Starhawk

Chapter 19

ON THE EIGHTH day, the Venture surfaced, and thirty hours later Priscilla was approaching Selika. It was a gorgeous green-and-blue world, floating serenely in bright sunlight, accompanied by its three moons. Priscilla looked down at broad oceans, a continent stretching nearly from pole to pole, and a host of island chains. Ice caps were considerably larger than they were on Earth. The average temperatures, she knew, were three degrees lower than those at home. That, of course, would not be a problem for settlers.

Several groups were already vying to colonize the world when it became available. An organization calling itself the Nativists wanted to come out and live in the wild. To get back to nature and escape the dreary routines of modern, civilized life. Two religious congregations wanted also to free themselves from the temptations of the modern world. And there was a band of people who claimed the title Freedom Fighters who thought the NAU had been taken over by socialists, and a group of Chinese who wanted out of a country that they said had become a dictatorship.

All five claimed to have enough money to cover their transportation and get their colony launched. Priscilla suspected some of that might have been contributions from people who wanted to see them leave.

“Priscilla,” said Lily, “we have contact with Amity.”

* * *

“GOOD TO SEE you,” said a female voice from the space station. “Welcome to the cultural center of the universe.”

“We’re glad to be here, Amity.”

“You should be in time for the party tonight. Just ride the wave in.” She was referring to the directional signal Lily had already locked onto.

“Is there really a party?” Priscilla asked.

“It’s in your honor. We always party when somebody new shows up. Or when we have any other kind of excuse.”

“I’m for that,” Priscilla said. When she got closer, she turned control over to Amity Operations, and they brought the Venture in alongside the lone vehicle docked at the station. That was the Kandari, a ship with several external tanks. An access tube reached out from Amity and connected with Priscilla’s air lock. She opened up, and a pair of technicians—a tall, broad-shouldered man and a young Asian woman—waved hello and asked permission to come aboard.

“Absolutely,” Priscilla said. “Come on in.”

Both were probably in their midtwenties. “Captain,” said the male, “this is Tonya. And I’m Rick. We’re here to relieve you of your cargo.”

“My name’s Priscilla,” she said. “You guys can have it. You need any help?”

“No, we’re good. You should probably go inside. They’re waiting for you.”

She took her bag, went into the access tube, and was met at the other end by a young woman and a short, stocky man with thick gray hair. “Hello,” he said, offering a hand. “I’m Joe Chappell. And this is Wilma Barrister. We’re happy to see you, umm—”

“Priscilla Hutchins,” she said.

Wilma’s eyes sparkled. “Welcome aboard, Priscilla.” She was the comm operator.

They were in a lounge with a door in every bulkhead. A dozen chairs were scattered about, and a couple of small tables. A pennant reading PROJECT RAINBOW was fixed over the entrance. “How was the flight, Priscilla?” Chappell asked.

“Long,” she said.

“Yeah, we know about that. If there’s anything we can do to make you comfortable while you’re here, don’t hesitate to ask. Wilma will show you to your quarters and provide anything you need.”

“Thank you,” said Priscilla.

“It’s no trouble. We’re always glad to have a visitor. Especially one so charming.” The comment sounded automatic. Chappell started for one of the doors, but stopped. “Oh, you’re aware that you’ll be taking Monika Wolf back with you?”

“Yes, Joe. I know about that.”

“Very good. She’ll be ready to go in the morning. I expect about nine. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m in the middle of something.” He tried another smile, gave up, turned, and left.

“Problem?” asked Priscilla.

“No. Joe always has something important to do. He’s a good guy at heart.” She led the way out. “He’s our director, but I guess you know that.” It had been hard to miss.

“I thought that,” she said. “Wilma, what’s Project Rainbow?”

“That’s the terraforming operation.”

“How’s it coming?”

“All right, I guess.” She led the way through a door and down a corridor. “Be careful,” she said. “We have some spin but not much.” It was effectively zero gee. But they couldn’t have produced anything stronger without getting everyone dizzy. Wilma took a side corridor, stopped at a door, and opened it. “This one’s yours.”

The cabin was a bit compact, smaller even than the quarters on the Venture. But it wasn’t going to matter. She expected to be out of there within ten hours.

“Thanks, Wilma.”

“You’re welcome. And I wasn’t kidding about the party. Take whatever time you need. When you’re ready, come back to the lounge and meet everybody.”

* * *

IT WASN’T EXACTLY a party. The two cargo handlers, Rick and Tonya, were there. They were obviously lovers. A guy who seemed to be Wilma’s boyfriend showed up, and three or four others. “What are you drinking?” asked the boyfriend, whose name was Ben. “Here’s the wine list.” It was all nonalcoholic.

