Odyssey к-5

by Джек Макдевитт

  “You’re lucky, Mac. You have stuff to write. The AIs can’t help. You have to do it. Even Amy: She wants to fly one of these things, so she’s getting a feel for it. Me, I’m just hanging around.”

  As are we all, thought MacAllister. He wondered what Eric had hoped for in his life. What had his early dreams been? He doubted they’d had much to do with hawking for the Academy.

  But the guy was right. MacAllister had been fortunate, and he knew it. He’d wanted to be a reporter, but he’d hoped for much more than that. He’d wanted to influence literature and politics. He’d wanted to become a force for common sense in a society that seemed lost most of the time. He’d also wanted at one point to become a professional football player. But he broke his nose in a high school game and discovered how much football could hurt. After that he concentrated on the journalism. He wondered what it must be like for people to move into their later years and realize that their lives hadn’t turned out the way they’d hoped. That the dreams went away. That, maybe worst of all, the lives they’d wanted had never materialized because they hadn’t really made the effort.

  At home, few days passed during which MacAllister wasn’t approached by someone with a book idea. Usually it was a memoir, or maybe a novel, or a book of poetry, and he knew from the individual’s expression that it would constitute the capstone of his or her existence. Usually, the book had not yet been completed. There’d be eight or nine chapters, but it was always a project that had been running for years.

  Inevitably they wanted MacAllister’s encouragement. Preferably his enthusiasm. Often they thought he was a book publisher and might opt for the idea, as if no one had ever before thought of writing a book about growing up in Mississippi, or doing peacekeeping operations in Africa.

  Eric sat watching the unchanging stars on the twin displays. On the bridge, they could hear Valya talking to Bill. Then there was another voice. Probably a transmission from Union. When she came back she looked pleased. “They’re going to head off the Terranova Rock,” she said.

  Amy raised a fist. “I knew we wouldn’t just sit around and let that happen.”

  “That’s a pretty big rock,” said Eric. “How are they going to do it?”

  “They’ll plant a couple of freighters in front of it. Their gravity will speed it up, and it’ll miss Terranova.”

  “Ships have gravity?” asked Eric.

  “Sure,” she said. “You have gravity, Eric.”

  “More or less,” said MacAllister, keeping his voice low.

  “It’ll take a long time, but it works.”

  THE SURVEYOR WAS a huge ship by modern standards, more like a cargo carrier than a research vessel. It had big engines, big tubes, and a rounded prow. A few viewports were visible. EURO-CANADIAN ALLIANCE appeared in large black letters on the hull. (Hightower had set out one year before the U.S.-Canadian pact had merged the two countries.)

  As they approached, lights came on, and the facility said hello. “Welcome to the Surveyor Historical Site.” The voice was female. Then she appeared, an avatar in the ship’s jumpsuit. “We’re delighted you’ve decided to visit us, and we will do all in our power to ensure a pleasant experience.” She was attractive, of course. Chestnut hair, blue eyes. “My name is Meredith,” she added.

  “I think we’ll find an hour or two here worthwhile, Meredith,” Valya said over the commlink.

  MacAllister watched a section of hull open to receive them. “Who pays for this thing?” he asked.

  “Ever the tightwad,” said Valya, with a smile. “Orion operates the place, under Academy auspices. They provide the maintenance.”

  “And take the profits,” he continued.

  “Are you serious, Mac? There are no profits. The charge is nominal. What they get out of it is public relations. That’s all. This is officially a nonprofit operation, but they lose a nice chunk of change out here every year. If they weren’t doing it, by the way, the ship would just be adrift and forgotten.” There was an edge in her voice. MacAllister suspected he’d pushed a bit too far, had known before he said anything that it was a mistake, but something inside him ran on automatic at times like this. He simply couldn’t resist the impulse.

  They drew alongside the giant ship. Its navigation lights came on, and Valya slipped the Salvator into the docking area. Forward motion stopped, something secured them to the dock, and the engines shut down. His harness released.

