Starhawk (A Priscilla Hutchins Novel)

by McDevitt, Jack

  “So, Wally,” she said, when his face blinked onto the screen, “how is it going?”

  “Just fine,” he said. Just fine was a kind of mantra with Wally, who didn’t believe in putting his emotions on display. “I see you’re a hero now. Well done.” Big smile.

  “Well,” she said, “it was really Jake Loomis and Captain Miller who were the heroes. All I did was mind the ship.”

  Wally had black curly hair that was never quite trimmed properly. He liked to portray himself as a guy who didn’t worry about details, who played for the big score. She was saddened that he always seemed fearful of being himself. “Modesty,” he said, “is one of the signs of true greatness.” His smile suggested he was kidding, but not really.

  “No,” she said. “I was never in danger. It was the two captains who took their chances. And a teacher.”

  “Yeah, I heard about all that. Heard about Loomis.” His tone hardened.

  “What did you hear?”

  “That he stood by and let the other guy go down to the chamber where they didn’t have any oxygen.”

  “Wally, that’s not exactly what happened.”

  “Okay. I’m just repeating what I’m hearing.”

  “Who’s saying that?”

  “I saw it on the talk shows.” A chill touched her heart. “Are you saying that’s not the way it happened?”

  “It’s not. It isn’t that simple, Wally.”

  “Okay. I’ve never trusted the media anyhow. Listen, the reason I called, I wanted you to know I was really glad to hear that you’d got through all that and were coming home for a while. How long are you going to be here?”

  “I’m not sure. Probably just a few days.”

  “When you go back, will you be stationed somewhere?”

  She smiled. “I assume I’ll be somewhere, yes.”

  “But not anywhere near Princeton?”

  “Probably not.”

  “Well, I’m sorry to hear it.” He appeared uncertain. “I was wondering if I could take you to dinner tomorrow evening? Maybe we could go to Talbott’s?”

  She heard cars pulling up outside. “Sure, Wally. I’d enjoy that. What time?”

  “Pick you up at seven?”

  “See you then.”

  * * *

  THE HOUSE AI was George. George was her grandfather on her mother’s side, but no one had ever claimed he’d been the reason for the name. She’d met an old boyfriend of Mom’s once with the name. “Reporters, Priscilla,” George said.

  “Okay.” Two cars had parked in the driveway. They carried emblems from Worldwide News and CBC. Central Jersey News was pulling alongside the curb as she opened the door. “I’ve got it,” she said. Several reporters were hurrying up the walkway. “Hello,” she said.

  They all began speaking at once. The first to get through to her was a tall, African-American woman. “Hi, Priscilla,” she said. “I’d like your take on what happened to Captain Miller. Did they cut the cards to see who’d go into the cargo bay? Or what? How did they make the decision?”

  “Look,” she said. “It wasn’t anything like that. Nobody knew Captain Miller was going to take his life. We were still trying to figure out what to do.”

  “So he just did it?” said a guy who looked too young to be out of high school. “He didn’t warn anybody what he was going to do? He just killed himself?”

  “I can tell you that we had just gotten the news that we wouldn’t have enough air, and we were trying to figure out what we would do. Why don’t you ask me why I stood by and let it happen?” Priscilla knew it was a mistake before the words were out of her mouth.

  “Why did you?” asked another of the reporters. A large male this time.

  “Let me try again,” she said. “I didn’t know what he intended to do. Nobody did.”

  “Can you tell us where Jake Loomis is now?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “You must have known someone was going to have to fall on his sword. Was it a choice between either Loomis or Miller?”

  “Hey,” said a female reporter off to one side. “Give her a break. What the hell are you people doing?”

  Priscilla handled the other questions about as well as could be expected. She gave credit to Jake and Shahlah, and said that the girls had been exemplary. “They were in a scary situation when we got there, but they kept cool. Couldn’t have been better.” She stood out there in front of the house, not dressed for November weather, not feeling the cold though, not even aware it was cold because all she could think of was how she was coming across and what a terrible politician she’d have made. “As for Captain Miller,” she said finally, “we owe him everything.”

