Starhawk (A Priscilla Hutchins Novel)

by McDevitt, Jack

  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 ordinary. 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.

  Gilmore’s was filled with people dressed for an evening on the town. In the center of the table, a small candle burned inside a red globe. They were seated by a window looking out across Nassau Street. The University Chapel was lovely in the moonlight.

  “How long will you be here?” asked Cal.

  “Just a few more days.”

  “Must be great.” His eyes locked on her, full of hope. “I imagine riding around all day in one of those starships makes everything else seem pretty pedestrian.”

  “Yeah,” she said. “It can have that effect.”

  He smiled, and she caught a glimpse of Mark Klaybold in there somewhere.

  * * *

  WHILE THEY ATE, Cal confessed that he suspected he’d spend the rest of his life with Martin Gable Finance. “Unless my movie career takes off.” Again, she saw that self-effacing smile that somehow nevertheless suggested he still hoped good things would happen.

  “You know, you’d make a good Rick Cabot.” Cabot was, of course, the superspy who’d leaped from the pages of Carol Goldwin’s novels.

  “Ah, yes,” he said, mimicking Cabot’s British accent, “just keep smiling, Ms. Hutchins, and don’t make any sudden moves.” He was perfect.

  “Very good,” she said.

  “Thanks. So what do you expect to happen with you? Where will you be going next?”

  “I’ll be working at the station for a while. Nothing very exciting.”

  “If you had a choice, where would you like to go?

  “Someplace where there’s another civilization. Where there’s somebody we could talk to.”

  “Really? Wouldn’t that be kind of scary?”

  “I suppose so. But it would be nice to sit down with someone who’d never heard of Earth. And maybe find out whether he enjoys music. Whether it enjoys music.”

  “That’s very poetic. But aliens on HV aren’t usually very friendly.” He took a moment to sip his coffee. “Well, it sure sounds more exciting than tracking security equities.” He tried the coffee again. Hesitated. “Will you be coming back once in a while? To Princeton?”

  “I expect s
o,” she said. “My family lives here. Are you from this area originally?”

  “I was born in Cherry Hill. Grew up there.”

  “Where’d you go to school, Cal?”

  “Princeton. How about you?”

  “Same,” she said. “Did you major in finance?”

  “Of course. But I did some theater, too.”

  Priscilla smiled. “You were beautiful last night.”

  * * *

  THEY HIT A couple of the nightspots. And, finally, the evening tiptoed to an end. He made no overt move, took her home in the Benson, and told her how much he’d enjoyed being out with her. Priscilla pulled her coat around her. Cal climbed out and opened her door. The wind seemed capable of taking a couple of the trees down. Had she been traveling with Mark, he would have said something to her in the restaurant about how he’d miss her, how he wanted to make something happen. The piano and the fireplace would have provided the background. But Mark had never really shown up. She was disappointed.

  He hovered beside her, apparently trying to decide whether to attempt a kiss. “Priscilla,” he said as they walked slowly up to the front of the house, “I’d like to do this again. If that would be all right.”

  “Sure,” she said, withholding any sign of enthusiasm. “I won’t be back for a while, though, Cal.”

  “That’s okay. I just—”

  “What?”

  “Well, I don’t know. I just don’t want you to walk out of my life after one evening.” He leaned forward, pressed his lips against her cheek, and backed off.

  Oh, Mark, where did you go?

  * * *

  LIBRARY ENTRY

  Yung Sun Yeun, speaking last week in his State of the World address, outlined the endless problems the World Group faces in confronting widespread famine, peacekeeping issues, and climate change. The global population is completely out of control. Numerous species are dying off. And these were, of course, only the tip of the iceberg. Dr. Yeun, fortunately, is a realist. He understands the planet’s resources are limited and should not be wasted on initiatives that contribute nothing toward global survival. We do not need more maglev train routes, he said. We have no use for enhanced space-born energy systems when the ones in place are performing more than adequately. We can get along without bigger navies. It’s hard to see how we profit from interstellar exploration. We don’t even need, he says, to ensure the survival of the human race by establishing off-world bases. Our first obligation, he maintains, is to take care of our home world. Any action that diverts resources from that single objective should cease. Our prime concern is the people we have, not the ones who may one day be running around the Orion Arm. It’s clearly time for the members of the World Group to follow Dr. Yeun’s leadership. We’re discovering that intelligent life seems to have gone missing among the stars. Unfortunately, we don’t see many signs of it here, either.

  —Gregory MacAllister, Baltimore Sun,

  December 30, 2195

  Chapter 25

  FOR JAKE, THE good life had arrived. He loved spending time with Alicia, whether it was in the Ferrante Club in Roanoke, or wandering through the woods, or watching movies at his place. He went to the Hawks’ games, at home and on the road. She claimed she played better when he was in the stands. “You provide a little extra energy, Jake,” she’d told him one night after they’d won on her last-second jump shot. The reality was that no woman in his life had ever affected him the way she did.

  Everything else was falling into place also. There was a Thursday poker game in town, which he attended except on those evenings when the Hawks were playing. Several of the local schools asked him to talk to their students about spaceflight. He put together a show that included a virtual trip to some of the local stars, and to Iapetus. He made a change in reality, though, by coordinating it so that Iapetus was no longer in tidal lock. That allowed the students to gather on a ridge and watch Saturn rise in the east, with those magnificent rings jutting vertically into the sky.