“Joe,” said Wilma, “doesn’t believe in alcohol on space stations.”

“I can understand that,” said Priscilla. “Drunks in orbit. Probably not a good idea.”

“You were alone in the ship?” asked Rick.

“Yes,” she said.

He made a face. “I don’t know why they do that.” Rick wore a shirt with a rainbow and the project name. “I don’t know how you guys manage it. I’d go nuts if they sealed me alone in one of those things for a week.”

“You get used to it,” she said, speaking like a veteran pilot and immediately regretting it. Somebody here might know this was her first mission. So she grinned. “At least, that’s what they tell me.”

“You new?” asked Wilma.

“Just a couple of weeks.”

Wilma introduced her to two physicists, Hal and Agnes. Hal was middle-aged, balding, and looked generally bored. He made it immediately clear that he’d been out there a long time. “We don’t get many visitors like you.”

Priscilla’s alarms went off. “I guess not, Hal. So you guys change the weather patterns, right?”

“We do more than that. Basically, what we do is climate adjustment.”

“In what way?”

He passed it over to Agnes, whose age and reactions signaled she could easily have been Hal’s mother. “We’ve had to modify the mix of gases in the atmosphere,” she said. “This place has good potential for human habitation. It’s one of maybe three worlds we’ve seen where people could actually live comfortably. But it needs some modification. Usually, if we get a decent climate, the gravity level’s too much. Or too little. Cilia II, for example, would be a great place to live. Standard gravity and an ideal atmosphere. But it’s unstable.”

“How do you mean?”

“There’s a ton of junk floating around in the system.” She laughed. “It gets whacked regularly by asteroids. In a billion years or so, the problem will go away on its own.”

Priscilla poured herself an apple juice. “What kind of adjustment do you need here?”

“A higher level of oxygen.”

“And you do it with superalgae?”

“Very good,” said Hal, trying to look impressed. “You’ve done your homework.”

She nodded. Looked back at Agnes. “How long have you been at it?”

“I don’t think anybody, except Hal, has been here longer than a year,” she said. “Project Rainbow, though, is about six years old.”

“How’s it been going?”

“Okay,” said Hal. “Oxygen content has gone from 15 to almost 16 percent. For better or worse. Or were you talking about the social life?”

Wilma’s eyes moved from Hal to Priscilla. She pursed her lips, as if Hal had told an inappropriate story. He shrugged. Smiled. Drank whatever was in his cup.

“Something wrong?” asked Priscilla.

“Well,” said Wilma. “Nothing critical. The nitrogen-oxygen balance seems to be having an adverse effect on some of the lower-level life-forms. No big deal.”

* * *

WILMA CONTINUED INTRODUCING her around, and one of the women made a play for her. As did one of the young males. Social reality in a place like Amity, she realized, was going to be a completely different ball game from anything she’d experienced before. Maybe that was why Monika Wolf was heading home. Priscilla actually felt guilty declining the offers. She almost felt as if she had an obligation to provide a break from the vapid existence. Amity. It brought a sad smile to her lips.

Toward the end of the evening, she heard raised voices somewhere in the station. One belonged to Chappell, the other to a woman. Priscilla couldn’t make out what it was about. The disruption lasted only a minute or so. But the lounge grew quiet. And when it was over, everyone behaved as if it had not happened.

* * *

SHORTLY AFTER SHE’D retired, Hal showed up at her cabin and asked whether she needed anything. She thanked him and assured him she was fine. He let her see his disappointment.

Priscilla was up early, packed her bag, and stowed it on the Venture. Then she joined a couple of the techs for breakfast in a conference room that also served as the dining area. She was finishing a plate of pork roll and eggs when she heard the same two raised voices that had interrupted the party the previous evening. “—No choice,” Chappell was saying. “I really wish you’d rethink things, Monika.” The director walked in, accompanied by a tall, intense woman with black hair and angry eyes. She wore a white blouse and green slacks, in contrast to the gray work uniforms everyone else had.

“Maybe,” said the woman, “you should think about the potential consequences of all this.”

“Try to be rational,” he said. “The chances of its happening are remote.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Look, I wish you could just give it some time. If you leave—”

“Good-bye, Joe. I hope you’re right. But I doubt it.” She looked around, spotted Priscilla, and approached the table. “Hutchins?” she asked.

“Yes. You’re Dr. Wolf?”

“I am. I’m ready to leave whenever it’s convenient.” She turned on her heel and walked out the door in the direction of the launch platform. Chappell watched with mounting frustration as she left.

