Starhawk

Chapter 29

PRISCILLA RETURNED TO her office, dropped into a chair, and stared at the link. Maybe she should call and apologize. Assure Irasco she’d stay in line from now on. Cause no more problems. She did not want to walk away from this job. Did not want to go back to Princeton, where she’d probably spend her time waiting on tables at the Chicken Stop. But there was no way she could bring herself to do that. Anyhow, he probably wouldn’t back off even if she did.

Good-bye, Alpha Centauri.

She called the shuttle terminal and asked for a reservation. The afternoon flight was full. They could accommodate her in the morning. She locked it in and started gathering her personal belongings. It was easy enough; she hadn’t really moved much stuff into the office. There was a Liberator desk calendar, with a fresh cartoon every day. The Liberator had the funniest cartoons on the planet. The current one showed an idiotic-looking clerk assuring his boss that he shouldn’t worry about a thing. “I’ll take care of it personally.”

She kept a change of clothes in the closet. She gathered her notebook and her pens and took down the wall calendar. It was all pictures of animals. January featured two kittens. (She liked paper calendars.) She picked up her toothbrush and, finally, the framed photo of the six graduating cadets, taken at the ceremony.

She put everything into her bag and decided to avoid saying good-bye to her coworkers. There was no way that could turn out well. As angry and frustrated as she was, she didn’t want to leave in a trail of tears.

Maybe she could take advantage of her meeting with Dr. Campbell and get a position with the Academy Project. Though, probably, they wouldn’t hire her once they learned what had happened. But she had nothing to lose.

Jolie Peters, a data-scan specialist, was outside in the corridor. “Hi, Hutch,” she said.

That meant she probably hadn’t heard yet. You don’t do jokes with somebody who’s just been terminated. She said hello, took the elevator down, walked past more offices on the main deck, and went out into the concourse. A couple of hundred tourists were wandering around, looking out through the portals, filling the gift shops and the restaurants and the game centers. Maybe Frank had been right, maybe she should have stayed out of it. Done what she was told.

But she was still too close to the people caught in the lander to assume that it was okay to take chances, not worry too much about the details, just have faith that everything would be all right.

She went into one of the game centers and spent half an hour shooting down space invaders. They were evil-looking creatures with enormous eyes and crocodile snouts, and they kept landing in gravity-defying saucers and emerging in walking tripods, like the ones in H. G. Wells. She had never played the game before, had in fact not bothered much with shoot-out games after she got past twelve years old. But on that occasion she took considerable pleasure in mowing stuff down.

* * *

SHE STAYED AWAY from the Cockpit that evening. And the Skyview. Best, if she wanted to eat alone, was probably the North Star, which mostly served tourists. It was pricey, but she owed herself a good meal. She ordered turkey and mashed potatoes and cranberry sauce and carrots, added a glass of burgundy, and ate by candlelight. There was music, of course, and a handsome young man tried to pick her up. He could not have chosen a worse night.

She had a second glass of burgundy, drank it slowly, and wondered when she’d be back. If she’d be back.

She was not ready to return to her hotel room, so she walked the concourse, lost in regret, and hardly noticed when she passed the North Star again. The concourse was circular, somewhat more than five kilometers around. She wondered what Jake was doing. Imagined what her mother’s reaction would be when she heard the news. Speculated about whether anything would have been different had she been able to get the Baumbachner out through the launch doors. Her father would have been disappointed in her getting fired. Or no, maybe he wouldn’t. He’d have been proud of her. Do the right thing regardless of consequences. It had been his mantra. Don’t get caught up in the bureaucracy. Sometimes, you just have to take your chances.

She stopped in one of the viewport lobbies and looked down at Earth. They were over the Atlantic. Nothing but ocean down there, illuminated by starlight. The station was on the dark side of the planet, and there was no moon. She thought how nice it would be to buy a cabin cruiser and go to sea for a year or two. Pity she wasn’t wealthy.

* * *

IT WAS GOING to be a long night. She arrived back at her apartment, thinking about the time she’d spent on the Copperhead, waiting while they tried to ride out the fragmented rescue attempt. Then, she’d been distracted by the presence of the girls. And the truth was that she’d never been able to accept the idea that somebody would not survive even after she knew the numbers wouldn’t work. Somehow, there’d been a sense that someone would show up, charge in while there was still time. She hadn’t believed any other outcome was possible until she saw Joshua in the cargo bay.

Maybe not even then.

She got out of her clothes, showered, set the alarm, and climbed into bed. There was nothing on the HV, just political talk shows, reruns of comedies and police procedurals, cooking directions, and how to upgrade your real estate. But she didn’t want to deal with a silent room. So she left one of the talk shows on while she lay quietly staring at the overhead.

