Starhawk

Chapter 33

PRISCILLA CONDUCTED HER first tour the following Monday. But she could not stop thinking that it could have been her riding to the rescue instead of Barnicle. If she’d taken care of her job and seen to the maintenance of the Baumbachner, and if Frank had gotten out of the way and let her go.

Spilled milk. But lesson learned: Be prepared.

Approximately fifteen people showed up in the visitors’ lounge for the tour. They were pumped about the rescue and would have loved to board the Grosvenor. Unfortunately, it wasn’t available, but she was able to do the next best thing. She co-opted Skyview, led her charges into the restaurant at midmorning when it was not busy, and seated them at the long window. Then, using the imagers, she provided a virtual flyby: The Grosvenor appeared in the distance, at first nothing more than a dim star that gradually brightened, morphed into several lights, and finally into the vessel itself. It raced toward them, coming so close that they ducked as it passed overhead. When it was gone, they applauded.

Priscilla had been somewhat nervous about that first tour, afraid she’d freeze when she got in front of the group. But the tourists were enthusiastic about seeing the operations center and she took them on a virtual tour of the Baumbachner. They took pictures of one another on the bridge and in the passenger cabin. Some even asked her to pose with their kids. Next they went to the Cernan Room, where she’d prepared a virtual display that featured appearances by original astronauts and cosmonauts. Susan Helms and Pete Conrad took questions; Anatoly Solovyev and Roger Chaffee oversaw a display of spectacular pictures of places around the solar system; Alan Shepard and Neil Armstrong described the early days. The old Saturn rockets once again lifted off from the Cape, and the command modules splashed down in the ocean. There was some laughter, and one teenager, looking at one of the twentieth-century shuttles, commented on how much guts it must have taken to go into orbit “in one of those things.”

She took them to the science center, which was devoted primarily to managing the telescopes stationed at L4 and L5. One was bringing in images of a galactic eruption that had been in progress for several thousand years. The other was tracking a supermassive black hole that seemed to be swallowing its galaxy. “Where’s the hole?” said one of the kids.

An astronomer standing nearby smiled and offered to explain. Priscilla gave way and saw again how much experts enjoy talking about the idiosyncrasies of their profession.

The reaction to the tour was so enthusiastic that they ran thirty minutes overtime. Priscilla enjoyed it probably as much as anyone. The virtual images were dazzling. She made a note to make the imager an integral part of the program. And she’d add a comet, maybe, as well as one of the deep-space stations. And what the hell, why not do a close encounter with an asteroid? She wouldn’t be able to use Skyview on a regular basis, though. Management had made a special effort to accommodate her on this occasion, and she couldn’t ask them to do that three times a week. But she might be able to set a program up at the Lookout Lounge. That would work just as well. They even had a snack bar.

* * *

TWO DAYS LATER, on the Wednesday tour, as Anatoly Solovyev prepared to take a group of about twenty through the Neptunian rings, she got a surprise. Cal was with them.

He smiled. His lips formed hi.

She stared back. Realized her jaw had dropped. Then raised a hand. Hello.

He faded back into the crowd when Solovyev’s hologram blinked off. They made stops at the science center, the docks, Lookout Lounge, and the Baumbachner. The tour ended, of course, at the gift shop. She thanked everyone for coming. One of the children, a boy about eight years old, wanted to know if she’d ever been out in a ship.

“Yes,” she said. “I’ve been out a few times.”

“How did it feel?”

The child was an African-American. He wore a huge smile, and his eyes were locked on a picture of the Thompson, which adorned the bulkhead. “You’d like it,” she said.

* * *

CAL WAITED UNTIL the group had dispersed. Then he approached. “You put on a pretty good show.”

“Thank you, Calvin. I didn’t expect to see you up here.”

“I didn’t really want to wait until God knows when. I had a few days off, and I thought I’d come see if I could talk the loveliest woman in orbit into having lunch with me.” His alter ego, Mark Klaybold, was back. How did he manage that?

