Starhawk

Chapter 27

PRISCILLA WAS IN her office, going through financial documents, when Frank called. “Just so you’re aware,” he said, “Governor McGruder will be stopping by tomorrow. I doubt he’ll show up here, but you never know. Anyhow, in case he does, we want to look sharp.”

Sure. I’ll look sharp checking over last month’s expenditures. “Okay, Frank,” she said. “Thanks for the warning.”

“Something else, Priscilla. We’re throwing a party this evening for some visiting VIPs. You’re invited.”

She wasn’t excited by the prospect. But if she hoped ever to get away from her desk, she’d have to play the game. “Sure, Frank. Where and what time?”

“The Gagarin Room,” he said. “Can you be there at eight?”

* * *

PATRICIA MCCOY COULD look good when she wanted to. On that evening, she wore sparkling cobalt slacks and a silver blouse. Her hair, usually tied back, hung to her shoulders. She was talking with a handful of visitors in a room filled mostly with strangers.

Frank saw Priscilla come in and signaled the director, who turned and motioned her over. The conversation in the room diminished. All eyes were suddenly on her. “Ladies and gentlemen,” said Patricia, “I’d like to introduce Priscilla Hutchins. She’s the young lady who brought the students home safely from the Lalande Monument a few weeks ago.”

The guests applauded, nodded in approval and smiled warmly. Several came forward, shook her hand, congratulated her on her performance, and said things like how they hoped she’d be around if they ever got into serious trouble. It was a glorious moment, and she was able to conclude that maybe she’d been a contributor to the outcome after all.

Patricia indicated she should join her group. “Priscilla,” she said, “this is Alexander Oshenko.” She knew the name. Oshenko was a Russian physicist who’d won the Americus a few years earlier.

“I’m honored,” said Oshenko.

“And Maria Capitana. From Pamplona. Maria is a human rights activist. And Niklas Leitner. Niklas is from the University of Heidelberg. If you have any serious hopes of living for three centuries, he’s the guy you want to get to know.”

She also met a prizewinning novelist, the president of Oxford, and, most significantly, Samantha Campbell, the director of the Academy Project.

Campbell was in her sixties, with black hair and an amiable smile that contrasted sharply with intense blue eyes. “Beautiful effort, Priscilla,” she said. “I envy you. You’ve certainly gotten your career off to a rousing start.”

“Thank you, Dr. Campbell—”

“I hope,” said Patricia, “you won’t be trying to steal her from us.”

“Oh, no.” She flashed that smile, implying she’d do no such thing. “Unfortunately, we couldn’t come close to matching what you must be paying her.”

“Actually,” said Priscilla, “I did apply.”

“Really? And we missed the opportunity? Well—” She shrugged. “Our loss.”

Patricia passed her to Frank, but not before suggesting that she needed a name that sounded a bit more heroic. “Priscilla doesn’t really work, does it, Frank?”

“No,” he said, “not really. If you’re going to move seriously ahead, we need a guns-up version of your name. Priscilla’s a touch too fashionable.”

“My mom used to call me Prissy.”

Patricia laughed. “Oh, that would be good.”

“Something like Sundown would fit the bill,” said Frank.

“That’s taken.”

“I know. But Backwater might work.”

“Magnificent,” said Priscilla with a straight face. “When I was a kid, I tried to get everybody to call me Hutch.”

“Pity it didn’t take,” said Patricia.

“These are all people,” Frank said, “who support the Academy Project. If they get their way, it could result in some serious exploration being done. We brought them here to reinforce their attitude and give them a chance to meet one another. Some of them made their reputations as organizers. So who knows what might come out of this?”

“Did you invite Governor McGruder?” she asked. “He could use a little influencing.”

“No way we could do that. If he found out about this, he’d use it against us. The party would become another example of wasteful spending. In fact, when we heard he was coming, we wondered whether he had found out. But I think it’s a coincidence. I hope so.” He glanced around the room. “I have to mingle,” he said. “Enjoy yourself. And, Priscilla?”

“Yes?”

“Don’t leave early, okay?”

