Starhawk (A Priscilla Hutchins Novel)

by McDevitt, Jack

“Thank you,” he said. “It’s a good thing Drake and Joshua were there, or it would have been a disaster.”

  “Well, you and Priscilla what’s-her-name, Hutchins, got them off the Gremlin. Thank God for that.”

  “It was touch-and-go for a while. What the hell happened out there? How did a bomb get planted on the Gremlin?”

  “The official story is that we don’t know.”

  “What’s the unofficial one?”

  She chewed on her lip. “We’re getting a lot of threats lately.”

  “Because of the terraforming.”

  “Right. We’ve got people telling us they are going to blow up the Wheel. Take us all out. Usually, we have no way of knowing where they’re coming from. But in this case, yes, we know who bombed the Gremlin.”

  Jake leaned forward. Waited.

  “It goes no further.”

  “I won’t say anything.”

  “He’s an old friend of yours, Jake. Leon Carlson.”

  He stared at her. “That’s not possible. Leon wouldn’t hurt anybody.”

  “Well, apparently that’s not so.”

  Jake had known Leon for the better part of twenty years. “What makes you think it’s him?”

  “When he found out that the Gremlin’s assignment had been changed, that instead of carrying supplies out to Selika, it was taking a bunch of high-school kids on a tour, he called in to warn us.”

  “Who talked to him?”

  “I did. He called me. He said he wanted to be certain we got the message. He was trying to disguise his voice, but it was him.”

  “You’re certain?”

  “Yes, Jake. No question about it.”

  “My God. Where is he now?”

  “We don’t know. He’s gone.” She took a deep breath. “He thinks we’re monsters, Jake. That we’re aiding and abetting. Anyhow, we were able to warn Joshua. He found it and began trying to dismantle it. That’s what set it off. The thing warned him first, told him if he touched it again, it would explode, and that in any case it would go off in two minutes or something like that. It gave him time to get out of the way. And, fortunately, to get the kids clear.”

  “The Thompson was originally scheduled to go to Selika, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes. We think the bomb was intended to wait until he docked out there and explode at the station. We got a break when Kosmik donated the ship for the awards flight, and Carlson called in.”

  Jake shook his head. “Better not let Kosmik do any more favors for anyone.”

  “I guess not. Anyhow, the Feds are looking for him.” She leaned back in her chair. “You don’t have any idea where he might be, do you?”

  “No. I haven’t actually seen much of him this last year or so.”

  “Pity,” she said. “Well, it was a shot.”

  “Sorry.”

  “If you think of anything, let us know.”

  “Sure.”

  Her expression changed. Became even more somber. “There’s something else.”

  “Okay.”

  “Tell me what happened out there.”

  Jake described it, how they’d brought everyone over to the Copperhead and the Gremlin had ripped into the atmosphere, how they’d rotated the kids in and out of the lander so they got some decent air periodically, how it had seemed as if the Thompson would never arrive. And, finally, how Joshua had walked into the cargo bay and drained all the air out of it.

  When he finished, she sat unmoving, eyes closed. “That must have been horrifying,” she said. “When we first got the report, I couldn’t believe it. Joshua seemed like one of those guys who—” She hesitated.

  “—Were immortal,” said Jake.

  “Yeah.” She opened her eyes and took a deep breath. Looked out a window into the night sky. “I’m reluctant to broach the next question—”

  “You want to know how the decision was made.”

  “Yes. Sorry, but I need to complete a report. That’s one of the questions that will come up.”

  Jake replayed the scene in his mind. He remembered the moment when he understood that there wasn’t enough oxygen to allow everyone to survive. And that it would come down to the two captains. One or the other. And with the impact had come the numbing reality that it had to be done quickly. There’d been no time to waste. “Joshua said he had an idea,” he told Patricia. “That maybe we could still keep everyone alive. He said he was going down to the cargo bay, and I should meet him there ten minutes later.”

