Odyssey

by Jack McDevitt

  They were in a lounge. There were probably a half dozen others present, and all conversations stopped when Eric asked whether there was any general danger attached to the project. “There is a slight risk,” Eastman conceded. He was young, not yet out of his twenties. “But the odds are heavily against any kind of major mishap.” He smiled. Nothing to worry about.

  “But it is possible there could be a problem?”

  “Mr. Samuels, anything not prohibited is possible. Yes, of course there’s a possibility. But so small that we really need not concern ourselves with it.”

  “If this mishap were to occur, worst-case scenario, what would it entail? What would happen?”

  “Worst-case?” He looked around and they all grinned. “Lights out, I guess.” He actually sounded enthusiastic at the prospect. Valya watched quietly. Talent did not always make people bright.

  Another young man stepped forward. Again, not much more than a kid. But she could see he had a high opinion of himself. “Maybe I can help,” he said. “My name is Rolly Clemens. I’m the project director for Blueprint.”

  Eric nodded. “Glad to meet you, Professor.” He shook hands, but looked uncomfortable. Calling a kid “professor” must have seemed out of order. “Tell me about the possibility of catastrophe.”

  “Eric,” he said, “there isn’t much that is not possible.” He adopted a tolerant expression. “But I don’t think you need worry.”

  “You’re sure.”

  “Of course.”

  “If the ‘lights out’ thing were to happen—”

  “It won’t—”

  “Indulge me. If it were to occur, it would also involve Earth, right?”

  Clemens was trying to be patient. They were talking nonsense. “Yes,” he conceded. “It would involve everything.”

  “How long would it take before the effects were felt? At home?”

  “A little more than twenty years.”

  “Why so long?”

  “Because,” he said, shifting to lecture mode for slow students, “it would cause a rift, and the rift would travel at light speed.” He looked bored. Been through all this before.

  What the hell, you can’t live forever.

  “If you’re really worried about it,” he continued, “you needn’t be. The chances of something like that occurring are so remote they defy imagination.”

  A woman stepped out of the crowd. Plain-looking, black hair, also in her twenties. “I wouldn’t be so sure,” she said. The comment earned her a glare. But she plunged on. “Who’s to say it can’t happen. Who’s calculating the odds? We’re in unknown territory here.”

  “Oh, come on, Barb,” said Clemens. “How many times are we going to have this conversation?”

  “In the end,” said Eastman, “you can’t be certain of anything. But what’s life worth if we don’t take an occasional chance?” He was trying to make a joke of it.

  She threw up her hands. “You people know it all. No need for me to be concerned.”

  “Doesn’t it strike you,” said Eric, “that if there’s any chance at all of a catastrophe on this order, we shouldn’t be doing the experiment?”

  “It’s the nature of experimentation,” said Clemens. Whatever that meant.

  LOU GOT DINNER for them. Afterward, Eric settled in with several others to listen to projections about the things mankind was going to learn from Origins when it was completed, in another century and a half. Did they think the construction effort would actually continue that long?

  They were all convinced it would. Valya suspected it would become a casualty of belt-tightening before the year was over.

  The facility was on Greenwich Mean Time, several hours ahead of the clock Eric and Valya had been living by. Consequently their hosts eventually peeled off and left them in an otherwise empty room.

  She wished she could sit down at a radio and carry on a conversation with Hutchins. And Mac. She would have liked to be able to explain why she’d done what she had. Both of them probably believed she’d been bought. God knew what they thought of her.

  She sat quietly while Eric talked about the downside of public relations, how people acted as if he were only a flack, how they refused to take him seriously. “They think I’m always trying to sell the product,” he was saying. Through a viewport, she could see the soft reflection given off by the collider, fading into infinity.

  Yet, if she had it to do again, she would change nothing.

  IN THE MORNING, she told Eric she was going to the West Terminal. Did he want to come?

  She knew he was glad to be out of the ship’s confined quarters, and would probably have liked to put some distance between himself and her. But he was a gallant sort. Dull, but his heart was in the right place. “I’ll go along if you don’t mind,” he said.

  They had breakfast in the cafeteria, said good-bye to Lou and a cluster of Eric’s newfound friends, climbed aboard the Salvator, and let the facility’s gravity controls launch them. The tubular weave of the accelerator glowed in their lights. They moved out along it, drifting past automated machines unwinding wire from spools and knitting it into the structure.

  They passed one of the support rings every few seconds. Eventually, an hour or so away from the East Terminal, a couple thousand kilometers out, they approached the midsection of the accelerator, where particles were slammed into each other at the speed of light.

  Eric seemed to be feeling better than he had. He’d made a peace of sorts with what she’d done, and they were even able to talk about it. He told her he understood her motivation, and he’d do what he could to help her keep her job.

  That wasn’t going to happen. She knew that, but she appreciated his kindness. She was trying to think of a reply when Lou called them from the terminal. “Valya,” he said, “I think we have moonriders.”

  ERIC SAMUELS’S OCCASIONAL JOURNAL

  I’m starting this because there’s a possibility that a record of events may be helpful later.