* * *

SHE HADN’T EXPECTED the VIP treatment. That Frank entertained even for a moment the notion that she’d take off prematurely when people were under the impression she was a hero demonstrated how little he knew about her. She had felt somewhat intimidated when Patricia started the introductions, but as they’d worked their way around the room, and the assorted guests had all seemed to assume she was a celebrity, the disquiet had faded. Now she felt like a queen.

In the lopsided gravity, dancing can be something of a challenge for those not accustomed to it. Consequently, Priscilla found the guests somewhat reluctant about stepping out on the floor with her. But ultimately, they were willing to try their luck. The Amazon biologist Leandro Santana told her, “Once you’ve seen a crocodile smile, nothing else will ever scare you.” Nonetheless he followed her tepidly into a lucinda. And then caught fire.

She danced with almost every male in the place, traded jokes with the women, and even got some laughs from Patricia. The music, of course, was provided by a sound system. “If we’d brought in a band for something like this,” Frank told her, “it would have been all over the media.”

She thought about making her case with Dr. Campbell, but it was possible she might be perceived as rushing things if she did. Campbell now knew who she was, and that was maybe enough for the moment. In any case, she wouldn’t have felt comfortable about walking away from her job after Patricia and Frank had gone out of their way for her.

She was usually a cautious drinker. But everybody wanted to toast her, and then they toasted each other. By the end of the evening, she was pretty thoroughly toasted herself. The reason some of the guests stayed extraordinarily late was that the station operated on Greenwich Mean Time. And 2:00 A.M. in Greenwich was only 9:00 P.M. on the east coast of the NAU.

* * *

SHE OVERSLEPT, WOKE with a headache, and finally staggered into the office. Frank stopped by and suggested she might want to take the rest of the morning off. “You look a little wiped out,” he said.

He had left the party only shortly before she did, and Priscilla had no interest in letting him think he was tougher than she was. The guy was, after all, only a bureaucrat. “I’m fine, Frank,” she said. “No sweat.”

He looked at her for a long moment. “Okay. You know best. But let me know if you decide to head out, all right?”

“I’ll be here,” she said.

She got some coffee, put the operating-area-maintenance files on her display, and propped her chin in her right palm. “Nikki,” she said, her eyes closed.

“Yes, Priscilla.”

“Let me know if you see Frank heading back this way.”

“Of course, Priscilla.”

* * *

SHE DOZED OFF for a few minutes. But it was no way to sleep. She got up, went to the washroom, and wiped her face with cold water.

More coffee helped. She got through the morning okay, skipped lunch, and sat for an hour in the lounge. The afternoon went on forever. No more parties, she decided. Not like that. Not on a weekday.

She was about to quit for the day when Nikki called. “Priscilla, Mr. Irasco asked if you were still here. I told him you were. I hope that was all right. Anyhow, he wants to see you in his office.”

* * *

“HOW’RE YOU FEELING?” he asked.

“Oh, I’m fine,” she said. “What do you need, Frank?”

He looked doubtful. “Governor McGruder wants to meet you.”

“The governor wants to meet me, Frank?” Her throat tightened. “The Gremlin again?”

“Enjoy your time in the spotlight, Priscilla. I’ve seen this before. It can go on for weeks. But once it fades out, it’s gone.”

Lord. “When?”

“Usually a couple of weeks. This is going on a bit longer.”

“No, I mean when does he want to see me?”

“Oh.” He glanced at the time. “As soon as we can get there.”

“You’re kidding.”

“I never kid, Priscilla.”

Her eyes slid shut. She wanted to scream. “How do I look?” she asked.

“You look fine.” He hesitated. “I could tell him you’re sick.”

It was obvious he didn’t want to do that. “No. Let’s go.” He led her through the door but didn’t turn, as she expected, toward Patricia’s office. “Where are we headed?”

“He’s on his way to the dock.” The elevator was open when they got there. “Look,” he said, “you know how this guy feels about us, right?”

“Sure. He wants to close us down.”

“Don’t give him anything he can use.”

“I won’t.”