  Valya walked back from the bridge and the airlock hatch swung wide.

  Meredith stood just outside in a lighted passageway. “Glad to have you folks with us,” she said. “Please follow me to the welcome center.”

  Amy was out and gone before MacAllister could get to his feet. “The Surveyor Historical Site is entirely automated,” said Valya.

  “I’m not surprised,” MacAllister said, as he walked out into a receiving room. “It has artificial gravity.”

  “Installed two years after it became available, Mac.” Her voice was still cool.

  He tried to explain he meant no offense.

  “I know,” she said. “It’s just — ” She shook her head. “Let’s just let it go, Mac. It’s who you are. No need to apologize.”

  They followed Meredith up the corridor to the welcome center, which provided hot coffee, donuts, and a map of the museum. Chairs and tables were scattered haphazardly around the room, and a terminal provided a place where you could sign up to become a member of the International Surveyor Society and receive the latest news. A gift shop opened off one end, and a snack bar waited at the other. Double doors led back into the exhibits. “Restoration of the Surveyor,” she said, “was, in its inception, funded by the Emil Hightower Foundation. Work began, and was continued, off and on, over a twelve-year period. Today the project is financed by Orion Tours, which offers the most exciting interstellar excursions available to the general public.”

  The ship was filled with artifacts from the previous century. Portraits of the captain, the three crew members, and the passengers — there’d been eleven of them — were posted along the walls. The captain’s cabin had been furnished so that it appeared “very much as it had been during the flight.” The furnishings included pictures of Hightower with his son and daughter, eight and seven years old respectively at the time.

  They looked at the ship’s laboratory, which felt archaic although MacAllister couldn’t have said why. And the common room, four times the size of the one on the Salvator. And the workout area, where the avatar invited them to try the equipment. The VR worked, and they saw part of a travelogue tracing the early voyages of the Surveyor.

  The engineering section had been ripped apart by the explosion. The damaged area had been sealed off with a viewport so visitors could see where the engine had blown, and could look out into the void. A VR presented an animated demonstration of what had gone wrong.

  Unlike modern ships, the Surveyor had two working positions on its bridge. One belonged to the captain, of course. The other was occupied by a navigator/communications officer, who also served as a backup for the captain in the event of a mishap. Valya’s backup, of course, was Bill. AIs had come a long way since 2179.

  The museum wasn’t exactly bright and cheerful but it was light-years ahead of the Salvator. MacAllister was delighted to be able to walk around someplace new. He stopped at every display and watched images of the Surveyor during test flights, of Hightower and his crew in preparation for the flight, of the various researchers, unable to hide their enthusiasm at traveling to another star. Only one of the eleven, a middle-aged climatologist from the University of Geneva, had made a prior flight. She reminded MacAllister of a high school English teacher who’d taken him under her wing.

  He brought up her avatar and spoke with her. He listened to her discussing the extreme age of Arcturus and its family of worlds. “It’s so old,” she said, “that, had life developed, it would be billions of years older than we are. Imagine what such a civilization might be like.”

  Dead, thought
MacAllister. That’s what it would be like. The fact that no technologically advanced species had been found in all these years made it pretty clear that the damned things have no staying power. You could see it at home, where, starting with the Cold War, there’d already been a few close calls.

  It explained the Fermi Paradox. Nobody visits us because they blow themselves up before they get that far.

  Except maybe the moonriders.

  VALYA WAS LISTENING to her commlink. And looking distressed. She saw him watching and shook her head. Problems somewhere.

  He waited until she’d finished. “What’s wrong?”

  “Our visitors again,” she said.

  “What is it this time? Another of the monitors?”

  “No.” She bit her lip. “There’s another asteroid.”

  “What? Headed for the same world? For Terranova?”

  “This one’s apparently zeroed in on the Galactic.”

  “The Galactic? You mean the hotel? Where we’re going next?”

  “That’s the one. Ops says it’s a monster. Makes the Terranova rock look like a pebble.”

