s okay. Perseus has been reassigned for repairs, and Damysus has taken its place.”
“Some serious firepower on the Damysus. You know, we’ve been undergunned in each of our encounters. I think when we patch up Promise, we should upgrade its firepower and armor. If this is what two freighters did to us, imagine what we might have to fight when we’re back out there.”
James presses his lips together but then acknowledges Beckman’s point. “You’re right. Talk with Hitoshi.”
“Roger. I’m also going to step up security on our team.” He tilts his head forward, adding. “With your permission.” James nods, and Beckman continues. “Just because Iris is out of play doesn’t mean the Subversives are done.”
“Yeah,” James says. “It’s all the more reason we shouldn’t have all our eggs in one basket.”
9
Admiral’s House
The Vice President’s residence on One Observatory Circle is a two-century-old Queen Anne-style home with a turret room silo on the right and a wrap-around veranda at the entrance. Outside, it’s a warm July day with crystal blue skies and cotton-candy clouds, and the patio is welcoming with a table garnished with lemonade and cookies. Half-circle flags drape down from the porch’s roof. James sits beside Willow at the table. Opposite them, Vice President Holden Richards has his sleeves rolled up, pouring himself a glass of lemonade. Senator Charles Larson sits to his right. It’s the first time James has seen Larson since returning from his trip. Larson’s hair has turned silver in that time, and his face has collected a spiderweb of wrinkles.
“Pour you a glass, Chuck?” Holden says, glancing over at the senator.
Larson holds up a hand. “More of a bourbon man, myself.”
“Well, I think we could scrounge something up.” He lifts the pitcher. “James, Willow?”
James nods, and he fills their glasses. As he finishes, a man emerges from the house and deposits a drink in front of Larson.
“Thanks, Cole,” Larson says to the departing man. He picks up his drink and takes a sip.
“You know, I don’t think the four of us have ever been together,” Holden says. “Back in the day, we had a swirl of Space Subcommittee meetings, but it was always James or Willow testifying, and never all of us in the same place.” He leans back, draping his wrist over his armrest. “Which is why it’s great to have us all here today just to talk things through.”
“We appreciate the opportunity, Mister Vice President,” Willow says.
Holden gestures at Larson. “You know Chuck’s got the Space Defense Committee, and as the Senate Majority Leader, he’s also a key partner. The House is working on the regulatory package to recommercialize Riggs. They’re probably going to have something ready next month, and with our majority there, it’ll probably pass. To get it through the Senate, we’ll need Chuck’s support.” Holden pauses, evaluating James.
My ball, James thinks. He turns to face Larson. “Senator, the last time we talked, you weren’t a fan of Riggs tech, but you did understand the value of controlling where first contacts happen.”
“If I recall,” Larson says, setting his drink down, “that contact almost killed you and cost you your ship.”
James nods. “Yeah, there was that. But, out of that, we discovered the Silver Stars were right in our backyard. When we went to Proxima, we discovered they were there, too. The next star after Alpha Centauri is Luhman 16. Looks like they’ve probably also been there.”
Larson watches him keenly. “You seem to be making my point about why we don’t want to go poking around.”
“Just the opposite. Sooner or later, we’re going to run out of space in our space. When we finally get around to looking for new homes, we’ll find sold signs on all of them because other civilizations that weren’t afraid to venture out claimed them first.”
Larson considers that a moment, scratching his chin. “You’ve already got your clearance to fly Hayden-Pratt ships again. Other than padding your company’s bankroll, why do you care about whether the bill passes?”
“Because I can’t do it all myself. As much as I would love to fly to the entire swarm of stars surrounding Earth, they’re all in different directions. When you start connecting the dots, travel lines add up to hundreds of light-years. To work, it’s got to be a team effort.”
Larson lowers his chin. “An American team?”
“A human team.”
Larson points with his thumb over a closed fist. “You’re proposing a multinational fleet.”
James nods. “I am. I don’t think any single
country will be able to afford it. Everyone needs to be on board.”
“And when the green guys encounter the Russians or Chinese and get their first glimpse of communist Earth culture, what exactly happens then?”
James laughs and shakes his head. “So far, none of the aliens I’ve met have asked who I voted for. Besides, do you really think Russia and China won’t go solo just because we’re sitting it out?”