“Just tell him the truth, whatever he asks, but don’t embellish. Okay?”

* * *

ANDREW Y. MCGRUDER—Big Andy to his constituents—was appropriately named. He was about six-five, and, on Union, had probably shed 260 pounds. His black hair was turning gray around the temples and thinning on top. He wore khaki slacks and a white pullover sweater. Priscilla had seen him often enough on HV to know he was not the usual sort of politician, who would tell voters anything to keep them happy. He was capable of learning and had shown it by reversing himself on some issues, like the general-purpose tax. And he seemed perfectly willing to admit he’d made mistakes. Not qualities she expected to see in a politician. He’d paid a price for it. His opponents routinely accused him of being a flip-flopper. Nevertheless, she didn’t like the guy. And it wasn’t just his stand on space exploration. There was something in his eyes that told her he couldn’t be trusted.

He was standing by one of the portals, surrounded by about forty people, half of them techs. The Sydney Thompson was docked outside, its prow visible to the reporters, who were taking his picture and asking questions. “It’s good to be here,” he said. “Don’t misunderstand me. These people have performed some incredible feats. I mean, you look out there and think about what we’ve accomplished and—” He shook his head. “It makes me proud.”

“Then why,” asked one of the reporters, “are you trying to close them down?”

“I’m not.” He shook his head adamantly. “I’m trying to save the program. But you know as well as I do that the country can’t sustain the current costs. Nor can the other members of the WSA. As it’s now constituted, the space effort is a drag on everybody.

“I know the argument: Kosmik and Celestial and the Stellar Express and the other private corporations are doing pretty well. But it’s happening on the backs of the taxpayers. If the corporations want space travel, that’s fine. But they should be paying for it.

“Look, we haven’t really learned how to do this yet. We lose people, and we lose resources. We had that pilot killed a few weeks ago. We don’t like to admit it, but we have to face reality. We can stagger ahead a few more steps. But if we do, it’s all coming down. And I assure you, if the WSA collapses, if we have to close down the Wheel, it will be the end. We will not be coming back. At least not in the lifetime of anybody here. So I say let’s use some sense. Let’s draw down now. We can wait, give it some time, and eventually”—he raised both arms to encompass the docks, the Thompson, the operations area, the Wheel itself—“eventually, maybe we can restore and reinvigorate all of this.”

Patricia McCoy stood off to one side, watching. Frank headed directly for her. “How’s it been going?” he asked, in a whisper.

“Could be worse.” She looked at Priscilla. “You okay?”

“I’m good, Patricia.”

“All right. Be careful what you say.” She led her over to a guy who was obviously part of the governor’s team. “Here she is, Claude.”

Claude was an elderly African-American. He glanced at Priscilla, apparently appraising her, and signaled approval. Their eyes never met. He held up his left arm in McGruder’s line of sight and signaled this was the one.

McGruder didn’t react. He finished what he was saying, something about how the resources we save now will grow and ultimately rescue the space effort down the line. Then he broke off. “There’s a young lady who just came in that I’d like you all to meet. Priscilla Hutchins, would you come up and say hello, please?” He delivered a smile that had become, because of its charm, a significant factor in the campaign. The guy, she thought, would get a considerable slice of the women’s vote. The reporters backed away and made room for her. Claude gave her a gentle push.

“I’m sure everybody here,” said the governor, “knows Priscilla Hutchins. She’s the young lady who brought the students home safely last month after the loss of the Gremlin.” He held out a hand for her. “Hello, Priscilla. It’s good of you to come by, and it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Thank you, Governor. The pleasure’s mine.”

“It’s always nice to share some time with a bona fide hero.”

“I’m not a hero. I just happened to be there when the heroes showed up.”

“And you also happened to ride home with those kids. We’re all grateful for that.” He grinned and looked out at the reporters, then at the Thompson. “I’m glad they didn’t need me up there to bring one of those things home.”

Priscilla didn’t know what to say, so she simply stood looking at the crowd and feeling foolish.

McGruder’s eyes narrowed. “You look tired, Priscilla.”