  The look in her eyes wasn’t even skeptical. She knew he’d understood what Joshua intended to do.

  “Okay,” she said. “And then what happened?”

  “A little while later, maybe ten minutes, we got a call from Shahlah. She’s the daughter of the guy who sponsored the awards. She had no way of knowing what Joshua was going to do. She was worried, so she went down to the cargo bay. But he’d already drained the air, and she couldn’t get the hatch open.”

  “Okay.”

  “By the time we were able to get to him, he was dead.”

  Neither of them moved. At last, Jake asked if she needed anything else.

  “No.” She managed a weak smile. “We’ll want you to complete a written report for us by the end of the day.”

  “All right.” He got to his feet.

  “So we’re clear, nobody’s blaming you for what happened.”

  He nodded. Said nothing.

  “One other thing, Jake. Talios.”

  “Yes?”

  “Forget it, okay? We’ve recovered Simmons’s body. And the official story will be that you found the lander adrift. That’s it. Decisions will be made at a higher level. Okay?”

  “Sure. Whatever you want.”

  “Look, Jake, this has been a stressful experience for you. Why don’t you take some time off? I’ll fix it so it doesn’t cost you anything. But you’ve been through a lot.”

  “No,” he said. “I’m fine, Patricia. But thanks. I appreciate the offer.”

  “All right. Have it your own way. Let me know if you change your mind.” She got up. “How about Hutchins?”

  Jake got to his feet. “I’ve already filed my report on the qualification flight. It was cut short, but Priscilla passed easily. She’s good. She knows what she’s doing. In case you’re asking a different question: During the emergency, she did everything we could have asked of her.”

  “Okay. I’m glad to hear it. Thanks, Jake.”

  * * *

  LIBRARY ENTRY

  Why would we shed tears that death is inevitable? For if life has been good, and filled with joy, and if all these happy memories have passed through our mind, leaving an awareness of constant good fortune, why then would we not, like a welcomed guest, rise cheerfully when our time has come, and with a sense of gratitude go quietly to our rest?

  —Lucretius, De rerum natura, III

  Chapter 12

  PRISCILLA CHECKED INTO the Starlight and had some warm milk sent up for Tawny. It was unlikely that the Banter Exchange would have cat food for sale. But she called them anyway. They apologized and explained that people rarely brought pets up to orbit. So she ordered some turkey from the hotel restaurant. Then she called her mother. “Just wanted to let you know we got back okay.”

  “Priscilla, I’m so glad. We were worried the whole time,” she said. “I’m so proud of you.”

  “I didn’t really do much, Mom. It was Jake and Captain Miller and a teacher traveling with the kids who took all the chances.”

  “You were there, too, darling.”

  “And that was pretty much my total contribution. I guess you know we lost Captain Miller.”

  “I know. That must have been an awful experience.”

  “It was.”

  “I saw you on HV.”

  “The r
eporters were waiting when we got off the ship. Anyhow, my training is over. I’m getting my license.”

  “Well, good, love. When will you be coming home?”

  “I’ll stay on the Wheel tonight. But I expect to get some time off. When I find out what’s happening, I’ll let you know.”

  “Okay. Do you have enough money, dear?”

  “Yes, Mom. But there is one more thing: I need a favor.”

  “Okay.”

  “A cat got stranded at one of the stations. We had to rescue it.”

  “A cat?”

  “Yes.”

  “You want me to take it off your hands?”

  “Ummm, yes, Mom. Maybe not so much take it off my hands, but just take care of her until I can figure out how to handle this myself. You’ll like her.”

  She laughed. “Okay,” she said. “We haven’t had a pet around here since Loopy died.”

  * * *

  TAWNY WAS ENJOYING her turkey when the link sounded. “Ms. Hutchins?” A male voice.

  “Yes?”

  “Would you come up to the operational offices please? Room 307. We have a few questions for you.”

