The Cassandra Project

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The Cassandra Project Page 25

by Jack McDevitt


  “I know you and the guy you hired away, Jerry what’s-his-name, think the two of you know something the rest of us don’t know. But answer me one question: If Myshko was the first man on the Moon, why the hell would he keep quiet about it?”

  “That’s what I plan to find out.”

  The medic shook his head. “You’re not following me. I mean, if it was me, if I was the first man on the Moon, nothing in the world could have kept me from bragging about it.”

  “And nothing in the world did keep him from bragging about it,” agreed Bucky. The medic looked at him questioningly. “Something on the Moon kept him from bragging about it.”

  “What?” insisted the medic. “Little green men?”

  Bucky shook his head. “He’d have brought one back to show us. Or maybe they’d have kept him to show their people.”

  “Then what could keep him quiet?”

  “Like I said, ask me in a month.”

  “You’re a very frustrating man to speak with,” said the medic grumpily. “I’ll bet your blood pressure hasn’t changed in an hour. Mine’s probably gone up forty points just during this conversation.”

  Bucky laughed and put an arm around the medic’s shoulders. “Then we’d better get you out of here while you’re still alive,” he said, walking him to the door. “And thanks for coming.”

  “Thanks for paying for the clinic’s new wing.”

  “Well, you never know. I might get my face slapped by a beautiful redhead right in front of the clinic and have to come in to have you staunch the bleeding.”

  The medic turned to face him. “You are a loud, vulgar, arrogant, brilliant, manipulative, conscienceless man, and I wish I didn’t like you so much, so that I could hate you just a little.”

  “Don’t give up hope, Doc. Your day may come.”

  The medic left the office, and Bucky sat down at his desk.

  “He’s right, you know,” said Gloria, swiveling her chair to face him.

  “Are you going to start in on me, too?” asked Bucky.

  “No,” she said. “I happen to admire those qualities. It means the corporation won’t go under anytime soon.”

  “I knew there was a reason I hired you, besides the way you look when you walk away.”

  “I haven’t looked like that in twenty-five years,” said Gloria. “Well, twenty, anyway.”

  “I have an active memory.”

  “But thankfully you don’t have active hands, at least not around me.” She smiled. “There was a time when I wondered why not, what was wrong with me.”

  He chuckled. “There was nothing wrong with you. You were just too damned valuable to me and this organization to take a chance of offending you to the point where you quit.”

  She smiled. “That’s actually perfectly in keeping with my appraisal of you. You make selfishness a virtue.”

  “Funny. It doesn’t sound like one when you describe it like that.” He pulled out a cigar and lit it. “Don’t tell the doctor.”

  “My lips are sealed,” replied Gloria. “Don’t blow it this way, or I’ll have to seal my nostrils, too, and then how will I breathe?”

  “Clint knows he has to be at the airfield at 3:30, right?” asked Bucky suddenly.

  “That’s the third time you’ve asked,” said Gloria. “Yes, he knows he’s flying you and Jerry to Montana. The rest of your crew has been there since yesterday.”

  “Just anxious to be off,” said Bucky.

  “Why is Jerry going along? He’s not part of the Moon shot, so he’ll just have to come back once you take off.”

  “Clint’s got to bring the jet back anyway, and we’ll have some local cameramen, as well as the national news, covering the takeoff, and I want Jerry there standing next to the ship for everyone to see, just like I want him waiting for us when we land in Nebraska after coming back from the Moon.” He paused. “You made a face.”

  “I wrinkled my nose.”

  “Same thing. What did I do wrong?”

  “It’s liftoff, not takeoff.”

  “Does anyone really care?” asked Bucky.

  “The press will correct you.”

  He smiled. “Let ’em. The public holds them in less esteem than used-car dealers and congressmen. If they criticize me, it’ll make me warmer and more human.”

  “Do you really think so?” she asked dubiously.

  “Probably not. But it sounds good.”

  Suddenly, her computer came to life, and, a moment later, Ray Chambers’s face appeared on her screen.

  “Good afternoon,” he said. “I believe you know who I am. I’d like to speak to Morgan Blackstone, please.”