“I’m fine,” she said.

He turned again to the audience: “Look at her. She has all she can do to keep her eyes open.” He sighed. “It’s the effect I always have on beautiful women.”

Everybody laughed. Priscilla smiled defensively. “I doubt,” she said, “you’d put anybody to sleep, Governor.”

“That’s very kind of you.” He looked absolutely in charge. A guy who loved having an audience. “I’d hoped to meet you today, Priscilla, because it’s through people like you that we’ve been able to reach out, literally, to the stars. And I understand fully why you might be inclined to resist my proposals that we cut back on our investment in space. If I were in your place, I would probably feel the same way.” He was looking directly into her eyes now. “The reality, though, is that the government is deeply in debt, the economies of India, China, Russia, Germany, Britain, all the nations who have contributed so much to make this effort a success, all their economies are stressed. We have serious problems with overpopulation, climate disruption, fresh water, species going extinct, and all kinds of other things. If we are eventually to become a starfaring world, which I know is what we all want, we are going to have to pause now and catch our breath. We need to back off, not only from our space program, but in other areas as well. If we fail to do that, if we keep pushing mindlessly ahead, running up the national debt, it’s my conviction that we will lose everything.” He looked genuinely in pain. “Wouldn’t you concede, Priscilla, at least that I might have a point?”

“I understand what you’re saying, Governor,” she said. “But we have a tendency, once we shut something down, to leave it that way.”

“You’re right. That’s why we need to act now. I’m not proposing we abandon the WSA. What we need is to trim it back. Keep it active, keep it in place, but don’t put it in a position where it’s draining our resources so much that we have to, as you say, Priscilla, shut it down.” He glanced again at the Thompson. “Let’s hope we can arrange things so that, one day, I’ll be able to ride that ship out to Alpha Centauri as part of an ongoing interstellar program. And when that day comes, I hope you’ll be my pilot.” He shook her hand and thanked her.

Priscilla stepped away from him as another voice was raised. “Governor, if you will—” A female reporter. “When you talk about a payoff for the investment in spaceflight, you always talk about money. What about the level of cooperation we’ve seen among member countries since we started the World Space Authority? It’s been eighty years now. We’ve had no wars among the founding nations. And sure, they’re still competitive, but you could argue that they don’t try to undermine one another anymore.”

“Ms.—?”

“Michelle Worth.”

“Is there a question in there somewhere?”

“Aren’t you missing the most important benefits we get from all this?” She looked around at the portals, the Thompson and the launch area, framed pictures along the bulkheads of nebulae and planets and space vehicles. “Isn’t the human race, largely because of the space effort, finally showing signs of drawing together?”

The governor sighed. He’d been through all this before. “I wish it were so. Ladies and gentlemen, I don’t want anyone here to misunderstand what I’m trying to say. I’m aware that we’ve gained a lot from what the people here have done. They have my deepest respect and admiration. What I am saying is that if we want to keep the program from dying, we have to make some hard decisions. Cut back now, and we can still look forward to a bright future. And that’s it. That’s my message. It’s all I’m saying.”

More hands went up. “Yes, Harvey?”

Priscilla turned and headed for the elevator. Frank joined her there. He looked pleased. “Nice job, Hutch,” he said.

She couldn’t head off a grin. Still, she was not happy. “How can you say that, Frank? He’s explaining why they should slash our funding, and I helped him.”

“No, you did fine. You put a face on the organization, Priscilla. It was all we could hope for.”

* * *

NORMALLY, THE PEOPLE who hung out at the Cockpit were staff from Union, the operations guys, the administrative types, the maintenance workers. Priscilla suspected they all enjoyed being in a place the general public assumed was limited to the men and women who took the interstellars into the night. After all, in this era of expansion out of the solar system, the pilots were the ultimate heroic figures. They’d replaced military people and detectives and emergency medical workers. More HV shows featured their adventures than those of any other character type. They showed up in commercials explaining how Poltex provided more energy when energy was seriously needed. They told you which lawyers you could trust. They retired, ran for Congress, and usually won. And it was inevitably a huge story when one of them was caught cheating on a spouse.

