Starhawk

Chapter 16

PRISCILLA AND TAWNY rode the shuttle down to the Philadelphia spaceport. She got off and gloried in the familiar tug of gravity, in being able to walk without paying attention to every step, in not having to be careful about the way she handled her coffee. One of the other passengers, a large middle-aged woman, read her eyes and smiled agreement. A young couple, probably finishing a honeymoon, were actually jumping up and down, deliriously happy to have their weight back.

She took a taxi to the Thirtieth Street Station, where she boarded a glide train. Twenty-five minutes later, she got off in Princeton. Her mother was waiting in the station and greeted her with a big hug. “It’s so good to have you home,” she said. “We were following the news reports, but nobody seemed to be sure what was going on.”

“It’s great to be back, Mom.”

Mom had news. Reporters had been calling, asking how she felt about the way Captain Miller had died. “I didn’t get into that. Told them I didn’t know anything about it. They were also hoping to find you, but I didn’t tell them you were coming home.” She smiled.

“Thanks, Mom.”

Her eyes clouded. “I have to say that I wasn’t impressed by Loomis’s behavior.”

“It was an impossible situation, Mom. We didn’t know. You might as well blame me.”

“That’s hardly the case, love. But let it go. Did I tell you that Uncle Phil is finally going to get married? To a doctor, no less. Her name’s Miriam. You’ll like her. And Cousin Ed finally quit his old job with the city. He’s working over at Margo’s bakery. A chef. I think he’s finally satisfied. It’s really what he’s always wanted to do.”

Ed was, in fact, the best cook in the family. He’d been a history major in school, but it hadn’t worked out. He’d tried teaching, had been a naval officer, and had talked about writing a history of the post-Islamic wars. He’d admitted to Priscilla that the era was too complicated and too chaotic for anybody to make sense of. “It might need twelve volumes,” he’d told her. When she’d left, he’d been a clerk at the county unemployment office. “For a while,” said Mom, “we thought he’d just gone around to the other side of the counter.” They both laughed.

They left Tawny in the car and stopped for a snack at the Delmore Pizza. It was almost 3:00 A.M. for Priscilla, who’d been living on Greenwich time for almost three months. But the aroma of pizza had always been enough to keep her awake. They sat down at a table, and Mom said something about going off her diet, but it was worth it to have her daughter home again.

Her mother, fortunately, had stopped calling her “Prissy.” Priscilla had never liked the name. Mom was the only one who used it, but, although Priscilla never said anything directly, she’d made no effort to hide her feelings. Obviously, the message had finally gotten through.

She was living alone now. Had been since Daddy’s sudden death two years earlier. Sitting at the Delmore, trading stories with her mother, talking about Barton’s World and the frightened students, she realized that her mom was proud of her.

* * *

HER BEDROOM HADN’T changed much. The framed photo in which she stood between her parents in front of one of the monitors at the Drake Center still commanded attention from the top of her bureau. A photo of the Galileo, an early superluminal, hung over the bed, and a picture of her with her old boyfriend Charlie Cartwell at a Wildwood beach stood under a lamp. A calendar featuring a wide-eyed parrot hung near the window. It was still set at September, when she’d left for her final weeks in training.

Like anyone’s childhood bedroom, it encapsulated a lot of memories. Jerry the Hamster waving at her from the lamp shade, the upper shelf of her closet where she’d hidden Christmas gifts for her parents, the child’s desk in one corner where she’d started her first diary.

On that night, because she was still running on Greenwich time, she awakened long before dawn. She started thinking about breakfast and decided to get up. It seemed like a good day for a bagel topped with strawberry jelly.

She put on the HV and got a shock: The FBI had held a press conference and named the suspected bomber in the Gremlin incident. It was Leon.

That was simply not possible. He was a friend. She’d shared meals with him and knew he would never deliberately injure anyone. But she remembered the evening on which there’d been the altercation in Skydeck. Still, it could not have been him. The interstellar pilots and techs had a sacred bond of sorts, a commitment to one another that everything was secondary to the safety of their passengers and each other. The notion that one of them would deliberately put a bomb on a ship was counter to everything she’d come to believe.