  Gloria turned questioningly toward Bucky, who nodded and faced his screen.

  “Good afternoon, Morgan,” said Chambers’s image.

  “It’s Bucky. What can I do for you?”

  “I’m calling on behalf of the president.”

  “I’m astounded,” said Bucky.

  “Please, Mr. Blackstone,” said Chambers uncomfortably. “You’re making this very awkward.”

  “That’s what happens when you agree to do the president’s dirty work for him. Now, what is it that he can’t speak to me about himself?”

  Gloria looked surprised that he’d speak to Chambers in such a manner, but the more ill at ease Chambers looked, the more Bucky was certain that he’d hit the nail on the head.

  “The president wishes you a successful trip and hopes you and your crew come back safe and sound,” said Chambers.

  “That’s very gracious of him,” said Bucky. “Please thank him for me.” He resisted an impish urge to pretend he thought the conversation was over and break the connection.

  “Uh . . . there’s something more.”

  “Surprises never end,” replied Bucky dryly.

  “If you should find something up there . . . something, well, unexpected or unusual . . . I’m not saying you will . . .”—Chambers couldn’t hide his fidgeting—“but if you do, we would appreciate it if you would say nothing in public about it until we can talk.”

  “What do you think I’m going to find?”

  “Nothing,” answered Chambers. “Absolutely nothing.”

  “Then isn’t this call a waste of your time?” said Bucky.

  “Why are you being like this, Mr. Blackstone?” demanded Chambers in frustration. “I’m not the enemy.”

  “You’re also not the president,” said Bucky. “And I don’t admire cowardice in the leader of the Free World.”

  “He’s an incredibly busy man,” said Chambers. “Do you really think he’s afraid to speak to you?”

  “I think he’s afraid of being recorded, and of course he would be, just as you are being,” answered Bucky. “Now, have you got anything else to say to me?”

  Chambers stared nervously at him. “Do we have a deal?”

  Bucky laughed aloud. “Go tell your boss that you might have had a deal if he’d had the guts to call me himself.”

  “Is that what it’ll take?” said Chambers. “I can see if he’s able to tear himself away from his meeting . . .”

  “You mean his putting green,” said Bucky. “And no, you and he blew it. No second chances.”

  “I hope you’ll reconsider.”

  “I’m sure you do.”

  “We’ll be in touch again before you lift off.”

  “No, you won’t,” said Bucky. “Now go back to your boss and tell him he’d better hope I come back empty-handed.”

  Bucky broke the connection and turned to Gloria. “How’d I do?”

  “Even if Cunningham himself had called, you wouldn’t have agreed,” she replied.

  “Yeah, but then I’d have needed a different justification for turning him down.” Bucky grinned. “This made it easier.”

  She stared at him for a long moment. “Why did you never go into politics?”

  “Too much compromise,” he answered. “I like doing things my own way.”

  “So I’ve noticed.�


  Bucky stood up. “Damn it, I’m tired of sitting around waiting! Tell Jerry we’re leaving now, and have Clint meet me at the plane.”

  “He’s filed a flight plan, Bucky,” said Gloria. “I don’t know if he can move it up at this late date.”

  “Tell him to try. I’ll be there in twenty minutes. Have someone bring my bags down to the limo and have a driver ready.”

  He and Jerry had to kill two hours in the airport bar, but finally the private jet took off, and, four hours later, they had landed on Tabletop Mountain.

  “Well, this is it!” said Bucky enthusiastically, as a car drove them to the hangar where the Sidney Myshko awaited them.

  “The first step, anyway,” agreed Jerry. Then: “I wonder what you’re really going to find there.”

  Bucky’s cell phone beeped, and he looked to see that the White House was calling though he couldn’t tell if the call came from Cunningham himself or one of his underlings. He grinned and put it back in his pocket.

  “You’re not the only one,” he said.