“Sure,” she said. “That would be nice.”

“Good. Do you have a favorite place?”

“How about the North Star?”

“Isn’t that a little far to go for lunch?” His eyes sparkled, and they started walking.

“Have you been up here before, Cal?”

“No. I was struck by your line about keeping both feet on the deck. I see what you mean. It doesn’t take much to get dizzy in this place, does it?”

“Just try to keep your mind off it.”

“That’s easy for you to say. I don’t like heights.”

“My mother’s the same way. But you came here anyhow? I’m impressed.”

“Well, can I tell you the truth?”

“Sure.”

“When you talked about coming to Princeton during the month, you didn’t sound very enthusiastic.”

“Oh, I was probably tired, Cal. They keep me fairly busy here.”

“I see.” He hesitated. “I just wanted to make a point.”

“Which is—?”

“I didn’t want you to forget about me, to consign me to being a happy memory.” The grin came back, but he looked uncomfortable. “I know it’s pretty early to be talking like this. I mean we actually haven’t had much time together. But it would be really easy for us just to walk away from each other, for you to walk away from me, and I don’t want that to happen. At least not until you’ve given me a chance—” He stopped. Looked at her. “I’m talking too much, aren’t I?”

“You’re doing fine, Cal.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” The concourse was experiencing one of its busier days. Usually, you could circle the entire station and see a total of maybe two hundred visitors. But on that morning, sightseers were everywhere. “When do you expect Easy Barnicle will be back?”

“Probably tomorrow,” she said, as they walked into the North Star.

The host led them to a table in back. They ordered sandwiches and two glasses of chianti.

While they waited, he said all the right things and brought her in from the distant place she’d been inhabiting. “I wish we lived close enough that we could get out periodically. Maybe just go to lunch. But spend some time together. So we could get to know each other.”

“That would be nice, Cal. But I can’t see it happening.”

“No. Me neither. You ever do any acting?”

“No,” she said. “I’m too self-conscious.”

“You’d make a great leading lady.” He looked out at the concourse. Or maybe at the bulkheads. “What do you do with your spare time? I don’t guess there’s any live theater here?”

“No, Cal. There’s no way they could find a large enough audience to make it work.”

“Too bad,” he said. “Maybe eventually they’ll have one.”

“They could call it the Theater of the Stars.”

“Good. I like that.”

The chianti showed up. He raised his glass to her. “I can’t tell you how glad I am you came to the show that night.”

She smiled and touched her glass to his. “I enjoyed it.”

“Priscilla,” he said, “you look kind of sad.”

“I’m fine, Cal.”

“You sure? I’m hoping it’s not because of me.”

“No, of course not.” She shook her head. “I’m sorry. This has just been a difficult couple of weeks.”

“What’s wrong? Can I help?”

“You already have, Calvin.”

“You know,” he said, “you turn that smile on, and the whole place lights up.”

* * *

PRISCILLA’S JOURNAL

I’m not sure what’s changed, but Cal seems different now. I’ve never before felt about anyone the way I’m beginning to about him. And I know I’ll look at this one day, and it will probably seem silly. There’ve been guys before, Mack, Eddie Ruben, Leo Carstairs, Maury. But they were always pleasures of the moment. I never considered any of them as potentially a permanent fixture in my life. I was going off-world. That was where my life would be, and everything else was secondary.

But I’ve let Cal connect with me somehow. I think of him when I’m sitting at my desk poring over expenditure reports, when I’m watching the HV, when I’m looking out the window at the Atlantic Ocean. I think of him when I’m in the shower and when I’m standing out on the dock wishing I could go somewhere in the Baumbachner. He is getting to be the first thing I think of in the morning and the last thing at night. It wasn’t supposed to be this way, and I’m not sure how it happened.

Worst of all: He’s mine if I want him. I can see that. But I can’t, in fairness to him, accept any offer. Not unless I walk away from the one thing I’ve always wanted.

—February 3, 2196