  Valentina admitted to me yesterday that she was part of a conspiracy to perpetrate a hoax that would entice the government to spend large sums of money on interstellar exploration and on defense. “The truth is,” she told me, “we don’t really know what’s out there.” However that may be, she has proven herself untrustworthy. I regret her actions, because she didn’t think things out before allowing herself to get caught up in all this.

  She says she cannot account, however, for Amy’s experience at the Surveyor museum. It’s possible the corporate entities behind this were able to arrange that as well. But I can’t see how, and I can’t bring myself to believe Amy would have been a participant. God help me, I hope not.

  —Sunday, May 10

  chapter 39

  Decisions are always made with insufficient information. If you really knew what was going on, the decision would make itself.

  —Gregory MacAllister, “Advice for Politicians,” Down from the Mountain

  Valya ignited her engines—she wasn’t supposed to do that in the vicinity of the accelerator—and started a long turn. She relayed Lou’s message to Union Ops, with the comment she was on her way back to the East Tower.

  While the Salvator shed velocity and swung wide of the tube, Lou kept her apprised of the situation: “They’re just floating out there. Two of them. About twenty kilometers away. Black globes.”

  “No lights anywhere?”

  “Negative.”

  “You try to talk to them?”

  “They don’t respond, Valya.”

  “Lou,” she said, “you might want to think about evacuating.”

  “We have no way to do that.”

  “Can you put me through to Stein?”

  “As a matter of fact, he wants to speak with you. Hold on.”

  Stein appeared. The self-contained vaguely superior mode was gone. “Do you two know something you haven’t been telling me?”

  “No,” said Valya. Damned if she was going to drag Amy into this. Anyhow, what dif
ference would it make?

  “You have no idea what those things are?”

  “No.”

  “Why do you think they’re a threat?”

  “It’s a long story.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “One of our people may have talked to them.”

  “And what did they say?”

  “She says they told her to arrange the evacuation of the Origins Project. Because they were going to destroy it. That’s why the Academy contacted Allard.”

  “Why? What’s it about?”

  “They mentioned Blueprint.”

  “It might have helped if you’d told me all this last night.”

  “Professor, I didn’t think you’d have believed me.”

  “I’m not sure I believe you now.”

  “We’re wasting time. What are you going to do about evacuating?”

  “Not much. I have seventy-one people here. Seventy-two counting me. I’ve got two shuttles. What am I supposed to do with everybody else?”

  “Get as many off as you can.”

  “You really think they’re going to shoot at us? If that’s the case, we’re safer in here. The shuttles are too exposed.”

  She didn’t know what to tell him. Didn’t know what she believed. “Maybe we should just take them at their word.”

  “What do you mean, ‘their word’? Could you please describe the nature of the conversation? How’d it happen?”

  “We thought the person imagined it. It’s beginning to look as if there’s more to it than that.”

  “Son of a bitch.”

  “Have you informed the other tower yet?”

  “We’re doing that now. Damn. I don’t believe this is happening.”

  “Neither do I, Professor.”

  He scattered a stack of pens and chips across his desktop. “Okay. I’ll get as many people off as possible. But when this is over, somebody’s head is going to roll.”

  “We’ll be there as quickly as we can. We can take some of your people.”

  He switched off, and an uncomfortable silence settled on the bridge. “Ta kaname thalassa.”

  “What’s that again?” asked Eric.

  “We screwed up.”

  “You can’t really take a dream seriously,” he said. “How long will the air supply last in the shuttles?”

  “Don’t know. They’ll cram them to capacity, which won’t help.” She took a deep breath. “Bill, outgoing to Hutchins.”

  “Ready.”

  “Hutch, we’ve got moonriders. Two of them so far. Stein is evacuating the East Tower. As much as he’s able. Let the incoming ships know. I’ll keep you informed.”

  Lou came back. “Nobody knows what to think. It’s pretty hard to believe.”

  “I know.”

  “The moonriders are still keeping their distance.” He stopped to say something to someone out of the picture. She could hear laughter in the background. And someone saying he was in the middle of a job, find somebody else. Then a hand passed him a note. “They tell me I’m wrong. They’re coming closer.”

  “Are you loading the shuttles yet?”

  “No. They were both down the line. One of them’s coming in now.”

  They had finally completed their turn and were starting back toward the East Tower. Off to port, the thin wire strands of the collider flashed occasionally as they raced past. Valya looked ahead, could see only stars.

  “Okay, they are getting closer. No question about it. How far out are you, Valya?”

  “Not far. Twenty minutes or so.”

  “You think we’re really in trouble?”

  She felt helpless. “I just don’t know, Lou. How are they deciding who goes on board the shuttles?”

  “Volunteers.”

  Volunteers? To stay or go?

  “Okay, the white shuttle’s pulled in. They’re running the boarding tube out now.”

  “Can’t we move faster?” asked Eric.

  “We’re at optimal. Have to be able to stop when we get there.”

  “Opening up.”

  Valya was uncertain what she should do when she arrived. Try to drive off the globes? Or dock and take more people on board?