Then he turned to Priscilla, who had just said good-bye to her companions and was getting up. “Have a good flight,” he said in an accusing tone as though she were somehow responsible for Wolf’s decision.

Priscilla was thinking that being alone on the Venture suddenly didn’t seem like such a bad idea.

* * *

TWO BAGS HAD been left by the access tube. Wolf picked up one of them and left the second for Priscilla. She collected it and followed her passenger into the ship. When they cleared the air lock, Wolf stopped and gazed down the passageway at the closed doors. “Which one is mine?”

“Pick one,” said Priscilla. “Any but the first one on the left.”

Wolf took the middle cabin on the right. “Thank you,” she said.

“Anything else you need before we get started?”

“No. We can leave whenever you’re ready.” She went into the room and closed the door.

Priscilla took her seat on the bridge, said hello to Lily, and started going through her preflight. She was about two minutes into the process when she became aware of movement behind her. Wolf was standing back there watching her. She was several inches taller than the captain and probably twenty years older. “You seem awfully young,” she said, “to be a pilot.”

“You know,” Priscilla said quietly, “this is beginning to feel as if it will be a long flight.”

“There’s no need to get obnoxious, Captain. I’ve—” Her voice shook. “I’ve had enough of that for one day.” She turned away, started to retreat, but returned within seconds. “I’m sorry if I’ve offended you. I didn’t intend to. None of this is your fault. I just—” There were tears.

“Can I get you anything, Dr. Wolf?”

“No, I’m okay.” She was still having trouble with her voice. “Sorry. I’m behaving like an idiot.”

“It’s all right.”

She nodded. Nodded again. And, finally: “By the way, my name is Monika.”

“We’ll be leaving in a few minutes, Monika. You can sit here if you like.” She indicated the right-hand seat.

“No. That’s okay. I’d better just get out of your way.” She smiled weakly and left.

Priscilla connected with Wilma, who gave her clearance for departure. “Enjoy the flight home,” she added, with an unmistakable note of sympathy in her voice.

Priscilla was tempted to ask for details about what had gone wrong, but she wasn’t sure whether Monika was close enough to overhear. Anyway, it was probably better not to have someone else’s interpretation. She’d undoubtedly hear about it on her own.

They released the Venture from the dock. She told Monika to belt down, eased away from the station, turned onto her course, and began to accelerate.

* * *

MONIKA REMAINED SUBDUED. She was polite enough, but she simply didn’t want to do much other than read and juggle mathematical displays. Still, Priscilla was pleased to see that she spent most of her time in the passenger cabin rather than in her own unit. That suggested she didn’t really want to be alone.

They ate together, and gradually the tension subsided. They talked about how they’d both chosen careers that took them to remote places. “When I was a kid,” Monika said, “I got intrigued by aliens. Read too much science fiction.”

“So you were a natural choice for the Selika project,” said Priscilla.

“I suppose. Though I’m not a biologist.”

“What is your specialty, Monika?”

“Artificial intelligence. I got hung up on information software pretty early, too.” She smiled and, for the first time since she’d come aboard, looked relaxed. “When I discovered we hadn’t found anyone we could talk to, nor were likely to, I took the next best bet: create our own aliens.”

“But apparently you never lost your interest in exploration.”

“No. I guess not. My parents didn’t care very much for what I was doing. My father wanted me to become a doctor.”

“Your experience sounded a lot like mine. My mom wants me to be a lawyer.”

“It was probably the Gene Black novels as much as anything,” Monika said. Gene Black had been probably the preeminent writer of deep-space adventure thirty years earlier.

On their fourth morning together, while the ship swam through the transdimensional fog, Priscilla came into the passenger cabin on her way to the bridge and found Monika in tears.

“It’s nothing,” she said. “I’m just a little upset, I guess.”

“It’s all right. We have some medications. I can get something for you. Help to calm your nerves.”

“My nerves are fine. I’m just tired.”

“Okay. Whatever you say.”

“You know, Priscilla, you give up too easily.”

Priscilla tried laughing, and it worked. Monika calmed down. But she got the medications for her. When she’d finished taking them, Monika sat with her eyes closed.

“Feel better?”

“Yes.”

“Good. We’re going to be out here for several more days. Why don’t you tell me what’s going on? You need someone to talk to.”

“I didn’t realize you also had a psychiatric license.”

“It’s required for bartenders and pilots.”

“I’ve heard that. Well, the truth is that I probably need a lot more than talking, love.”

“So I assume all this is connected with the terraforming?”

“Ah, yes. Right to the heart of the matter.” She was quiet for a long minute. Then: “You know, the way we’re going, we’ll probably kill off everything on the planet.”

“I’ve heard about that. How, exactly, is it happening?”

