Odyssey

by Jack McDevitt

“That implies,” she said, “Terranova, too.”

  “Yes.”

  “How sure are you, Mac?”

  “I don’t think there’s much question.”

  Hutch’s dark eyes smoldered. “If you’re right, you know what it means about Valya.”

  He knew. God help him, he knew. “But I don’t see how she could have managed it.”

  “Damn,” she said. “It never did feel right.”

  “I thought the same thing.”

  “I’m sorry. I know this isn’t going to be easy on you.”

  “In what way?”

  “Come on, Mac. I’m not blind.”

  “It’s not a problem.”

  “Okay.” She played with a pen. Dropped it on her desktop. The silence stretched out. “All right. Let me get out of your way.”

  “What are you going to do now?”

  “Nothing for the moment. Until I find out what’s going on at Origins. Maybe that’s faked, too. We’re going to want to take a look at the Ophiuchi monitor.”

  “Why?”

  “To nail things down.”

  “How do you figure she did it? Did she rig the monitor in some way?”

  “That’s the way I’d have done it.”

  “Tell me how.”

  “All Valya had to do was load a doctored chip into it. If she did that, what we saw at Terranova, the sighting, everything, would have been pure showbiz.”

  “But we saw the rock. We saw it from the ship. We all but landed on it. It was really there.”

  “Sure. But you didn’t see the moonriders. You didn’t see what put it on course for Terranova.”

  “You’re saying it could have been an ordinary ship.”

  “Yes.”

  “One of ours?”

  “Sure. The asteroid wasn’t that big. Not like the one at Capella. Any of the major corporates could have managed it.”

  “That might explain why we had to go back to the monitor to do repairs.”

  “I wasn’t aware of that. You had to repair the monitor?”

  “Yes. It was in The National’s account.”

  “I missed it. And I guess I didn’t look as closely as I should have at the trip report.”

  “She was removing the chip,” said MacAllister.

  “Sure.” Hutch took a deep breath. “How do you explain what happened to Amy?”

  “Bought and paid for? Like Valya?”

  “No,” she said. “I don’t believe that.”

  AN HOUR LATER he got through to Delesandro. She recognized his name. “It’s quite an honor, Mr. MacAllister,” she said. “Is there something I can do for you?”

  She was a middle-aged woman. Light brown hair, dark blue sweater thrown over her shoulders, fireplace visible off to one side. A bookcase behind her. She looked scared.

  “Yes, Dr. Delesandro. I think there is. I wanted to talk to you about your work in The Planetary Field Journal. From Capella.”

  She tugged at the sweater. “That’s a few years back.”

  “Doctor, you’re aware of the incident at Capella last week.”

  “Of course.”

  “The asteroid in question was of a significant size. Apparently, judging by your work, there were only a handful in the entire system that were larger.”

  “That’s correct.” Her voice was soft. He had to strain to hear her.

  “The asteroid that hit the Galactic doesn’t appear anywhere in your report.”

  “Yes, I know. I obviously missed it. When I did the survey.”

  “How would that happen?”

  She held up one braceleted arm in a who-knows gesture. “Planetary systems are very big, Mr. MacAllister. A lot of empty space.”

  “I keep hearing that.”

  “I’d be surprised if I hadn’t missed others.”

  “Really?”

  “Any general survey like mine is necessarily a hit-or-miss proposition. We look at the overall structure of a system; we don’t try to categorize everything.”

  “But the asteroid would have been somewhere in the inner system.”

  “Who knows? If these moonrider creatures have the capability they seem to possess, it might have come from anywhere.”

  “I see.”

  “Was there anything else I can help you with?” She was trying hard to look at ease.

  “Yes. My information is that a survey of this type, by its nature, does try to perform a comprehensive sweep.”

  “‘Comprehensive’ is a relative term, Mr. MacAllister.”

  “Doctor, doesn’t it strike you as odd that the asteroid—the very large asteroid—that you didn’t notice happened to be the one that struck the Galactic?”

  She swallowed. “Not at all. I—”

  “Do you think there might be any others of that size you missed?”

  “I don’t know. I really do not know. It’s certainly possible. Likely, in fact.”

  “I understand you’re acquainted with Charlie Dryden.” He made it a simple statement of fact.

  She had to think it over. “Not well,” she said.

  “You understand, Doctor, that Dryden and his people conspired to put lives at risk. That you were party to that conspiracy.”

  “I beg your pardon, Mr. MacAllister. But I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  She looked like a cornered rabbit. The woman wasn’t used to lying. “Let me tell you what happened,” he said. “During the survey mission you discovered that one of the asteroids, a big one, was going to have a close encounter with Alpha II. Literally skim the top of the atmosphere.

  “You came home and started putting your results together. During that period, you met Dryden at the Bannerman Award ceremony at Broken Brook. Maybe you knew him earlier. I don’t know. But during the course of the event, you mentioned the asteroid. He got interested, and either then or later, he asked you to omit it from your report. And paid a considerable sum in exchange for your forgetting about it altogether.”

  “Mr. MacAllister, you have a wild imagination. For God’s sake, I wouldn’t tamper with the results of a study like that. Ask any of my colleagues. They know I wouldn’t.”