  He became a volunteer at the local animal shelter (where, coincidentally, Alicia also served). He went for long, solitary walks, and felt the difference immediately in his muscles, which had absorbed too many years in low or zero gravity.

  The food was considerably better than the fare to which he’d become accustomed. He never ate in the cabin, though, unless Alicia made the meal. He visited every restaurant within sixty-five kilometers. And for the first time since he was about twelve, he played occasional bingo, with Alicia, at one of the local churches.

  He had blundered into a golden age. He’d always expected that, when he retired, he’d sleep late and spend most of his time just lying around. Maybe do some bowling. But Alicia wasn’t a bowler, and he just didn’t have time.

  She took him to an indoor swimming pool in Roanoke. The woman looked glorious in the water, smooth and synchronized, moving swiftly, leaving Jake to manage as best he could. Jake could swim reasonably well, but he’d fallen out of practice. “I’m going to suggest to the people on the Wheel that they need one of these,” he said.

  Both The Roanoke Times and The Christiansburg News interviewed him and did stories. He became a local celebrity.

  * * *

  NEVERTHELESS, HE’D BEEN there barely three weeks before a disquieting restlessness set in. He didn’t want to admit it to himself, but he missed the interstellars. Missed looking down on other worlds. Missed the admiration that the silver-and-blue uniform commanded from passengers and anyone else who happened to be in the neighborhood.

  He missed the occasional voyage during which he started with no idea what waited at the other end. He missed the simple things, the exhilaration that came during the first minutes after launch, when the acceleration pressed him back into his seat. The shocked reactions of passengers who were, for the first time, looking out the portal at an alien moon or a star cluster or a passing asteroid.

  And as the weeks went by, he became more aware of what had gone missing from his life. But there was something else: He had not been able to let go of Joshua Miller.

  It was not that he was still overwhelmed by a sense of guilt. He’d been able to convince himself that he had probably not been aware of what Joshua had intended. But even if that were so, he knew that somehow, a set of scales were out of balance.

  Whatever the exact nature of what he was experiencing, he was unable to keep it hidden from Alicia. She knew something was wrong. Life was not going off the track completely, but rather it was out of sync. “Are you okay?” she would ask occasionally, even when he was not conscious of contemplating whether he needed to feel the push of the star drive, or perhaps owed something to Joshua. “Is everything all right, Jake?”

  It wasn’t.

  But he assured her it was only her imagination. I’m fine.

  When he was alone in the cabin, however, he felt the weight of solitude as he never had when he was riding the interstellars.

  * * *

  LIBRARY ENTRY

  What we do is who we are.

  —Marissa Earl, Narrow Roads, 2025

  Chapter 26

  PRISCILLA HAD NOT been able to get Monika Wolf out of her mind. On her way back to the Wheel, she decided to call her. Monika sounded pleased to hear her voice. “I’ve been wondering how my favorite pilot’s been doing,” she said. “Wish we were close enough to manage an occasional lunch.”

  “Me, too,” said Priscilla, as they rose above some storm clouds. “Have you gotten a job yet?”

  “Oh, yes. I’m with Baxter Intelligence. Not as interesting as what I used to do for Kosmik, but at least I’m not causing any harm anymore.”

  “I quit them myself,” she said.

  “Good for you. I wish we could get everybody to walk out.” It was strictly an audible conversation, but Priscilla sensed that she was smiling. “Political pressure is building. A lot of people are unhapp
y about what’s going on. I think eventually we’ll be able to shut them down.”

  “I hope you’re right,” Priscilla said.

  * * *

  IN THE MORNING, she checked in with Frank Irasco. “I’m glad you’re back. I hope you enjoyed your vacation.”

  “Very much,” she said.

  “Good. We’re ready to put you to work. Can you come in today?”

  Twenty minutes later, she took the elevator up to the third floor. He was standing in the passageway talking to a couple of staff people when the doors opened. He looked toward her, finished the conversation, and came over. “Welcome back, Priscilla. You ready to start?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Excellent. Let’s go this way.” He showed her a small office just around the curve of the corridor. “It’s yours,” he said.

  “It looks nice.”

  “Your formal title will be support assistant. You’ll have a variety of responsibilities.” He invited her to sit down behind the desk. She did, and he leaned over and pressed the comm pad. “Janna,” he said, “would you bring us some coffee, please?” Then he settled into one of the two chairs. “Your most critical job is to be our backup pilot. Which means, if there’s an emergency, and there’s nobody available to send out, you’ll get the assignment. Are you okay with that?”

  “I can live with it,” she said.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Why backup? Why borrow somebody else’s pilot and ship if we’re having a problem?”

  “Priscilla, I understand how you feel. But we have an established method for dealing with emergencies. The method is that we use whatever vehicle might be available. The deep-space corporations have an obligation to assist. And they do. When something happens, we want to get someone to the site as quickly as possible. Usually, that means somebody who’s already within a reasonable range. We could keep an emergency vehicle here at the Wheel, and years might go by before it would get used. So we can either use the corporate vehicles that are scattered around, or we can construct a fleet and spend a hell of a lot of money maintaining them in strategic locations.”