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 respond 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.”
Hartlett looked at her oddly. “Aren’t you Priscilla Hutchins?”
“Yes,” she said.
His eyes brightened. “Princeton’s own star pilot.”
She nodded. “More or less.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Remarkably, Mark Klaybold seemed to have returned. “I’m glad you enjoyed the show.”
“It was a solid performance.”
“Thanks,” he said. “I hope you come back to see us.” He glanced at Wally, and she knew she’d hear from him again.
* * *
IN THE MORNING, she’d finished breakfast and was out on her daily walk when her link chimed. It was Jake.
“The man of leisure,” she said. “Where are you now?”
“In the Blue Ridge. Not far from Roanoke.”
“Nice country.”
“You looked good at the ceremony.”
“Thanks. I wish you’d stayed around.”
“That was your party, babe.”
“You should have been part of it.”
“Thanks. I was.”
She was going to ask when he’d gotten home, but she didn’t want to go plunging off into small talk. “Jake, is there anything I can do for you?”
“No,” he said. “I don’t need anything. As far as the WSA is concerned, I’ve gone away, never again to be heard from. And good riddance.”
“I wanted to thank you for going out of your way for me with Frank.”
“Irasco? What do you mean?”
“You apparently said some pretty nice things about me.”
“I didn’t tell him anything that wasn’t true.”
“Whatever. Anyway, I appreciate it. I’m working for him now.”
“So I heard. I think, Priscilla, you just need to be patient. I know you’re probably not very excited about sitting behind a desk, but just stay with it. You’re a damned good pilot, and I’d trust you to take me anywhere.”
* * *
CALVIN HARTLETT DIDN’T disappoint her. “Is this Priscilla?” he asked when she picked up. “We didn’t really have much of a chance to talk last night. I’d love to get to know you better. We’re off this evening. I know it’s short notice, but it’s the only night I’m free all week. And I suspect you won’t be in town long. I was hoping you’d let me take you to dinner.”
* * *
PRISCILLA’S JOURNAL
No sign yet of Monika going after Kosmik. All that talk about taking a stand.
Headed for the high country. I get the leading man. And an unbridled vote of confidence from Jake. When I started my qualification flight a couple of months ago, Harry Everett had been my instructor. But he got ill during the first week and had to be replaced by Jake. Jake showed up, and his first comment was whether my piloting skills had brought Harry down. It was supposed to be a joke, but I was in a sensitive place and took him seriously. I thought he’d seen something in my record he hadn’t liked, or someone had said something to him. It was one of the most unsettling moments in my life. Tonight, though, I feel like that Amazon on the HV show.
—December 29, 2195
Chapter 24
PRISCILLA HAD HOPED, naturally, that she’d be going to dinner with the handsome, devil-may-care Mark Klaybold, the character Calvin had played in the show. He’d pretend to be an ordinary guy, though with extraordinarily good looks. He’d take her to a pricey restaurant, probably the Tablet, show how impressed he was being out with someone who’d been to other worlds, point out that her eyes sparkled in the candlelight, and, at the end of the evening, try to coax her into bed.
Instead, she got Cal, who, except for his car, seemed quite ordi
nary. He picked her up in a sleek white Benson, obviously impressing Mom, whose jaw dropped when she saw him. Or maybe the car. Priscilla wasn’t sure which. But her hopes visibly soared. Calvin might be the very guy Mom had been looking for, someone who’d completely entrance her daughter and help put this interstellar craziness on a back burner.
Cal had expressive eyes and broad shoulders and a square jaw. But they needed stage lighting. Or animation. Something. “Priscilla,” he told her while holding the car door for her, “I’m really glad you came to the show last night. It was so nice to meet you.” Mark would have said, “Priscilla, you must be the most gorgeous pilot on the planet.”
En route to the restaurant, they talked about what had led her to her career and how enthralling it must have felt to help rescue those kids. She asked him about his acting ambitions. “I’d like to go to Hollywood eventually,” he said. And, as if the notion were ridiculous, “What I’d really like is to take over when Brace Hopkins retires.” The prime action star of the era. His smile suggested he was kidding. But not really.
“What do you do for a living, Cal?” she asked.
“I’m a financial advisor.”
“Really?”
“Sure. I’m the guy you go to when you want to pick up some securities.” They pulled into the parking lot at Gilmore’s. It wasn’t the Tablet, but it was nice. “I’ve fallen in love with the theater, though.” He turned off the engine and sat staring out at the gathering dusk. “I don’t think I’d ever realized before how pedestrian managing stock portfolios can be.”
“You don’t want to do that for a lifetime?”
“Lord, no. But it’s hard to find anything that pays as well.”
It was an unusually cold night. They got out of the car and hurried inside. The doors closed behind them and cut off the chill. He took her jacket and checked it for her. The host came over, a small man with a neat mustache. “Hartlett,” Cal said, “we have a reservation.” A fire crackled in a grate, and a pianist across the room was playing something soft and romantic.
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