She shook her head. Can’t trust anybody. But she just couldn’t buy it.

* * *

SHE CHECKED HER link, hoping to see a message from, maybe, Interstellar Transport attempting to buy her away from Kosmik. But there was nothing. She got up and looked out the window at the McClellands’ house across the street, clothed in darkness. A three-quarter Moon was framed just over its roof.

Even now it was hard to believe she’d walked on its surface.

* * *

SHE GOT A call from Wally Brinkman that afternoon. She and Wally had run an on-again off-again romance over the past year. Wally had been shocked that past summer when she’d announced her intention to leave Princeton. “Princeton?” he’d said. “Priscilla, you’re going to be leaving Earth. You really sure you want to do that?”

Wally had gone into investment banking. He was a good guy, but he thought life was exclusively about money. That was what his education had been for. He’d told her that she could do much better at home. “There’s no money in piloting,” he said. “For one thing, even if you had some resources to start with, you’re too far away from everything to be able to keep up with what’s going on. So you have to trust somebody else to manage your investments.” He’d shaken his head. “It’s just a shortsighted way to do things.”

“So, Wally,” she said, when his face blinked onto the screen, “how is it going?”

“Just fine,” he said. Just fine was a kind of mantra with Wally, who didn’t believe in putting his emotions on display. “I see you’re a hero now. Well done.” Big smile.

“Well,” she said, “it was really Jake Loomis and Captain Miller who were the heroes. All I did was mind the ship.”

Wally had black curly hair that was never quite trimmed properly. He liked to portray himself as a guy who didn’t worry about details, who played for the big score. She was saddened that he always seemed fearful of being himself. “Modesty,” he said, “is one of the signs of true greatness.” His smile suggested he was kidding, but not really.

“No,” she said. “I was never in danger. It was the two captains who took their chances. And a teacher.”

“Yeah, I heard about all that. Heard about Loomis.” His tone hardened.

“What did you hear?”

“That he stood by and let the other guy go down to the chamber where they didn’t have any oxygen.”

“Wally, that’s not exactly what happened.”

“Okay. I’m just repeating what I’m hearing.”

“Who’s saying that?”

“I saw it on the talk shows.” A chill touched her heart. “Are you saying that’s not the way it happened?”

“It’s not. It isn’t that simple, Wally.”

“Okay. I’ve never trusted the media anyhow. Listen, the reason I called, I wanted you to know I was really glad to hear that you’d got through all that and were coming home for a while. How long are you going to be here?”

“I’m not sure. Probably just a few days.”

“When you go back, will you be stationed somewhere?”

She smiled. “I assume I’ll be somewhere, yes.”

“But not anywhere near Princeton?”

“Probably not.”

“Well, I’m sorry to hear it.” He appeared uncertain. “I was wondering if I could take you to dinner tomorrow evening? Maybe we could go to Talbott’s?”

She heard cars pulling up outside. “Sure, Wally. I’d enjoy that. What time?”

“Pick you up at seven?”

“See you then.”

* * *

THE HOUSE AI was George. George was her grandfather on her mother’s side, but no one had ever claimed he’d been the reason for the name. She’d met an old boyfriend of Mom’s once with the name. “Reporters, Priscilla,” George said.

“Okay.” Two cars had parked in the driveway. They carried emblems from Worldwide News and CBC. Central Jersey News was pulling alongside the curb as she opened the door. “I’ve got it,” she said. Several reporters were hurrying up the walkway. “Hello,” she said.

They all began speaking at once. The first to get through to her was a tall, African-American woman. “Hi, Priscilla,” she said. “I’d like your take on what happened to Captain Miller. Did they cut the cards to see who’d go into the cargo bay? Or what? How did they make the decision?”

