Джек Макдевитт - A Voice in the Night

Hutch had no reason to question her own capabilities. She had done well through the eight-month program leading up to this final mission, in which she would be expected to function as the captain, while Jake served purely as an observer. The guy who filled out the score sheet.

“Jump in one minute,” said Benny. The panel was showing a red light. One of her passengers had not yet belted in.

“One minute, everybody,” she said. “Larry, get into your harness.” Dr. Larry Andrews preferred being addressed informally.

“Doing it now, Captain,” he said.

They all thought, or pretended to think, she was actually captain of the Copperhead . Jake had been good that way. He’d implied he was just along for the ride. That Hutch was in charge. It had boosted her confidence. She loved being called “Captain Hutchins.” But she understood that her reaction was a clear demonstration of her immaturity. Larry’s lamp turned green.

“Thirty seconds,” she said.

She activated her own harness, and Jake settled back in his seat. He’d been about to remind her. But she hadn’t forgotten. Almost, but not quite. The engines changed tone. “Transit initiated,” said Benny. The gray mist dissipated. The navigation display went dark. And a multitude of stars blinked on. Moments later, the AI broke in: “Hutch, we have a message from the Academy.”

“What is it, Benny?”

He put it onscreen:

Jake, FYI: We just got word that the hold on the Quraqua terraform is going to be rescinded. That means you may be bringing a couple of people back with you. Frank.

Frank Irasco was the director of operations. And Quraqua, of course, was an Earth twin. An ideal colony world. But it had ruins dating back thousands of years. It was dry, and the corporates wanted to make it attractive to settlers. Terraforming would mean a cool pleasant climate, with modular beachfront homes. And sure it would put a lot of the ruins underwater. But what the hell?

Hutch stared at the message. The battle over revamping that world had been going on for years. Archeologists wanted to preserve the ruins. But Quraqua would be a priceless asset as a colony. She sighed. “Welcome to Groombridge, Jake,” she said.

Technically, it was Groombridge 1618. Eight light-years from Earth. An orange-red main sequence flare dwarf. Hutch had done her homework. The star was still young, less than a billion years old, and though it was smaller and less luminous than the Sun, it threw off flares that were far more intense than anything seen at home. And the eruptions were frequent. That was, indirectly, the reason it was of particular interest to biologists. Because it was so much cooler than the Sun, the Goldilocks zone, where liquid water could exist, was much closer to it, running from thirty-eight to seventy million miles. That brought any potential life-bearing world within range of the flares, where no terrestrial-style life was likely to exist. Groombridge II, Hibachi’s World, was right in the center of the zone. It had two moons, a big one and a small one. And, remarkably, it also had tangled jungles and as wide a diversity of animals as existed at home. No deserts or open plains presented themselves. The only land areas that were not overgrown were at the poles. Biologists loved it, and had spent the past five years on the planet trying to figure out how it had happened. “We have most of the answers now,” Larry told her. “We’re at the point where it’s just a matter of filling in the blanks.” He floated behind her, holding onto the back of her chair, watching the planet grow gradually larger on the display.

She swung one of the scopes toward the sun. It looked tranquil. Sedate. “Just how serious are the flares?” she asked.

Larry was tall, thin, self-effacing. He was probably in his early thirties, but his hair had already begun to gray at the temples. He spoke in a relaxed, amiable tone. “Pretty severe,” he said. “Fortunately, you normally get some advance warning before the thing goes off, so that gives everybody time to get under cover. But it limits what you can do.”

Jake pushed back in his seat. “You wouldn’t want to be out walking around in it, I assume.”

“Probably not, Jake. I was glad to see they put the extra armor on the Copperhead. I doubt we’ll need it, but you never know.”

Hutch suppressed a smile. The extra armor lining the ship was for Palomus, a pulsar, where they’d be dropping off supplies in a few weeks. “How long will you be staying?” she asked. She knew Larry had two young kids.

“Probably a year.”

“The vegetation’s not green.”

“Can’t have chlorophyll. Not in this kind of environment.” Had she made the same comment to Eddington, she’d have gotten a detailed explanation, filled with descriptions of protective coatings, energy collection methods, alternative genealogical systems, and who knew what else? Eddington was an oversized guy, big and unwieldy in every sense of the word. He could barely make it through the hatches. He’d been out here before, and he talked constantly about his previous experiences, retelling the same stories.

Isaika Nakamura, the third member of the party, was an engineer. She was middle-aged and bored. She’d come along to inspect, upgrade, or repair—Hutch wasn’t sure which—the systems protecting the shelter. She had no apparent interest in the mission itself, and she let everyone know that she was part of the mission because she’d lost a coin toss.

They had emerged about eight hours out from Hibachi’s World. The passengers slept and read. The ground station was the Erik Acharius Complex, named after the nineteenth-century Swedish botanist. Hutch opened a channel. “Acharius,” she said, “this is Copperhead . We have arrived and will enter orbit around midnight your time. Over.”

A burst of static. Then: “Welcome to Acharius, Copperhead. ” The voice sounded energetic. It belonged to a young male. “Looking forward to seeing you. Who am I talking to?”

“Priscilla Hutchins.”

“Nice to meet you, Captain Hutchins. I’m Ollie Evers. It’ll be good to have some company. We don’t get many visitors out here.”

“How long has it been?”

“Since the last supply ship?” She heard him turn the question over to someone else. Then he was back. “Seven months.”

“Well, Ollie,” she said, “the glories of working for the Academy.”

“Absolutely.”

“How’s the weather?” She was referring to flares. The station maintained a satellite in geostationary orbit to monitor Groombridge.

“You’re clear. If we see any problems, we’ll let you know post haste.”

“How reliable are the predictions? You get a reasonable advance warning?”

“Usually. Shouldn’t be a problem. We’ve never lost anybody.”

“Glad to hear it.”

There was a long pause. She was about to ask if he was still there when he came back: “When you get here, Captain, we’ll have a surprise for you.”

Jake was signaling her, pointing back into the cabin. The meaning was clear enough. Invite Eddington and the others to participate in the conversation. “Hold on, Ollie.” She activated the allcom. “Guys, we have Acharius on the circuit. Anybody want to say hello?”

Eddington took over and immediately began asking questions about genealogical strains in local amphibians. Hutch shut off the mike and turned down the sound. Jake folded his arms and sighed. “He does like to talk.”

She nodded.

Jake was quiet for a minute. Then: “What made you decide to do this for a living, Hutch?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “Why do you ask?”

“Idle curiosity.”

She considered the question. “My dad’s an astronomer.”