Rob Clayborn showed up the day after the governor’s visit. He looked okay. The dizzy spells had apparently gone away. That afternoon, Frank told her he’d been pronounced ready to resume his duties aboard the Baumbachner. “The doctors think it had something to do with his diet,” he said. “He’s been trying to lose weight and may not have been getting enough nutrition. Anyhow, we’ve got him back.”

“That’s good news,” she said. “Thanks.”

“I’m sorry, Priscilla.”

“Hey, don’t be. I’m glad he’s all right.”

* * *

CAL CALLED AGAIN. “I miss you. It’s never happened to me before. Never really missed anybody. Not like this. I was thinking maybe I’d come up to the Wheel for a couple of days. If that would be okay with you.”

Priscilla wasn’t quite ready to move to that stage of a relationship she wasn’t sure she wanted at all. So she explained how busy she was, that she almost never had any time off, and why didn’t they wait until she got home?

Her mother also called, still pushing law school.

* * *

THEN CAPTAIN BRANDYWINE arrived at the station. Mike Brandywine, played by Ryan Fletcher, was, of course, the heroic starship captain in the series Deep Skies. The studios were shooting a sequence in the launch area. In this episode, a time traveler had landed on the Valiant, warning its crew that, in seven hours, terrorists would seize the space station and be waiting to take control of the ship when it docked. “Unless we can change things,” she told them in a halting voice, “they’ll be successful. They’ll use the Valiant to destroy London. Eventually, the attack will destabilize the UK, and, within two years, bring down the entire Western World.” They wouldn’t allow anyone to watch the actual filming, but the Catherine Perth was in port, and Fletcher and some of his colleagues asked to tour the ship. Priscilla was a fan of the series and she took advantage of the opportunity to go see him. Also present were the actors who portrayed Jason Petrie, the half-French half-alien engineering officer, and Barbara Cole, the knockout security chief. Every staff worker not on duty must have been in the launch area when Fletcher and the others arrived, escorted by Patricia. The crowd applauded, collected autographs, and applauded again when Fletcher told them what an honor it was to be there with the people “who were actually making it all happen, rather than just pretending.”

When they came out of the Perth, accompanied by its captain, Arnold “Easy” Barnicle, Patricia brought them in Priscilla’s direction. “And this young lady,” she said, “is Priscilla Hutchins. Hutch to her friends. She’s one of our pilots.”

Fletcher looked at her. “Hutch,” he said, “I didn’t realize our pilots looked so good.” Then he flashed that killer smile and turned away for more introductions.

It was a heartbreaker.

* * *

NEWSDESK

FOUR CLIMBERS DEAD IN COLORADO AVALANCHE

Ignored Warnings to Stay off Mountain

SENATE VOTES TO DISMISS CASTOR

Corruption Charges Filed; Indictment Believed Imminent

Other Senators May Be Involved

Historic Term Limits Bill Introduced in House

BANCROFT COMPLETES CROSS-COUNTRY BIKE RIDE

Pledges for Homeless Pass 5 Million

GENETIC GOOD-LOOKS BOOST NOT WORKING

No Real Change in Glamour Generation

It May Be All in the Smile

INCREASES IN TEST SCORES ATTRIBUTED TO ROBOT TEACHERS

In Classroom, Robots Consistently Outperform Humans

Hold Inherent Advantage in One-on-One Instruction

INCOMING SOLAR FLARE MAY DISRUPT TECHNOLOGY

POLICE KILL VIOLENT CHIMP

Three People Injured in Southsea Park

FERAL CATS STILL A MAJOR PROBLEM ACROSS COUNTRY

MCGRUDER CHALLENGES BELMAR TO RELEASE IQ SCORE

SPACEPORT SECURITY FLUNKS CHECK

Reporters Board Flights with Fake Bombs

Coordinated Test Gets by Flaws in London, Berlin, Tokyo, New York

Peking & Paris Block Entry

DROUGHT CONTINUES IN MIDWEST

Water Rationing in Effect in Eight States