Larson takes a sip of his bourbon, swirling the ice. “I’ve seen your interviews. You’re up to your old tricks trying to rev everyone up before a big vote.”
Willow folds her hands on her knee. “Lobbying is an effective way to get your congressman’s attention. I’m certain you’ve been following the polls. Since the attack, national opinion is up twenty-five points to put Riggs back on military ships and continue construction of new starships. The Subversives are the bad guys, and they are telling us not to do something. It’s created a rallying effect around James and the expansion efforts.” She produces a slate from her attache and swipes up a picture, setting it on the table. In the photo, James, Hitoshi, and Lin stand larger-than-life in Hayden-Pratt’s Space Command Center, the panoramic screen showing a damaged Promise being towed into its new shipyard. James’s left arm is in a sling, and a plastibrace encloses his calve. The photo is by a Momentum photographer from last week’s interview, and the number of views has nine digits. She swipes up the next picture. In it, the same three people all wear EV suits, peering upside-down out of Promise’s open airlock. The airlock’s hull plates are shiny metal, mismatched with the rest of the ship, and not yet painted. The three astronauts all give a thumbs up. Two billion views. She swipes one last photo, and this one is different. It’s an advertisement for a child’s toy. A beach-ball-sized plastic Bernard’s Promise sits on a table with half a dozen action figures staged around it. A miniature James is in the lead, pistol raised and ready, with his crew behind him. One of the figures is a perfect likeness of Willow and holds a small plastic slate. The real Willow smiles. “Okay, we had nothing to do with this one, although I might have to buy a Willow action figure just on principle.” She glances over at Larson. “It does show you where the public’s heart is, though.”
Larson sighs.
The Vice President leans in. “I agree. In September, part of the President’s speech to the U.N. General Assembly will echo these same themes, and James will be our guest speaker. If everything plays out, timing should line up with the Senate vote.”
James watches Larson’s reaction. It turns out that Larson has a pretty good poker face.
Larson taps his finger on the top of his glass. “I feel that I’ve walked into an ambush.”
“Not an ambush, Chuck,” Holden says. “What we’re doing is tipping our hand.”
Larson catches himself tapping his glass and stops. “Hand tip or not, you know I won’t cave under pressure.”
“Senator,” Willow starts, “I’m certain you know much of the history about this magnificent home, but I decided to read up about it before my trip. Before it was home to Vice Presidents in the nineteen-seventies, it was home to admirals. Fleet Admiral Chester William Nimitz lived here. I remember learning about him in school, about his role as Commander in Chief of the Pacific Fleet in World War II, and when I was in college, I toured the U.S.S Nimitz. It was quite a ship to see, a supercarrier, and we don’t have anything like it in our time.”
Larson watches with a slight grin and a twinkle in his eye.
“I think what’s interesting about Admiral Nimitz,” Willow continues, “is that after the war, he changed the direction of the entire U.S. Navy to build the U.S.S. Nautilus, the world’s first nuclear-powered submarine. He was a great man, in charge of a mighty fleet, during a history-changing time, and he probably sat right there, where you’re sitting, enjoying a summer day and making decisions that would be remembered one hundred and forty-five years later.”
Larson smiles and takes a deep breath. He taps his glass again with his finger. Everyone waits a long moment in silence before he shifts his gaze to Holden. “Well, Mister Vice President, I can see why you’ve chosen her for your team.” He raises his glass. “I’ll give it some thought.”
James stands in the wings with the doorway behind him, adjusting his cuff links. He wears a tuxedo with a narrow black tie. Willow stands in front of him wearing a black dress with her blond hair pulled into an updo.
“Have to admit,” James starts, fidgeting with his sleeve, “usually I can speak off-the-cuff without breaking a sweat, but I’m actually a bit nervous for this one.”
Willow reaches gently towards his tie and stops. “May I?”
James glances down at his tie. “Please.”
She tucks her fingers under the tie and adjusts it. “You are a natural speaker, and no one is more passionate about this topic than you. You’re going to be great.” She finishes. “Looking sharp.”
From the doorway behind James, an amplified voice says, “Our next speaker is the Chief Technical Officer of Hayden-Pratt and the captain of Earth’s first starship.”
James takes a deep breath, and Willow smiles. “Here goes,” he says.
“Please welcome Mister James Hayden,” the voice says.