“Look,” she said. “It wasn’t anything like that. Nobody knew Captain Miller was going to take his life. We were still trying to figure out what to do.”

“So he just did it?” said a guy who looked too young to be out of high school. “He didn’t warn anybody what he was going to do? He just killed himself?”

“I can tell you that we had just gotten the news that we wouldn’t have enough air, and we were trying to figure out what we would do. Why don’t you ask me why I stood by and let it happen?” Priscilla knew it was a mistake before the words were out of her mouth.

“Why did you?” asked another of the reporters. A large male this time.

“Let me try again,” she said. “I didn’t know what he intended to do. Nobody did.”

“Can you tell us where Jake Loomis is now?”

“I have no idea.”

“You must have known someone was going to have to fall on his sword. Was it a choice between either Loomis or Miller?”

“Hey,” said a female reporter off to one side. “Give her a break. What the hell are you people doing?”

Priscilla handled the other questions about as well as could be expected. She gave credit to Jake and Shahlah, and said that the girls had been exemplary. “They were in a scary situation when we got there, but they kept cool. Couldn’t have been better.” She stood out there in front of the house, not dressed for November weather, not feeling the cold though, not even aware it was cold because all she could think of was how she was coming across and what a terrible politician she’d have made. “As for Captain Miller,” she said finally, “we owe him everything.”

More cars arrived and finally her mother realized what was going on and came out and called a halt. It was the perfect finish: Here’s the intrepid interstellar captain, or captain-to-be, facing suspicion of cowardice, and she needs her mother to bail her out.

* * *

THEY RAN THE clip a few minutes later. Priscilla’s mother was furious. “What’s wrong with these people?” she demanded. “Didn’t they ever hear of chivalry? Anyhow, it’s the captain’s responsibility.”

“Mom, I was technically the captain.”

“Loomis was your senior officer.”

Priscilla had to swallow her frustration. “Let it go, Mom, all right?”

Her mother sighed, sat back in her chair, and crossed her arms. “I’m sorry. I certainly didn’t want to offend you.”

“It’s okay. I’m just a little bit rattled right now.”

“There’s no need for you to be, love. You’re a hero. Despite what those nitwits say.”

* * *

HER FAMILY THREW a welcome-home party for her that evening. It was supposed to be a surprise, but Mom warned her in advance when Priscilla started talking about going to see a couple of her girlfriends. “Uncle Phil set it up,” she said. “Everybody’s so anxious to see you.”

They all showed up, uncles and aunts and cousins, some of whom she hadn’t seen in years. Mark Hutchins had been six years old at their last meeting, a curly-haired kid chasing a puppy around. Now he was taller than she was, and he’d become a heartbreaker. Uncle Phil looked very much like her father. And his prospective bride, Miriam, was everything Mom had said. Her aunt Chris Parroff, who had filled Priscilla’s early years with the world’s finest chocolate cakes, provided another one.

Her relatives had come from all over New Jersey and Pennsylvania. They had seen what Aunt Chris called Priscilla’s news conference. Everybody took offense. Cousin Gregory said he would write a letter. “I was glad that one woman spoke up,” said Miriam with a note of satisfaction in her voice. “Somebody needed to put those ding-dongs in their place.”

“I wish I’d been there,” said Uncle Phil. “Those guys will do anything to come up with a story. They don’t give a damn about what really happened.”

Mark delivered a snort. “Well, whatever. I was glad somebody there defended Priscilla.”

“Priscilla didn’t need defending,” Mom said, visibly annoyed. “She did fine.”

Priscilla was relieved when the subject, finally, got dropped.

* * *

THERE WERE A few surprises during the course of the evening. Old friends stopped by. Girls with whom she’d hung out during her high-school and college years. Guys she’d dated. Even Harmon Baxter, who’d walked away from her for a blond cheerleader. Harmon was careful about approaching her. But she had no hard feelings. Wouldn’t have given him the satisfaction of being annoyed. He didn’t bring up the cheerleader, and, of course, neither did she.