  * * *

  PRISCILLA’S INTERVIEW WAS conducted by Emil Gadsby, whom she’d met on the day of the Copperhead’s departure. Emil asked about the students, whether there’d been any problems with life support, presumably other than its being inadequate to keep everybody alive. He asked whether anyone had complained of breathing difficulties at any time, whether there had been any other health issue, and, in general, how the passengers had reacted to the experience. Finally, he looked at her pointedly. “How about you, Priscilla? Any problems?”

  “No, Emil,” she said. “I’m fine.”

  He might have been expecting a different answer. Emil was an ordinary-looking man, a little smaller than most guys, with receding black hair and brown eyes that seemed a bit too close together. He spoke slowly, methodically, in a basso profundo that was a complete mismatch with his quiescent appearance. If she looked away, Priscilla could easily imagine she was talking to the head of the gunrunning mob in the latest Brad Halloway adventure.

  “Okay,” he said. “Good. You’ve been approved for certification. You’ll receive your license at a ceremony in the Starlight on December 22.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. Good luck, Priscilla. Enjoy your career.”

  * * *

  SHE CALLED JAKE.

  “Congratulations,” he said. “You performed under a lot of pressure. I think you have a serious future in this business.”

  “Thanks, Jake. Do they know anything yet about the bomb?”

  There was a pause at the other end. Then: “They’re working on it. I think there’ll be an announcement in a couple of days.”

  He knew more than he was saying, but she let it go. In the end, it didn’t much matter who did it. Joshua was lost, and that was all she really cared about. “I hope they catch him,” she said. “Times like this, I think we should have stayed with capital punishment.”

  * * *

  TRADITIONALLY, ON HIS first night back from a mission, Jake would have enjoyed a quiet dinner at the Skyview, with its eighty-foot-long portal, which provided a magnificent view of the Moon, the Earth, or whatever happened to be in the sky. Then he’d head for the Cockpit and hang out there for the balance of the night. But he would inevitably run into friends at the Skyview, and he knew everybody at the Cockpit. He wanted to be alone on this night. He wasn’t sure why, or maybe he didn’t want to face the reason. Nevertheless, he had no inclination to eat in his apartment. He never did that. After spending days or weeks in the belly of a spacecraft, he needed people around him. Just, hopefully, not any of his colleagues.

  He went down to the North Star. And, of course, in difficult times, we never get what we want. Erin Shoma was seated just inside the front door. Erin was an attractive young woman with lush brown hair and beautiful eyes. She worked for one of the game dealers on the Wheel, and she showed up periodically with Preacher Brawley at the Cockpit. She was sitting with three other women when he walked in. She looked up, saw him, and delivered a painful smile.

  The host led him past her table, headed for a corner booth. One of the women was talking, something about the presidential race. Erin seemed to be listening while simultaneously studying her napkin.

  Jake saw three or four other people he knew, but nobody else seemed to notice his presence at all.

  * * *

  HE WAS GOING to have to deal with it eventually. So he decided what the hell. He ordered a drink and a sandwich, finished them, and headed for the Cockpit. This was the hangout of choice for employees of the World Space Authority. There were about fifteen people present when Jake walked in. Mostly, they were technical-support people. A few from the admin section. Only one pilot. Some smiled, others nodded, a few looked away. He sat down at the bar and ordered a gin and tonic.

  The bartender gave him a thumbs-up. “Glad to see you got back okay, Jake,” she said.

  A security officer seated around the curve of the bar formed the words Hi, Jake with his lips and quickly went back to the conversation with the comm op beside him.

  The pilot was Rob Clayborn. At this point in his career, Rob did only occasional assignments. He ran the Baumbachner when it was needed, assisting with maintenance and doing periodic flights to Moonbase. When he saw Jake, he came over. “You had us worried,” he said.

  Jake nodded. “I think we were all worried, Rob. We lost a good man on that one.”

  “Yeah, I know. Can I buy you a drink?”