  27

  “Relax,” said Cunningham. “He knows he’s holding all the aces right now. And he doesn’t have anything to lose. If he goes up there and finds nothing, which is what will probably happen, he’s going to look like an ass. So he’s enjoying it while he can.” “That’s not the point, George. The guy’s not even civil. And my personal feelings aside, I can’t say I care much for the disrespect he’s showing the White House.” Cunningham had not been present during the conversation. He’d expected that Blackstone would be difficult, and he didn’t want Ray trying to handle him while his boss was looking over his shoulder. “I’m tempted,” he said, “to have the IRS start looking seriously at his tax returns.” “I doubt they’d find anything, George.” “I know. But they could keep his accountants and lawyers pretty busy.” “Don’t do it. It’s beneath you.”

  The president nodded. “Moreover, it’ll leak, and we’ll get caught.” Ray chuckled. “My thoughts exactly.” Then he grew serious. “You’re not going to call him, are you?” “I was thinking about it.”

  “Let it go, George.”

  “Look, the guy seriously irritates me. And I don’t like his mistreating my people.” “George, he was just being what he is, a horse’s ass. He wants you to call him. That’s what that whole thing was about. To get you to call so he can tell you to—” “I know. I understand that—”

  “You call him, you’re just giving him what he wants. Don’t do it.” “You’re right, and I know that. But—” “You’re the one needs to relax.”

  “Okay.”

  “Good. Now, I think you have some people who’re waiting to meet you.” A Boy Scout troop that was visiting the White House. “Okay,” he said. “Tell them I’ll be right there.”

  28

  Bucky was strapped securely into his seat, as were Ben Gaines, Marcia Neimark, and Phil Bassinger.

  “All right,” said Gaines, the pilot. “One minute to go.” A pause. “Fifty seconds.” Another pause. “Forty.”

  “I have a request,” said Bucky suddenly.

  “Let’s take off first,” said Gaines.

  “This can’t wait.”

  Gaines stared at him. “You’re the boss.”

  “I’ve wanted to be on one of these things since I was a kid,” said Bucky rapidly, aware of the clock ticking down. “Could you, just to make me happy, could you say ‘Blast off!’ rather than something like ‘We have ignition’?”

  Gaines smiled. “For the man who pays my bills? Sure. I’ve always wanted to say it anyway.” He checked the clock. “Twelve, eleven, ten, nine, eight . . .”

  Bucky looked out the window, trying to pick Jerry’s and Gloria’s faces out from the crowd a quarter mile away.

  “Blast off!” bellowed Gaines.

  The ship trembled. Began to move. Bucky felt as if he had the weight of a small piano on his chest.

  “Goddamn it, that was fun!” laughed Gaines.

  “Someone should start reporting back,” said Bassinger. “We’re on television all over the world.”

  “Marcia’s our most presentable crew member,” said Bucky. He turned to her. “Go ahead.”

  “I’d rather not,” she replied. “I have three advanced degrees and ten years at M.I.T., and all they ever ask me is what I think about being alone with three men on the Moon.” She snorted contemptuously. “I grew up with five brothers.”

  Bucky smiled. “They know what their audience is interested in. Okay, I’ll talk to them.” He stared at all the buttons, switches, and dials in front of him. “Which do I flick or press?”

  Bassinger leaned over and pointed to one.

  “Thanks.”

  “And remember,” said Bassinger. “You’re on camera, so don’t pick your nose.”

  “You’re fired,” said Bucky. “Pack up your gear and get out of here.”

  Everyone laughed, and then Bucky opened communications. “Hello, receding world. This is Bucky Blackstone.”

  “The takeoff seems to have gone very smoothly,” said a pool reporter. “Everything okay aboard ship?

  “It’s beautiful up here!” Bucky felt magnificent. “I’m living every kid’s dream! When I get back, we’re going to have to start selling orbital flights. Everyone deserves the right to see what I’m seeing.”

  “But can everyone afford it?”

  “Sooner than you think,” said Bucky. “After all, I’m not the government, so I’m not hiring three thousand people I don’t need and paying ten thousand dollars for toilet seats.”

  “You’ve just passed out of the atmosphere,” said the reporter. “Does anything look or feel different?”