  “Anybody can make a mistake, Doctor.”

  “I don’t have to listen to this.”

  “You can listen now, or you can read about it in The National.”

  “This is crazy,” she said, and broke the connection.

  DECISIONS FOR THE upcoming issue were only two days away. MacAllister went back to reading copy, analyses by Arleigh Grant (“The Wolf in the Garden: Why the Greenhouse War Is Going Nowhere”) and Chia Talbott (“Looking Back from the Parthenon”). There was also a clutch of book reviews, including one that was going to generate an angry reaction from the author, a prize-winning historian who had apparently lost his ability to think straight. He was interrupted periodically by calls, mostly from his writers.

  One was from Delesandro.

  “Okay,” she said. She was sitting straight up.

  “Okay what, Doctor?”

  “You’re right. But I didn’t have any idea what it was about. I didn’t know what he intended to do until I heard the reports that it would hit the hotel.”

  He was thinking about Mark Twain again. “They deliberately built the hotel in its path.”

  “Apparently so.”

  “Apparently?”

  “Yes. That’s what they did.”

  “It was a nice piece of engineering. They needed perfect timing.”

  “Yes. Yes, they did.”

  “When you realized what they’d done, did you talk to him about it?”

  “Yes.”

  “What reason did he give you?”

  “He said something about wanting to provide a surprise for a group of tourists.”

  “And that made sense to you?”

  “No. Of course not.”

  “But you didn’t ask too many questions.”

  “No.”

  “Was it a generous payment?”

 
“Not for what I’m going through now, no.”

  “Okay.”

  “Can you keep my name out of it?”

  “No. I’m sorry, but that won’t be possible.”

  “I didn’t think so.”

  “Give me the details, and I promise the story will not be unsympathetic. I doubt you’ll need to worry about formal charges.”

  “You don’t understand. My reputation will be ruined, Mr. MacAllister. It’ll be the end of my career.” She looked desperate.

  “I’m sorry,” MacAllister said. “I have no control over that.”

  He’d already written the story. When he got off the circuit, he brought it up again on-screen, made a few minor changes, and wrote in the title: “The Capella Hoax: Orion Tours Invents a Few Moonriders.”

  He had no doubt that, by the time the investigation ended, there’d be conspiracy indictments against half a dozen major corporations. He read through it one more time. Satisfied, he forwarded a copy to Dryden, inviting him to comment.

  Then he called Hutch. She was in another meeting, so he left the information with her AI.

  MACALLISTER ALWAYS READ himself to sleep. That evening he was starting an exposé of government waste and corruption titled The Last Honest Man. He had not yet finished the introduction when Tilly informed him he had a call. “Dryden?” he asked.

  “Yes, sir.”

  MacAllister put on a robe and went into his study. Dryden’s image was standing waiting for him. The man was absolutely white. “What do you mean by this, MacAllister?” he demanded, struggling to keep his temper. He waved a few sheets of paper in the air. But his hand trembled. “If you print any of this, I’ll sue. I’ll end up owning The National.”

  “Is that your comment?” MacAllister asked in a level voice.

  “So help me—”

  “Okay. We’ll be locking it down tomorrow. You want to respond, you have until six P.M. to get it to me. Good night.”

  MacAllister signaled Tilly to close the circuit. “He’ll call back,” he said. “Tell him to put it in writing. I don’t want to be bothered.”

  LIBRARY ENTRY

  The Origins Project is simultaneously the most ambitious scientific and engineering operation in history. The discoveries that await can, at this time, only be the subject of speculation. It’s painful to realize that no one in my generation will live to see its completion.

  —Paul Allard, The New York Times, Friday, May 8

  chapter 37

  Lies hold civilization together. If people ever seriously begin telling each other what they really think, there’d be no peace. Good-bye to tact. Good-bye to being polite. Good-bye to showing tolerance for other people’s buffooneries. The fact that we claim to admire Truth is probably the biggest lie of all. But that’s part of the charade, part of what makes us human, and we do not even think about it. In effect, we lie to ourselves. Lies are only despicable when they betray a trust.

  —Gregory MacAllister, Life and Times

  Hutch watched the transmission from MacAllister with mounting anger. Valya had betrayed them all. Delesandro’s admission clinched it.

  It explained why Asquith had been so insistent that Valya pilot the mission. “Marla,” she said, “get the commissioner for me.”

  How much was true and how much concocted? Was any of it true?

  “Hutch, the commissioner’s office reports he’s away on personal business. Unavailable until Monday. Myers is acting.” The personnel officer.

  It was of course just like him. Anything blows up, somebody else takes the fall. The rescue fleet Hutch had cobbled together was on the way. Nine ships in all, plus the Salvator. If she’d been misled also about the projected attack on Origins, as her instincts told her she surely was, she was going to look extraordinarily foolish, as would the Academy. The media would have a field day with her. Furthermore, her actions would play directly into the hands of Taylor and the others who were trying to squeeze the organization. She’d been less rattled when she’d been blundering through the clouds over Maleiva III.