  “What the hell is it with these critters?”

  “Don’t know. But they do seem to have maniacal tendencies.”

  “It’s actually going to hit the hotel?” That was unbelievable.

  “That’s what they’re saying.”

  “When?”

  “Thursday morning. At about ten.”

  It was Saturday evening. Eric frowned. “Are they going to be able to get everybody off?”

  “Don’t know,” she said. “I guess it’s going to be close.”

  “We can help,” said Amy. “It’s nearby.”

  Valya nodded. “We’re going to. But look, I’m going to have to make two trips. I’m going to bring them back here.”

  “Is there time to do that?” asked Eric.

  “Maybe. If I get going now.”

  “If you get going,” said MacAllister. “We’re staying here?”

  “I need the space, Mac.”

  THERE WAS NO provision at the museum for overnight guests. The original living compartments for passengers and crew had virtual furniture. “We’ll get our gear from the ship,” said Amy. “We can camp right here.” In the welcome center.

  “Are we sure,” said MacAllister, “there’s nobody else who can carry out this rescue?”

  “We’re getting help. They have a ship at the hotel, which has probably already started over with some people.”

  “Do they have to bring them here?” asked MacAllister.

  “It’s the closest place. It’ll drop them off and go back for a second group.”

  “This place is going to get crowded.”

  “Can’t be helped, Mac. Meredith tells me there’s plenty of food here, so it should be okay. As soon as it’s able, Union will send a ship to pick everybody up.” She looked worried.

  “Lucky we happened to be on the scene.” MacAllister had a difficult time masking a grumble.

  “Talk later. We need to get moving. You guys will want to get your stuff off the ship.” She spun on her heel and headed for the exit.

  Eric fell in line behind her. “I hope they bring their own blankets,” he said.

  MACALLISTER BUNDLED HIS toiletries into a bag, grabbed extra clothes and towels, and looked around, trying to think what else he would need. Valya was at the airlock, talking on the commlink while they finished getting their gear. “…Leaving here now,” she said. “I’ll give you a TOA when I get into the area. I can carry nine. That’s pushing it a bit, but we’ll be okay for a short flight. Salvator out.”

  “Valya,” MacAllister said, “they do have running water in this place, right?”

  “Yes, Mac. That shouldn’t be a problem. And there are two washrooms off the welcome center.”

  He scooped up a pillow and a blanket, his reader, a lamp, the clothes and toiletries, and hauled them out through the hatch. He wondered about hot water, but that was for another time.

  Eric was already in the museum passageway with his bags. Amy came out, loaded down, and MacAllister gave her a hand. “You guys got everything?” Valya asked.

  They hoped so. Eric remembered that he’d forgotten his notebook and hurried back inside.

  “It won’t be the most comfortable sleeping in the world, Mac,” Valya said, “but look at the story you’re getting.”

  “The story’s out at the hotel.”

  “Okay. Let’s see how things stand after the first flight. If I can take you on the second one, I will.”

  The comment surprised him. He didn’t think his feelings were that transparent.

  Eric came out with his notebook, and they said good-bye to her.

  “You have any questions,” Valya said, “just ask the avatar. I’ve told her to switch over to Eastern time, by the way, so the museum’s lights will be in the same zone you are. You can reach me if you have to. Meredith knows how to make the connection.” She stepped inside the airlock. “If all goes well, I’ll be back Tuesday night. With some people to keep you company.” She pulled the hatch shut behind her, and MacAllister felt suddenly alone.

  HE JOINED THE others in the welcome center. They had no view of the outside, but felt the walls tremble as the Salvator pulled away. Then everything was quiet again. He listened to air flowing through the ducts.

  “What are we going to do for the next few days?” asked Eric.

  Amy looked around. “Did anybody bring the chess set?”

  They looked at one another. Apparently no one had.

  “The gift shop has some vids,” said Amy. “And a player.”