  “Everything’s fine.” Bucky looked out the window at the Earth and then ahead, hoping to see the Moon. But the sky was clear.

  “Are you all right, Mr. Blackstone?” said the reporter anxiously.

  “Sure. Why shouldn’t I be?”

  “You went silent for about twenty seconds.”

  Bucky resisted the urge to say he’d been busy pinching Marcia Neimark, if only because he didn’t want her glaring at him for the duration of the trip. “Just looking back at where I came from.”

  “Are you ready to tell us what you expect to find on the Moon?”

  “Why guess?” answered Bucky. “We’ll know in a few days.”

  Another reporter chimed in: “Has anyone got any messages for friends or family?”

  Bucky looked at his crew. All three shook their heads. “Nope. They’re too busy keeping us afloat, or whatever the word is. I’m going to hang up now.”

  “You mean ‘sign off,’” corrected the reporter.

  “On your ship, you sign off,” said Bucky with a smile. “On mine, we hang up.” And he broke the connection.

  “It’s glorious!” Neimark’s voice shook with emotion. She, too, was looking down at the home world.

  “Look how bright the stars are,” said Bassinger. “You don’t realize how much the atmosphere hides until you see them like this.”

  “Okay,” said Gaines. “We’ve got some mandatory tests to run now. Bucky, sit back and relax. Enjoy yourself.”

  “I could help,” offered Bucky.

  “I don’t want to be too blunt about it,” said Gaines, “but as far as the ship is concerned, you don’t know your ass from your elbow. We’ve been training on it for several weeks. You don’t even know how to unlock the hatch.”

  “Don’t sugarcoat it,” said Bucky, amused. “You can talk straight with me.”

  They all laughed. “Just relax,” Gaines said. “You’re the guy who’s paying for all this, and the guy who knows what we’re looking for, or at least where we’re going to be looking. Let us underlings get you there.”

  “Fair enough,” said Bucky.

  The other three spent the next half hour checking gauges and readings, going through routine operations that seemed wildly exotic to Bucky, and, finally, everyone reported that all systems were functioning perfe
ctly.

  “Boss,” said Bassinger, “or maybe I should say, Commander Boss.”

  “What is it?” said Bucky.

  “I hate to interrupt your reverie, but you have the stupidest smile on your face.”

  “Just thinking.”

  “About what?”

  “The truth?” replied Bucky. “I was thinking that if we don’t find a damned thing on the far side, even if there’s nothing there but craters and rocks and dust, it’ll have been worth every penny.”

  “Even telling the people you were wrong?” asked Bassinger with a smile.

  “There’s nothing wrong with being wrong. As long as you don’t persist at it. Besides, a week later, it’ll be old news . . . and just getting back to the Moon should sure as hell encourage other entrepreneurs to do the same. Why not put a colony here? Why do cruise ships have to only cruise the oceans? People have been talking about the Man in the Moon for centuries. It’s time to put a lot of men there.”

  “Are you saying you don’t think there’s anything up there?” asked Gaines.

  “I’m betting a billion dollars that there is,” said Bucky seriously. “But if there isn’t, I’ll still have gotten my money’s worth.”

  He’d been awake most of the night, too excited to sleep, but after another hour, he dozed off. He awoke six hours later when Neimark prodded him.

  “Are we there?” he asked, confused.

  She shook her head. “Not even close yet. But if you’ll look at the navigation display, you’ll see something interesting.”

  “Better not be a bird,” said Bucky, blinking his eyes and forcing himself to become alert. He turned and stared out the window at a bright red orb topped by what looked for all the world like whipped cream.

  “Mars?” he asked.

  She nodded. “Indeed it is . . .”

  “It’s gorgeous,” he said, staring at it.

  “We’ve got the main scope trained on it.”

  He squinted and peered. “I can’t make out the canals.”

  She smiled. “We’re forty million miles away. But the colors are startling once you get the scope clear of the atmosphere.”

  He nodded. “Just as well I can’t see the canals. I’d hate to think John Carter and Tars Tarkas weren’t riding their thoats around, or that Eric John Stark wasn’t off to some new adventure there.”

 

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