  More cars arrived and finally her mother realized what was going on and came out and called a halt. It was the perfect finish: Here’s the intrepid interstellar captain, or captain-to-be, facing suspicion of cowardice, and she needs her mother to bail her out.

  * * *

  THEY RAN THE clip a few minutes later. Priscilla’s mother was furious. “What’s wrong with these people?” she demanded. “Didn’t they ever hear of chivalry? Anyhow, it’s the captain’s responsibility.”

  “Mom, I was technically the captain.”

  “Loomis was your senior officer.”

  Priscilla had to swallow her frustration. “Let it go, Mom, all right?”

  Her mother sighed, sat back in her chair, and crossed her arms. “I’m sorry. I certainly didn’t want to offend you.”

  “It’s okay. I’m just a little bit rattled right now.”

  “There’s no need for you to be, love. You’re a hero. Despite what those nitwits say.”

  * * *

  HER FAMILY THREW a welcome-home party for her that evening. It was supposed to be a surprise, but Mom warned her in advance when Priscilla started talking about going to see a couple of her girlfriends. “Uncle Phil set it up,” she said. “Everybody’s so anxious to see you.”

  They all showed up, uncles and aunts and cousins, some of whom she hadn’t seen in years. Mark Hutchins had been six years old at their last meeting, a curly-haired kid chasing a puppy around. Now he was taller than she was, and he’d become a heartbreaker. Uncle Phil looked very much like her father. And his prospective bride, Miriam, was everything Mom had said. Her aunt Chris Parroff, who had filled Priscilla’s early years with the world’s finest chocolate cakes, provided another one.

  Her relatives had come from all over New Jersey and Pennsylvania. They had seen what Aunt Chris called Priscilla’s news conference. Everybody took offense. Cousin Gregory said he would write a letter. “I was glad that one woman spoke up,” said Miriam with a note of satisfaction in her voice. “Somebody needed to put those ding-dongs in their place.”

  “I wish I’d been there,” said Uncle Phil. “Those guys will do anything to come up with a story. They don’t give a damn about what really happened.”

  Mark delivered a snort. “Well, whatever. I was glad somebody there defended Priscilla.”

  “Priscilla didn’t need defending,” Mom said, visibly annoyed. “She did fine.”

  Priscilla was relieved when the subject, finally, got dropped.

  * * *

  THERE WERE A few surprises during the course of the evening. Old friends stopped by. Girls with whom she’d hung out during her high-school and college years. Guys she’d dated. Even Harmon Baxter, who’d walked away from her for a blond cheerleader. Harmon was careful about approaching her. But she had no hard feelings. Wouldn’t have given him the satisfaction of being annoyed. He didn’t bring up the cheerleader, and, of course, neither did she.

  It was during the conversation with Harmon that her link activated. She excused herself, grateful to get clear. The call was from Kosmik. “Hello,” she said.

  “Priscilla, this is Howard. I wanted to let you know that we need
you back on the Wheel. We have a problem.”

  “I’ll try to get a shuttle out tomorrow.”

  “We’ve already taken care of it. You’ll be on the morning flight out of Philadelphia. And by the way, I know this isn’t the way we planned things, but we’ll reimburse you for your trouble.”

  When she heard, Mom was upset. “Is this the way it’s going to be?”

  “I don’t think so. They just need somebody on short notice.”

  “Where will you be going?”

  “I didn’t think to ask.”

  * * *

  SO THE WELCOME-HOME party became a farewell party. They sang and danced and told jokes and reminisced about the old days. About how Grandpop used to say he didn’t mind flying as long as he could drag one foot on the ground. And Cousin Aggie whose behavior suggested she’d come from Mars. They asked Priscilla what it felt like to slip into that other kind of world, Barber space. And where did they get that name from anyhow? Was it because somebody had had a close shave in there once?