James turns and enters the doorway to the General Assembly Hall, applause sounding as he appears. The Hall of the United Nations General Assembly has tiers of desks fanning out in arcs, much like a university lecture hall, with a center-raised pedestal positioned in front of a massive U.N. logo. Giant media screens flank the speaking area, giving it a concert feel. A lone podium with a bronze U.N. logo is center-stage with a microphone. James walks up the steps and takes his position, the applause dying down as he looks around at the audience. He has this strange sense of deja vu from when he stood on the stage at the Industry Innovators awards ceremony, pitching his plan for the Riggs drive. Here he is, standing before the United Nations, casting something much bigger. The audience watches, waiting. He takes a breath and starts.
“Thank you, Mister Secretary General, Presidents of the General Assembly, Your Excellencies, ladies and gentlemen, and distinguished guests. I am honored to be here today,” James says. “We have been on an exceptional journey together, one that has seen us spread our wings and take flight outside of the constraints of our small system. We have found life on the distant world of Janus and discovered that it is an offshoot of the life that bloomed here. We found life from another star on that same world, and we made first contact with another starfaring civilization. And, all of that was before we even left our own backyard.”
He pauses, catching Willow in the corner of his eye, still standing at the doorway. She gives him a reassuring smile.
“I have seen incredible wonders,” James continues. “Crashed alien ships under the red flares of Proxima Centauri. Life unlike anything we’ve encountered tucked into the landscape like a living mountain. A world, like Earth, with swirling white clouds, blue seas, and warm air that you could take off your helmet and breathe with your own two lungs. A turquoise and gold sunset fading to a starry sky where our Sun was one of those stars. And all of this was at the first and closest star to Earth. My journey lasted nine years for all of you, but for my crew and me, it was only forty-six days. The ship that took us there soars so close to light speed that time itself slows to a crawl.”
James begins to relax, talking with his hands. “Possibilities surround us. Within ten light-years, there are one hundred and nineteen star systems. Our starships can get to any of those stars in less than six weeks of crew’s time. Think about that. The very first star system we visited had another Earth. How many more Earths will we find around those one hundred and nineteen stars? Imagine a future where we are limitless, unbound by the constraints of our system, having the resources of dozens of Earths and hundreds of worlds. Imagine a path forward, where, as our population grows, instead of living bubbled in the domed cities of airless planets and distant asteroids, we can breathe the air of another Earth and fe
el the sunlight’s warmth upon our face.”
He waves with his hand, tracing the path of an imaginary ship flying overhead. “A single starship in the void can forge a path along a dozen stars, but in that time, centuries will pass for all of you. The challenge before us is not for man, but for mankind, because only together can we aspire to reach so many worlds. This is why I appeal to you today, here at the United Nations, the very symbol of a united Earth, to join in our quest. The technology that allows interstellar travel is about to become open to your nations. We have created a road map of the best candidates for Earth-like worlds in bite-sized trips of two or three stars. One ship alone cannot do it, but a fleet, an Earth fleet, can. Out of the one hundred and ninety-three member states of the U.N., we seek at least ten to join us with starships and crews. Imagine your nation finding a new Earth or being the first to contact a new civilization. Now is our time to rise to the challenge of a bright future. If you provide the ships, we’ll provide the plan, and together we’ll launch Earth’s fleet to the stars. Thank you.”
Applause rings out from the assembly as James stands there, smiling. He glances over at Willow, and she’s also clapping. She grins and gives him a very James-Haydenish thumbs up.
10
Tipping Point
Hayden-Pratt’s north recreation room in the Space Operations Campus is a colorful collection of couches, chairs, and games with media screens typically streaming sports and news shows. Today, the stream features live coverage of senators seated in the U.S. Senate Chamber, giving a pre-amble to a crucial vote. As Holden had hoped, the timing has worked out just a few weeks after James’s September U.N. speech. James has continued his push with endless talk show interviews and Hayden-Pratt ads.
The entire crew of Bernard’s Promise is here, spread out along the couches. Isaac sits beside James, tapping something on his slate. When he casts his information to an adjacent screen, a swirling animation of the Milky Way’s Orion-Cygnus arm appears, the camera view plunging into the luminous blue star lanes and resolving to individual stars before locking on to Earth’s Sun.
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