  “Okay. There we go. We’re starting to load.”

  “How many can you put into a shuttle?”

  “Eight. Counting the pilot.”

  “What kind of shuttles are they?”

  “TG12s. Both of them.”

  She looked toward the AI’s status lamp. “Specs, Bill?”

  “The TG12 is designed to hold a total of six. They can accommodate eight, but it won’t be comfortable.”

  “I doubt they care about comfort,” said Eric. “How far away is the fleet?”

  “The closest is seven or eight hours,” she said.

  “Not going to be much help.”

  “The globes have closed to within about a kilometer.”

  “Bill, try to raise the damned things tou diaolou. See if we can get a response. And while you’re at it, get me the West Tower.”

  “Complying.”

  “Shuttle’s full,” said Lou. “Closing up. The other one’s in sight now.”

  “West,” said a male voice.

  “This is the Salvator. You know the situation at the East Tower?”

  “Not really, Salvator. We can’t figure out what’s going on.”

  “Is anything unusual happening at your end?”

  “Everything’s quiet. No moonriders.”

  “There’s a possibility you will come under attack shortly.”

  “Attack? Why? What sort of attack?”

  “Don’t know.”

  “You don’t know much, do you?”

  “Save the humor. You might need it later.”

  “Valya,” said Lou, “the white shuttle’s away. Blue shuttle coming in now.”

  “Are the globes still coming closer?”

  “Negative. They’re holding steady.”

  “Okay. Let me know if anything changes. West, tell whoever’s in charge over there he may have to evacuate on short notice.”

  “I’ll tell her, Salvator, but she isn’t going to be happy.”

  Right. Her feelings are significant at the moment. “Bill, show me a picture.”

  The navigation screen, which had been providing images of the collider tube immediately ahead, abruptly shifted. The terminal and the globes came into view. Infrared images. The globes were side by side.

  “Distance between them,” said Bill, “is one two zero meters. They’re manipulating gravity fields. The objects are identical. I can pick up devices on the hull. Sensors, antennas. Cones that might be communications gear or possibly weapons.”

  “Are they responding to query?”

  “Negative. They are silent.”

  “Okay. Keep trying.”

  “The objects are seventy-seven meters in diameter. Perfect spheres, save for a series of ribs or ridgelines.”

  “Loading the blue shuttle,” said Lou.

  She had a bad feeling. “Are you getting on this one, Lou?”

  “No. I feel safer here.”

  Something about the way the two vehicles were lined up chilled her. “You might get on if you can.”

  “We’ll be okay.”

  “West Tower calling,” said Bill. “Dr. Estevan. She is the deputy director.”

  Terri Estevan was a tense woman who looked as if she never smiled. Brown hair starting to go gray. Thin lips. Not somebody who’d liven up a party. “What’s going on?” she demanded.

  Valya went through a conversation similar to the one she’d had with Stein. Was this a serious threat? What was she supposed to believe? Through it all, there seemed to be the implication that it was Valya’s fault.

  Somebody was going to answer some serious questions when this ended. Then she was gone, and Lou was back. “Blue shuttle away,” he said.

  “Okay, Lou.” She watched it move out from the dock, headed along the tube in her direction.

>   “Something’s happening,” said Lou.

  The globes were beginning to glow. Bill switched over to the telescopes, and they could see the objects, now bathed in orange auras.

  They began to move. Drew closer together, until they were almost touching.

  The Salvator was coming up fast. Valya began to brake.

  The globes reddened.

  A pair of scarlet beams winked on. Like lasers. One from each globe. They crossed each other and both went wide of the facility. Then they intersected, combined into a single luminous coruscating shaft. It struck the tower, which also began to glow.

  “Look out, Lou,” Valya called.

  “What’s happening?” demanded Lou.

  The tower erupted in a fireball.

  NEWS DESK

  The notion that anyone intelligent enough to build a star drive would not be capable of malevolent behavior now ranks with other discarded ideas, like the conviction that a state capable of producing world-class symphonies would not invade its neighbors, or that serial killers are always half-wits.

  —Rose Beetem, the Black Cat Network, Sunday, May 10

  chapter 40

  The beginning of wisdom is to admit to being inept. We’re all a bit slow. We have our moments, but in the end, we have to resort to bumbling through. It is what makes conviction so egregious.

  —Gregory MacAllister, “Plato and the Comedians”

  “—smoking ruin—”

  Valya’s transmission described the destruction of the East Tower in a flat voice, her emotions barely under control.

  “—tower is gone—”

  It was a Sunday. Hutch relayed the message to the homes of the other department heads and of her staff.

  “The shuttles are clear, and the moonriders seem willing to let them go.”

  “George,” she said, “do we have any way of getting to the commissioner?”

  “No, ma’am. He’s still listed as unavailable.”

  She lowered herself into a chair and just watched. Valya’s image blinked off and was replaced by pictures from the Salvator’s scopes. Smoke and debris and two black globes.

  “—Still trying to reach them,” said Valya. “Maybe find a way to talk to them. If they talked to Amy, they must understand English, but I get no response.”