It was during the conversation with Harmon that her link activated. She excused herself, grateful to get clear. The call was from Kosmik. “Hello,” she said.

“Priscilla, this is Howard. I wanted to let you know that we need you back on the Wheel. We have a problem.”

“I’ll try to get a shuttle out tomorrow.”

“We’ve already taken care of it. You’ll be on the morning flight out of Philadelphia. And by the way, I know this isn’t the way we planned things, but we’ll reimburse you for your trouble.”

When she heard, Mom was upset. “Is this the way it’s going to be?”

“I don’t think so. They just need somebody on short notice.”

“Where will you be going?”

“I didn’t think to ask.”

* * *

SO THE WELCOME-HOME party became a farewell party. They sang and danced and told jokes and reminisced about the old days. About how Grandpop used to say he didn’t mind flying as long as he could drag one foot on the ground. And Cousin Aggie whose behavior suggested she’d come from Mars. They asked Priscilla what it felt like to slip into that other kind of world, Barber space. And where did they get that name from anyhow? Was it because somebody had had a close shave in there once?

Jackie Tensler, a friend since the seventh grade, asked whether there were “any available guys on the Wheel?” And another cousin wanted to know if Priscilla could arrange to take her along on one of the missions.

Uncle Phil wondered how long it would take to get to Alpha Centauri in his car. And Priscilla’s seven-year-old niece Teri told her she was going to pilot starships when she grew up. “Just like you, Aunt Priscilla.” Everybody told Priscilla how it was a pity her father hadn’t lived to see this day.

She was dancing with Arlen Hoxley when the link activated again. She liked Arlen. Always had. He claimed to have fallen in love with her when they were both in kindergarten. They’d done occasional dates through the years, but he’d never really made a play for her. And she had never really invited his attention. Born to be friends, she thought. Nothing more. But it was enough.

Ordinarily, she’d have shut the link down during a social occasion, but she’d given it instructions on that night to block everything except calls from Kosmik and Jake. And Wally, just in case.

It was Wally. “Priscilla,” he said. “About tomorrow evening—”

She thought he’d watched the press take her on and was going to back off. “Yes, Wally?”

“We talked about dinner. But I can get tickets for Family Affair at the Corel tomorrow night. How about we eat early and go to the show? Would that be okay?”

The Corel was live theater. “Wish I could,” she said. “But they’ve called me back to work.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Yes, Wally. I just got the word. Sorry.”

“Okay, I’m sorry, too.”

“I wish we could have gotten the evening together.”

“Priscilla, you are the loveliest woman in Princeton. But I suspect you know that.”

Wally did know how to get through to her.

* * *

AT AROUND MIDNIGHT, the party got suddenly quiet. People were whispering and turning to look at her. “What?” she said. “What’s going on?”

Uncle Phil was staring at his link. “He’s dead!” he said.

“Who’s dead?”

“Carlson.”

Mom looked at him and shook her head. Please don’t bring that up in here.

“No,” said Priscilla. “Let’s hear what it’s about.”

“George,” said Mom, “turn on the HV. Newsworld.”

Marilyn Jakovik, the anchor, materialized in the middle of the room. “—Early this evening,” she was saying. “He was living in an apartment under a false name. He is, of course, the man authorities were looking for in connection with the interstellar-bombing incident last week that nearly killed a ship full of high-school girls from the Middle East. The cause of death has not yet been released. But Carlson posted a statement earlier today on the Internet. The statement revealed where he was, his remorse over the incident, and his intention to take his own life.

“We are going to run the statement as soon as we come back from commercial. In the meantime, we want to warn you that it may be painful to watch and that parents may wish to exercise discretion with children.” Despite the nature of the tragedy, Marilyn managed a smile.

“I have no sympathy for him,” said Priscilla. She wasn’t sure she meant it. “I’m glad he’s gone.”

Mom nodded.

“Maybe,” said Uncle Phil, “you should wait to see what he has to say.”