  It put her in the curious position of hoping for a catastrophe. It was not something she was quite ready to admit to herself, let alone anybody else. But there it was. And with it came an overwhelming sense of guilt. That she was prepared to see people put at risk to be proven right.

  Marla broke into her thoughts. “There’s an incoming transmission from the Salvator.”

  She was trembling with rage. “Put it up, Marla,” she said. “Let’s see what the bitch has to say.”

  Valentina’s image appeared, seated on the bridge. She was wearing the light and dark blue Academy jumpsuit. Not for much longer, though.

  “We’ve made the transition into Origins space,” Valya said. “Preliminary long-range scan indicates negative results, but we’re still a long way out. Anticipate arrival at the facility in six hours.”

  A few minutes later she was back with more: “I’ve talked with the East and West Towers, and they report nothing unusual.”

  Hutch froze the image. Valentina had been a trusted Academy pilot for fifteen years. She wondered how it had happened. Had she been bought? Or had she done this out of some misplaced idealism? Not that it mattered.

  She wondered briefly if she would herself have been tempted to rig the game to save the Academy. It was a thought she quickly thrust aside.

  “I’ll keep you updated. Salvator out.”

  Out was the operative word.

  Valya and Hutch had never been close, had never been on an extended operation together. But Hutch had come to respect her. She’d fire the woman, of course. The only question was whether she should also prosecute. She’d have preferred to let everything ride until the Salvator returned. Then deal with it face-to-face. But MacAllister knew, and Dryden knew, so it was going to be getting around, and she had no doubt one or the other would be in touch with her, Dryden to tell her to look out, MacAllister to vent his rage at being lied to.

  “Marla,” she said, “message for the Salvator.”

  “When ready.”

  “Routine precedence. Captain’s eyes only.”

  “Very good.”

  She sat for several moments, collecting her thoughts. It wasn’t the first time she’d had to terminate someone, but it had never before felt so personal. “Valya,” she said. “I would have preferred to do this here. You’ll probably be getting a message from the people at Orion, and I thought you should hear it first from me. We know what happened at Terranova, and at the Galactic.

  “We haven’t accounted for Amy’s experience. If you can shed light on that, if you know beyond question that’s another hoax, then let’s just forget this pony ride. Turn around and come home.

  “If you don’t have an explanation for what happened to her, stay on-station at Origins until we can relieve you. You’re of course aware that, if an attack is coming, we have no idea what form it may take.”

  She wanted to say more, to express her sense of betrayal and outrage, but putting it into a transmission where she couldn’t see a reaction just didn’t give her the satisfaction she wanted.

  chapter 38

  Truth is slippery, not because it is difficult to grasp, but because we prefer our preconceptions, our beliefs, our myths. It’s why nations are so often surprised by people like Napoleon and Hitler and Guagameil. Why individuals still buy natural cures for arteriosclerosis. Why we hire door-to-door guys to fix the roof.

  —Gregory MacAllister, “Show Me the Money”

  Mission Operations kept Valya informed who was coming behind her. And when they were expected to arrive at Origins. All TOAs of course, depending on how good the jumps were. What a donkey drill.

  But she played along, shaking her head at the commotion caused by one hysterical teenager. She was surprised Hutch had bought the story. The woman was usually too clear-eyed to be taken in like this.

  She was uncomfortable with the situation. She didn’t like deceiving friends, didn’t like withholding information. S
he’d thought she was doing the right thing, providing the Academy with a badly needed boost. But events had ballooned out of control. Who could have believed when she agreed to help Dryden that Amy would get some kind of night sweats case, claim to have held a conversation with moonriders, and throw everything into chaos? She’d seemed like such a sensible kid.

  Eric was in the right-hand seat. He enjoyed being on the bridge, probably imagining how it would feel to take the Salvator into his own hands and guide her into the East Tower dock.

  “Transmission from Hutch,” said Bill. “Eyes only.”

  Uh-oh.

  With no one else on board save Eric, she could imagine only one reason for that designation.

  She took a deep breath and became more aware of the acceleration. She was in the middle of a course correction, pushing her into her seat, squeezing her chest, and reminding her of the immense power of the machine in which she sat. Not unlike a good male, she thought. A lot of power, and just barely under control.

  She’d suspected all along, despite Dryden’s assurances, that eventually they’d be caught. But it shouldn’t have come so soon. She’d told herself that when it did come out, it would happen only after the plan had failed and the Academy went back to closing down its operations, or after a success, when the big starships were heading out again in a new age of exploration. In either case, it wouldn’t have mattered all that much. Certainly, in the latter event she’d have been more than willing to accept personal disgrace, secure that in the long view her contribution would be appreciated.

  But this was just too soon.

  “I’ll take it in my cabin,” she told Bill, trying to suggest to Eric that such matters were routine. “In a few minutes.”

  “They’re not going to tell us the moonriders have already hit the place, are they?” Eric asked.

  “No,” she said. “It’s probably a personnel thing. Those always come in like this. Next assignment, probably.”

  “You look pale.”

  She summoned a smile. From way back. “I’m fine.” If they dismissed her, what would her chances be of catching on with one of the carriers?

  Nil.

  The drive shut down, and she released the harnesses. “I’ll be back,” she told Eric.