  Jackie Tensler, a friend since the seventh grade, asked whether there were “any available guys on the Wheel?” And another cousin wanted to know if Priscilla could arrange to take her along on one of the missions.

  Uncle Phil wondered how long it would take to get to Alpha Centauri in his car. And Priscilla’s seven-year-old niece Teri told her she was going to pilot starships when she grew up. “Just like you, Aunt Priscilla.” Everybody told Priscilla how it was a pity her father hadn’t lived to see this day.

  She was dancing with Arlen Hoxley when the link activated again. She liked Arlen. Always had. He claimed to have fallen in love with her when they were both in kindergarten. They’d done occasional dates through the years, but he’d never really made a play for her. And she had never really invited his attention. Born to be friends, she thought. Nothing more. But it was enough.

  Ordinarily, she’d have shut the link down during a social occasion, but she’d given it instructions on that night to block everything except calls from Kosmik and Jake. And Wally, just in case.

  It was Wally. “Priscilla,” he said. “About tomorrow evening—”

  She thought he’d watched the press take her on and was going to back off. “Yes, Wally?”

  “We talked about dinner. But I can get tickets for Family Affair at the Corel tomorrow night. How about we eat early and go to the show? Would that be okay?”

  The Corel was live theater. “Wish I could,” she said. “But they’ve called me back to work.”

  “Tomorrow?”

  “Yes, Wally. I just got the word. Sorry.”

  “Okay, I’m sorry, too.”

  “I wish we could have gotten the evening together.”

  “Priscilla, you are the loveliest woman in Princeton. But I suspect you know that.”

  Wally did know how to get through to her.

  * * *

  AT AROUND MIDNIGHT, the party got suddenly quiet. People were whispering and turning to look at her. “What?” she said. “What’s going on?”

  Uncle Phil was staring at his link. “He’s dead!” he said.

  “Who’s dead?”

  “Carlson.”

  Mom looked at him and shook her head. Please don’t bring that up in here.

  “No,” said Priscilla. “Let’s hear what it’s about.”

  “George,” said Mom, “turn on the HV. Newsworld.”

  Marilyn Jakovik, the anchor, materialized in the middle of the room. “—Early this evening,” she was saying. “He was living in an apartment under a false name. He is, of course, the man authorities were looking for in connection with the interstellar-bombing incident last week that nearly killed a ship full of high-school girls from the Middle East. The cause of death has not yet been released. But Carlson posted a statement earlier today on the Internet. The statement revealed where he was, his remorse over the incident, and his intention to take his own life.

  “We are going to run the statement as soon as we come back from commercial. In the meantime, we want to warn you that it may be painful to watch and that parents may wish to exercise discretion with children.” Despite the nature of the tragedy, Marilyn managed a smile.

  “I have no sympathy for him,” said Priscilla. She wasn’t sure she meant it. “I’m glad he’s gone.”

  Mom nodded.

  “Maybe,” said Uncle Phil, “you should wait to see what he has to say.”

  “I can’t imagine anything that could possibly justify what he did.”

  Her mother paused the commercial, which was pushing a law firm. “Did you not want to watch it?”

  “No. I’m just glad it’s over.”

  * * *

  IN THE END, she changed her mind, or more likely realized she had not meant what she’d said, and they watched.

  “There is no rationale for what I’ve done,” said Carlson. He had a deer-in-the-headlights look. “I’m responsible for the death of my friend Joshua Miller. And, because I couldn’t keep track of schedule changes, I endangered the lives of ten innocent students and their teacher. And two more people in the Copperhead. Both also friends.” He was wearing a black pullover shirt. “I’ve no excuse, and I’m not able to live with what I’ve done. So I’m going to end it tonight. But before I do that, there’s something everyone needs to know.

  “I’m sure everybody listening to this is aware of the process called terraforming. It’s a process that tries to convert the environment of a world to make it more friendly for human colonization. That sounds good. They’re experimenting with it on Selika. Unfortunately, in changing the atmosphere, we are killing off most, and probably all, of the life-forms.”