  Rob was probably the smallest pilot in the interstellar force. He barely reached Jake’s shoulders. But he’d received the Collins Medal for disarming one of the antiterraforming lunatics who, a year before, had gotten a gun aboard a shuttle. He wondered how Rob would have reacted had he been present when Joshua started talking about going down to the cargo hold?

  There wasn’t room for them to sit together at the bar, so they ordered and retreated to a table. Rob wanted to talk about the Gremlin rescue, which they did until Jake was able to change the subject. “How’s life on the Bomb?” It was shorthand on the Wheel for the Baumbachner.

  “Okay, I guess. I’m getting ready to retire.”

  “I’m sorry to hear it, Rob.”

  “Julie’s gotten tired of the routine up here. And I have to admit that I’m bored with the job. Kosmik offered me a slot, but that would mean being away weeks at a time. Well, you know how that is. If I start that, Julie’s going to see a lawyer.”

  He was kidding, of course. Jake knew Julie. She’d never walk out on him. “So when are you planning to step down?”

  “As soon as they can find a replacement, Jake. You don’t know anybody who wants to stay close to home, do you?”

  The drinks arrived. “No,” he said, “I don’t think so. But if I hear of anybody, I’ll let you know.”

  Rob lifted his glass. Studied it. “Is it all right if I say something personal, Jake?”

  “Sure.” Jake felt his stomach beginning to churn. “What is it?”

  Rob put the glass back down without tasting the contents. “I suspect your experience up there must have put you through hell. I wanted you to know that nobody here thinks you did anything wrong.”

  * * *

  THE FOLLOWING DAY, a memorial for Joshua was held at the Union Chapel. Priscilla and Jake attended, of course, both in the blue-and-silver uniforms of the World Space Authority. Priscilla stayed in the rear while Jake took a reserved chair near the front.

  Priscilla hated funerals. And memorial ceremonies. They were too painful. She knew they were supposed to be the only way to get past the loss of someone who mattered. (Or maybe didn’t, so you had to pretend.) But they never made her feel any better. She just flat out didn’t like them. She wanted people to stop pre
tending the deceased was in a better place. That he’d gone home to some city in the clouds. She didn’t understand why she was so cranky that evening. Maybe too much guilt.

  Chaplain Truscott entered through a side door. He exchanged a few words with Frank Irasco, the assistant director, and shook some hands. Then he came to the center of the chapel and waited for all movement to stop. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, “we’re gathered here today to pay tribute to one of the most courageous people it’s ever been my privilege to meet.”

  Jake sat quietly, frozen in place.

  The chaplain offered condolences to the family. He added that Joshua had also been a member of a wider family. That his loss had brought sorrow “to all those who wore the uniform of the WSA.” He was obviously affected himself. “We don’t know why these things are permitted to happen,” he said in a voice he was having trouble controlling. “We can only have faith and carry on as Joshua would have wanted us to do. Would have done himself.”

  Friends and colleagues came forward to speak of how they were affected by Joshua’s loss. They talked about his walking in the green pastures, about how they would miss him, how they’d have trusted him to carry them anywhere. “He was,” said Easy Barnicle, “as he eventually proved, the ultimate captain. He took his responsibilities very seriously, and in the end, he gave his life for those who rode with him.”

  Eventually, Jake stood, went to the front of the chapel, and turned to face the mourners. “Joshua Miller,” he said, “was the ideal of what I would want to be. Without his selflessness, I would not be here today.”

  Joshua’s wife was in front. She did not speak during the ceremony, but when it was over and she started down the center aisle, everyone cleared space for her. She shook hands, thanked some, hugged others. But she never looked at Jake.

  * * *

  HE CALLED PATRICIA McCoy in the morning. “Yes, Jake?” she said, sounding as if she knew bad news was coming. Though maybe, from her perspective, it would provide a sense of relief. “What can I do for you?”

  “I’ve been thinking, Patricia.” He was in the Starlight lounge, staring out through a port at an approaching ship. “I’m going to put in for early retirement.”