“I can’t imagine anything that could possibly justify what he did.”

Her mother paused the commercial, which was pushing a law firm. “Did you not want to watch it?”

“No. I’m just glad it’s over.”

* * *

IN THE END, she changed her mind, or more likely realized she had not meant what she’d said, and they watched.

“There is no rationale for what I’ve done,” said Carlson. He had a deer-in-the-headlights look. “I’m responsible for the death of my friend Joshua Miller. And, because I couldn’t keep track of schedule changes, I endangered the lives of ten innocent students and their teacher. And two more people in the Copperhead. Both also friends.” He was wearing a black pullover shirt. “I’ve no excuse, and I’m not able to live with what I’ve done. So I’m going to end it tonight. But before I do that, there’s something everyone needs to know.

“I’m sure everybody listening to this is aware of the process called terraforming. It’s a process that tries to convert the environment of a world to make it more friendly for human colonization. That sounds good. They’re experimenting with it on Selika. Unfortunately, in changing the atmosphere, we are killing off most, and probably all, of the life-forms.”

His image was replaced by pictures of birds and lizards and whalelike creatures. And animals that might almost have been Scottish terriers and cats and monkeys and other creatures that resembled nothing Priscilla had seen before except that they all had eyes, and they all somehow looked wistful. There were even some plants, shrubbery that moved as she watched. She was reminded of the occasional pleas that asked viewers to assist animals currently maintained in shelters or discarded by their owners.

“These are all being killed off, in your name, by large international corporations, led by Kosmik, Inc., and aided and abetted by the World Space Authority. If we allow this process to continue, our grandchildren will look back at us and hold us in contempt for standing around and permitting it to happen. Even the people who want to move out to Selika, to colonize it, will find it sterile and repulsive. It won’t be the Eden they’re being promised.

“There’s no justification for what I’ve done. I’m aware of that, and I’ve had to live with it. But I saw no other way to draw attention to this problem than by doing something that would get public notice. Petitions go nowhere. Postings on the Internet accomplish nothing. Appeals to the people who run Kosmik have been turned aside. So I took a chance. It went terribly wrong, and Joshua Miller paid with his life. I will now pay with mine. But I beg you, those of you with any sense of decency, make your voices heard. Stop the terraforming. Whatever it takes, get it stopped.”

He was replaced by Marilyn Jakovik, who switched to news of a murder trial. Mom turned it off. “What do you think?” she asked.

Priscilla shook her head. “Incredible,” she said.

Her mother’s eyes had fastened on her. “Who did you say you’re working for now?”

* * *

NEWSDESK

VICE PRESIDENT: WE NEED INTERSTELLAR FLIGHT

“Confining Ourselves to This Planet Endangers the Species.”

KORMANOV ARGUES FOR EXTENDED INTERSTELLAR EXPLORATION

“To Do Any Less Is to Forget Who We Are.”

MAGLEVS KILLING DEER

Wildlife Protection Agency Appeals to Congress

Magnetics May Be Reducing Reproduction

MANITOBA ENGLISH TEACHER FIGHTS OFF BEAR

Distracts Animal from Children; Wounds Not Life-Threatening

TORNADOES HIT DAKOTAS

No Fatalities, Several Towns Wrecked

MALKAVIA INSERTING IMPLANTS INTO DISSIDENTS

AVERAGE LIFE SPAN IN NAU TOPS 150

Finland Leads the Way at 161

CANCER RESURGENCE IN EAST ASIA

Doctors Baffled

GOLD PARTY DEBATE TONIGHT

LIFE GUARD SOCIETY: TERRAFORMING KILLS EVERYTHING

Martin Pleads for Total Ban

Decries Use of Violence

Bomb on Gremlin “Inexcusable”

SOCIAL SKILLS HIT NEW BOTTOM

Virtual Reality Comes with a Price

Parents Urged to Take Control

STAR PILOT BOMBER COMMITS SUICIDE

Posts Attack on Terraforming