Starhawk (9 page)

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

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 reporters 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 pretending 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.”

 * * * 

LIBRARY ENTRY

The details of what happened at Lalande are not yet clear. We know that one of the captains, Joshua Miller, died, but that all of the passengers returned unharmed. And we should consider that taking children on flights to other stars, while it may present extraordinary educational opportunities, nevertheless entails a substantial level of risk. Assistance, should they need it, is simply too far away. If the World Space Authority had been able to launch a rescue vehicle from the space station when it first learned a bomb had been planted aboard the
Gremlin
, Captain Miller might be alive today.

The hard reality is that, had the
Copperhead
not happened to be close to Lalande, where the bomb exploded, there might have been no survivors. The death of Captain Miller constitutes a clear statement of the courage and dedication of those who operate the interstellars. But that courage and dedication may not be enough to prevent a greater disaster eventually. Are we going to wait until we lose, perhaps, an entire vehicle filled with young people, as almost happened here?

Children do not grasp the hard fact that their lives are being put at risk. It is one thing for adults to take their chances on a flight for which aid, if it is needed, may simply not be available. It is something else entirely to put our sons and daughters on such a flight. Either we should call a halt, or we should provide the Authority with the means to ensure reasonable protection for interstellar travelers.

—
The New York Times
, November 25, 2195

 * * * 

ON THE NET

I guess there will always be loons who want to bomb people they don't know.

—Brickoven2

We need the death penalty back.

—Bobmontana

Brickoven's right. We'll never run short of maniacs.

—MariaY

Hard to figure how you get a bomb on board a starship. Last I heard, they had weapon detectors. Haven't heard an explanation, but obviously somebody wasn't paying attention.

—Sollyforth

Sollyforth doesn't seem to be aware that this is the first time ever somebody tried to bomb a spaceship. I'd have been surprised if they
had
intercepted the bomber.

—billreever

Billreever obviously doesn't know they do routine checks at the shuttles.

—Sollyforth

Hey Solly, the shuttles don't provide the only access to the Wheel. Some people, insiders I guess, are able to use landers. The search procedures only apply at the terminals.

—billreever

Well, whatever the reality is, when they catch the guy who did this—and it will be a guy, it's never a woman—they should fry him.