Some dark part of her wanted the rescue to go wrong, the Grosvenor to decline the assignment, to blow an engine, something that would prove her right. She realized what that would probably mean for Quinn and his colleagues, and that brought a rush of guilt, but on that night the guilt seemed secondary to everything else. She wanted to get even with Frank and Patricia. The director had to be involved, too. There was no way Frank would have terminated her without clearing it first with the boss. And Priscilla did have an option: She could go to the press. The downside to that was that she’d mark herself as a whistle-blower. That would destroy whatever remaining chance she might have to hire on with anybody.

In the morning, she dragged herself out of bed, dressed, and packed. Then she called her mother. “Coming home, Mom,” she said.

“When? What happened?” She sounded, and looked, alarmed. “Is something wrong?”

“I’ll tell you about it when I get there.”

“When will that be?”

“Today,” she said.

“Today? Priscilla, what’s going on?”

“It’s just not working out, Mom. Listen, I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

She went down to the lobby and checked out. “We’re sorry to see you leaving, Ms. Hutchins,” said Laura, the lady at the desk. “We thought you were going to be staying with us indefinitely.”

“My plans have changed,” she said, “I’m sorry to say.”

She went outside and hailed a cab. They were small electric vehicles, automated, with open sides. Her bags went on top. She climbed in, touched her link to the connector, and told it to take her to the launch terminal. Mukarram came out of the Cockpit, which was located directly across the way. He waved, and she waved back. He looked happy.

She arrived at the terminal, got out of the cab, and went inside. It was early yet, and the place was almost empty. She checked in, dropped off her bags, and went back across the concourse to get some breakfast. Best for a quick meal was Belly Up.

She was just starting on some pancakes when Irasco walked in. He smiled weakly. “Mind if I sit down, Priscilla?”

She looked at him. Looked at the empty chair opposite her. “Good morning.”

“You’re not always easy to get hold of. I’ve been trying to call you for an hour.”

“I was turned off.”

“Oh.”

Her waiter came over. A young man, ginger-colored hair, green eyes, nice smile. Much more likable than Frank. “Is there anything else I can get for you?” he asked. Then he turned to her former boss: “Did you want a menu, sir?”

“Just coffee,” he said. “Thank you.” He glanced down at Priscilla’s pancakes. “And make it one check.”

“Separate checks, please,” said Priscilla.

The waiter smiled uncertainly and backed away.

Frank toyed with a fork. “I’m sorry about what happened.”

“What is it you want?” she asked.

“Well,” he said, “we talked it over last night. I probably acted a little abruptly. Priscilla, we’d like to keep you on board. Start over.” He gazed across the table at her. “If it’s all right with you, we’ll forget the whole thing happened.”

“Why?” she asked.

“I don’t think you understand what we’re dealing with here, what’s at stake. You know there’s a movement out there to shut the space authority down. Everybody’s economy is in a shambles. Even the Germans are suggesting the space program’s a waste of resources desperately needed elsewhere.”

“I’m aware of that, Frank. I don’t live in a box.”

“Okay. Bottom line: I don’t want to do anything to support their argument.”

Priscilla was tired of the debate. “Something goes wrong at Teegarden, and those people die; you think that won’t be one more nail in the coffin?”

“I overreacted. Sorry.” He tried to rearrange himself in his chair. “We want you to stay with us. The only thing I’m going to ask of you is that you promise not to go off half-cocked like that again. Do we have a deal?”

“I don’t think I can make that promise, Frank. Not if somebody’s life is at stake.”

“Look, I don’t want to restart this thing, but it wasn’t a life-and-death situation. The question was whether they might miss a few meals. To be honest, I think we both overreacted. But I’ll tell you what: If something comes up, and you feel that strongly again, just warn me first, okay? And so we’re on the same page here, the drive unit on board the Baumbachner hasn’t been used for years. There’s no way to know how reliable it is. The only life that was at risk yesterday was yours.”

She looked at him. Into those frustrated eyes. “Okay, Frank.”

“Then you’ll come back?”

“Yes.”

“Excellent. Take the morning off and get yourself together.” His coffee arrived. He tasted it, paid both bills, and got up. “I’ll see you this afternoon.”

“All right. And Frank?”

“Yes?”

“Just for the record.”

“I’m listening.”

“You remember who you assigned responsibility to for maintaining the Baumbachner?”

“Sure. You.”

“Right. And you can take my word for it that, if we need it, the Baumbachner will be ready to go.”

“I hope it doesn’t run up the bill.”

* * *

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