  “That’s not a bad idea,” said Eric. “Let’s find something we can watch.”

  But all the vids were documentaries about interstellar exploration, or thrillers with deep-space monsters and black holes. They selected one more or less at random, Attack of the Heliotropes, dragged chairs into the gift shop, and settled in to watch. MacAllister had never been a fan of that sort of thing, but it seemed sporting to join them.

  After twenty minutes he couldn’t stand it anymore. It was embarrassing because Amy and Eric were both caught up in the show. But he pretended he was tired, asked whether anyone would object if he dimmed the lights in the main room. Then he retreated from the Heliotropes, arranged his pillows, angled his lamp, and took care of the lighting. He looked through the reader index and picked Arthur Hallinan’s Rum, Rebels, and Red Giants: An Intellectual History of Western Civilization from the Desert Wars to the Beginning of the Interstellar Age.

  MacAllister knew Hallinan personally. He was a cranky son of a bitch, a guy who didn’t allow disagreement, who gave no credit for sense to anybody else. It had galled MacAllister to be forced on three separate occasions to give positive reviews to his books. But he was good.

  In the distance, as if from another world, he could hear the roar of engines and the hum of particle beam weapons as the united fleets of Earth fought it out with the Heliotropes.

  AMY KNEW THE vid was childish, that it was over the top, that it was good versus evil and no room for complexity. But it was still fun. It was what she liked, and she hoped there would never come a day when she’d forget how much joy could be found in an alien invasion. Eric was into it, too. And when it was over and the good guys had won, especially the good guy with the brown eyes and the lovely rear end, she sat back with a sense of elation.

  They walked out into the main area. It was dark, save for the glowstrips along the overhead and the designations over the exits and the washrooms, and Mac’s lamp. But Mac was asleep, snoring softly.

  It was getting late. She arranged her own bedding while Eric wandered down to the snack shop. She hadn’t noticed earlier, but the place made a lot of echoes.

  She found herself thinking about the Salvator, and how they were alone in the museum. The news about the second asteroid was unnerving, and she didn’t much like being out here with high-tech lunatics running around. She was having trouble sort
ing out her feelings. She was enjoying herself, would not have wanted to be anywhere else, but the elation had an edge to it.

  She called up the museum’s AI. “I have a question for you, Meredith.”

  “Yes, Amy?”

  “If an asteroid were coming on a collision course with the museum, would you know about it?”

  “The sensors would pick it up,” she said.

  “How close would it be when they did?”

  “That depends how big the asteroid is.”

  “Two kilometers across.”

  “We would detect it at a range of about three thousand kilometers.”

  Eric returned with buns and fruit drinks. “How fast do they travel?” she asked him. “Asteroids?”

  He shrugged. “I have no idea. Probably ten or twenty kilometers a second.”

  “Make it ten,” she said. “A slow one. That would give us five minutes warning.”

  “Not very much,” said Eric.

  She looked over at Mac. “Nothing bothers him, does it?”

  Eric grinned. “No, it doesn’t look as if it does.”

  “You scared, Eric?”

  He nodded. “A little.”

  SHE RETREATED TO one of the restrooms. There was no shower, so she had to use the sink to wash up. When she was finished she slipped into her nightgown, pulled on a robe, and padded back outside. Eric had turned off Mac’s lamp.

  He’d gone into the other washroom, where she could hear him splashing around. All the bedding they’d brought from the Salvator had been placed in the middle of the room. She thought about moving hers into the gift shop to get some privacy, but she wasn’t sure she wanted to be that far away from the others. Anyway, they might take offense if she went off by herself.

  She climbed onto the pillows, which didn’t work very well. She couldn’t move without sliding off onto the floor. Finally, she got things arranged, lay back, whispered good night to Mac, and closed her eyes. Moments later Eric arrived. “Not very comfortable,” he said, keeping his voice low.

  “It’s okay.”

  “You need anything, Amy?”

  “I’m good,” she said.

  “All right. See you in the morning.”