  His image was replaced by pictures of birds and lizards and whalelike creatures. And animals that might almost have been Scottish terriers and cats and monkeys and other creatures that resembled nothing Priscilla had seen before except that they all had eyes, and they all somehow looked wistful. There were even some plants, shrubbery that moved as she watched. She was reminded of the occasional pleas that asked viewers to assist animals currently maintained in shelters or discarded by their owners.

  “These are all being killed off, in your name, by large international corporations, led by Kosmik, Inc., and aided and abetted by the World Space Authority. If we allow this process to continue, our grandchildren will look back at us and hold us in contempt for standing around and permitting it to happen. Even the people who want to move out to Selika, to colonize it, will find it sterile and repulsive. It won’t be the Eden they’re being promised.

  “There’s no justification for what I’ve done. I’m aware of that, and I’ve had to live with it. But I saw no other way to draw attention to this problem than by doing something that would get public notice. Petitions go nowhere. Postings on the Internet accomplish nothing. Appeals to the people who run Kosmik have been turned aside. So I took a chance. It went terribly wrong, and Joshua Miller paid with his life. I will now pay with mine. But I beg you, those of you with any sense of decency, make your voices heard. Stop the terraforming. Whatever it takes, get it stopped.”

  He was replaced by Marilyn Jakovik, who switched to news of a murder trial. Mom turned it off. “What do you think?” she asked.

  Priscilla shook her head. “Incredible,” she said.

  Her mother’s eyes had fastened on her. “Who did you say you’re working for now?”

  * * *

  NEWSDESK

  VICE PRESIDENT: WE NEED INTERSTELLAR FLIGHT

  “Confining Ourselves to This Planet Endangers the Species.”

  KORMANOV ARGUES FOR EXTENDED INTERSTELLAR EXPLORATION

  “To Do Any Less Is to Forget Who We Are.”

  MAGLEVS KILLING DEER

  Wildlife Protection Agency Appeals to Congress

  Magnetics May Be Reducing Reproduction

  M
ANITOBA ENGLISH TEACHER FIGHTS OFF BEAR

  Distracts Animal from Children; Wounds Not Life-Threatening

  TORNADOES HIT DAKOTAS

  No Fatalities, Several Towns Wrecked

  MALKAVIA INSERTING IMPLANTS INTO DISSIDENTS

  AVERAGE LIFE SPAN IN NAU TOPS 150

  Finland Leads the Way at 161

  CANCER RESURGENCE IN EAST ASIA

  Doctors Baffled

  GOLD PARTY DEBATE TONIGHT

  LIFE GUARD SOCIETY: TERRAFORMING KILLS EVERYTHING

  Martin Pleads for Total Ban

  Decries Use of Violence

  Bomb on Gremlin “Inexcusable”

  SOCIAL SKILLS HIT NEW BOTTOM

  Virtual Reality Comes with a Price

  Parents Urged to Take Control

  STAR PILOT BOMBER COMMITS SUICIDE

  Posts Attack on Terraforming

  Chapter 17

  WHEN SHE CHECKED into the Starlight, a message from Broderick was waiting. “Priscilla,” it said, “you are assigned to the Venture. Depart tomorrow 0900 for Amity Station. You’ll be carrying supplies. No passengers. Pick up Dr. Monika Wolf at the station and bring her home with you. You have time to complete the flight and get back for your graduation ceremony. But do a quick turnaround. Congratulations again. Call me if you need anything.”

  Amity was the Selika station, located in the 107 Piscium system, just over twenty-four light-years out. Selika, of course, was the world that was igniting so much controversy. The hope was that it would be ready for human colonists in another six to eight years.

  Priscilla called Ops. “What will I be hauling?” she asked.

  One of the comm officers was on the other end. “Basic supplies, Priscilla,” he said. “Food and water. Some hardware. And”—he paused—“hold on a second. It says here superalgae. It’s contained in specially modified kelp. Whatever all that means.”