“The superalgae. They’re increasing the percentage of oxygen in the atmosphere.”

“I know. That’s the point of the project, isn’t it?”

“The extra oxygen is devastating some of the more basic life-forms.”

“You mean like, what? Ants?”

“Yes, like ants. Nothing more complicated than that as far as we can determine. And maybe not even at that level.”

“That’s not the way I understood it. I thought the higher life-forms were being decimated.”

“That’s all projection. There’ve been some reductions among some of the higher species, but we’re not certain of the connections yet. The problem is that if it’s happening, and I’d bet my life it is, we can’t wait until the final numbers are in before we back off. And I don’t think we’ll back off even then. There’s too much money involved.” She took a deep breath. “So some of us are getting desperate.”

“Leon,” Priscilla said.

“Yeah. He had it right. Poor bastard. Did you know him?”

“Yes. I never thought he’d have been capable of something like that.”

“I guess we never really know anybody.”

“You’re saying nothing on Selika can adjust to the change in the atmosphere?”

“No, I’m not saying that at all. Many of the life-forms, maybe most of them, can adjust. But some don’t. We think only a few actually. But they’re part of the food chain. Knock off some species, and everything that feeds on that species goes, too. And everything that feeds off that level. All the way up the chain. We don’t know what we’re starting here. We don’t know where it’s going to end.”

“Weren’t studies done on this stuff before they started these programs?”

“Of course, Priscilla. But there are too many variables. You can’t predict everything. You can’t catch everything. What’s worse, the guys who did the studies knew ahead of time what kind of results management wanted. And I’d be amazed if there weren’t payoffs. Anyway, the problem now is that Kosmik has too much invested in Selika to back away.”

“Has Chappell reported this?”

“He claims he has. But who does he report to? People who have an interest in keeping the program moving.”

“So you’re not going to be part of it anymore?”

“That’s correct.”

“Are you going to blow the whistle?”

“I am. I’m going to blow the lid off.”

“Good.”

She shrugged. “Right.”

Priscilla smiled. “You’re supposed to feel a little better now.”

“I know. I probably would if I thought—”

“What?”

“It would matter. By the time we get back, Kosmik will have destroyed my reputation. They’ll accuse me of being a lunatic, Priscilla.”

“They can say what they want. But the facts are on your side.”

“No, love. Only the suppositions are on my side. I could turn out to be the woman who went down gallantly defending alien ants. And unfortunately Leon Carlson didn’t help matters. Or some of the nutcases who make us all look like lunatics.”

“Oh.”

“The problem is that we don’t have enough information to make a calculation. From what I can see, there’s a better than fair chance we’ll take out every living thing on the planet. But it will take a while. Maybe centuries. Once it starts, though, once the process gains a foothold, we’d have a very difficult time shutting it down.”

* * *

THAT NIGHT, SOMEWHERE after midnight, Priscilla thought she heard Monika moving around. She got up, left her quarters, and made her way barefooted to the passenger cabin. There was a light on the bridge.

“Monika?” She called the name softly, as if not wanting to wake anyone else.

She heard a barely audible click. Like a panel closing. And her passenger’s voice: “I’m up here.”

Priscilla went onto the bridge. Monika was seated in the pilot’s chair, but everything seemed in order. “What are you doing?”

“Playing mind games. Pretending I’m the pilot. I’d love to be able to run one of these things. I envy you.”

Priscilla sat down beside her. Tied herself in so she wouldn’t float away. “Can’t sleep, Monika?”

“I’ve been tossing around all night.” She grinned. “I’ve looked forward for a long time to going home. To the ride home. I wish, though, that I could be the pilot.”

They sat quietly for a minute. Finally, Priscilla asked about her career plans.

She shrugged. “Get a job on the ground, I guess.”

* * *

NEWSDESK

Worldwide News has learned that a member of the scientific team living in orbit at the distant world Selika has been sent home for psychiatric assistance. The person’s identity is not known, nor is the exact nature of the malady. Kosmik, which oversees the operation, had no comment this morning, but has since released a statement that at no time was any member of the staff in danger.

Kosmik is attempting to terraform Selika, which has been at the center of the terraforming controversy for more than a year. Selika is approximately 24 light-years away.

—December 15, 2195

* * *

LIBRARY ENTRY

We have collected, in two days, more than seven million signatures demanding that Congress move to stop further exploitation of living worlds. The activities of Kosmik and its collaborators is unconscionable.

—The Public Action Website, December 16, 2195

If they will not stop, then we must consider alternative action. We may have no option other than to follow the lead of Leon Carlson.

—Calltoarms.ca, December 17, 2195