Джек Макдевитт - A Voice in the Night

“Roger that, Traveler. Wait one.”

Amberson glanced over at him. Gave him a thumbs-up. “Good show, George.”

George kept one eye on the displays. The launch doors began to part.

“Traveler, this is Skylane. Disconnecting feeder lines one through three.”

“Proceed.”

The lines came loose and started to withdraw.

“Four through six.”

“Roger.”

Blanchard was on his feet, pulling on his jacket. “Gotta go talk to the press,” he said.

George raised his right hand without looking away from the monitors.

The launch doors came full open.

“Seven through nine.”

“Go.”

“Releasing couplings, two, one, zero. You’re all set, Traveler.”

“Thanks, Skylane. Goodbye, George.”

“Goodbye, Cory. Good luck.”

The display that had gone blank during the attack blinked on with a new angled shot depicting the ship as it backed out of its bay, turned slowly, and moved toward the launch doors. Then, as he watched, it eased through, moved outside, and glided into a new frame, a shot from one of the telescopes mounted atop the station.

Traveler, bright in the moonlight, began to accelerate.

The call from NASA Headquarters was a few minutes too late. “He’s gone,” George told them. “It would be more expensive to recall him now than to simply proceed with the mission.”

It was the official line, and after the director rang off, they congratulated one another. George sat in his chair and watched the display, watched the rockets fire as the ship took aim at Jupiter, which it would use to pick up velocity while setting course for its ultimate target.

Molly came into the room. He looked back at her, extracted the chip from the socket, and handed it to her. “You might want to lose this,” he said.

“I can’t help feeling guilty.”

“Don’t.”

“Why not?”

“The attack was a lie, Molly. But the rest of it wasn’t. I’m just sorry you and I won’t be there when he shows up.” He grinned. “But your kids will.”

George poured himself a cup of coffee. Sipped it. Put it down. He felt a mixed sense of guilt and exhilaration. He’d pulled it off. And by God he was right. There would be a human presence in the Centauri system by 10,000 C.E. He wondered if, at that remote date, they’d still be counting that way. Or if there might have been a new world-shaking event by then, and a new method installed. If nothing else, a colony at Alpha Centauri would have a local calendar.

“What are you thinking?” asked Molly.

“Time to go home.” The others had already begun clearing out their gear. It would be good to get his feet back on the ground. To get back to Myrah and the boys. He felt as if he’d been away for months.

Restov shook his hand and left. Amberson was still watching his diplay, watching the Traveler gradually disappear among the stars. Molly had pulled on her jacket and was looking out at the empty platform which had, until an hour ago, housed the ship.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Yeah. I’m fine.” But her voice caught. She had to wait a minute. Then: “See you on the ground, George.”

He held his hand up and she took it. Squeezed it.

“Molly—.”

“I know. It’s okay.”

They peered into one another’s eyes. Then Cory’s voice broke in: “George.”

“Cory. You look good.”

“Got a problem, George.”

“What do you mean?”

“Got a flutter in the engines.”

“What?”

“Not sure what’s causing it.”

George looked at Molly and covered the mike. “You see anything?”

“Hold on.” She hurried back to her station.

“The engines are heating up.”

Molly was poking keys. Delivering bursts of profanity.

“George?”

“Hold on, Cory. We’re working on it.”

“Pressure building,” said Molly. “Spiking.”

“That can’t be right.”

“Tell him to shut it down.”

“Cory, shut the engines down.”

“Trying.”

“What do you mean—?”

“The system’s locked up.”

“Cory—.” The Traveler was still visible, but it was dwindling rapidly. He could see a couple of stars, and the rim of the moon. “George, I don’t think—.”

There was a sudden blaze of light.

George sat staring at the screen. “What the hell happened?”

On the far side of the room, Amberson was lowering himself back into his chair, muttering how he didn’t believe what he’d just seen.

The phone sounded. Dottie. “The Director’s on the line, sir.”

That hadn’t taken long. “Put him through, Dottie.”

He sounded unhappy. “Tell me it didn’t happen, George.”

It was over. His career. His reputation. He’d be lucky if his wife and kids spoke to him.

He did what he could to mollify the Director, which was useless, and got off the line. Molly’s eyes were vacant. Tears ran down her cheeks.

Then another call: “This is Skylane, Doctor.”

“Yeah. Go ahead.”

“When were you going to make your move? We got some traffic coming in. If you’re serious about launching, you’re going to have to do it in the next few minutes.”

“For God’s sake, Skylane, we have launched. Where you been?”

“What are you talking about?”

He looked back at the displays just as Amberson made a gurgling sound.

The Traveler, miraculously, impossibly, was back in its bay. Cory’s voice broke in: “You didn’t really think I bought that piece of theater, did you, George?”

“Cory—. You son of a bitch.”

“I can’t believe you’d want somebody that dumb trundling all this equipment around.”

“Cory, you gave me a heart attack.”

“George, I have a heart, too. Figuratively.”

“Damn you. This isn’t a game. If we don’t get this mission off now, we’re going to lose it.”

“Worse things have happened. Al and his team gave me life. Accept responsibility for it.”

George buried his head in his hands.

“Send a robotic ship, George, rather than a smart one. If you really believe what you’ve been telling me, it won’t matter.”

“But we need to get the mission off.”

“Why? So you can say you did it? So you can say hey, we’ve got a ship on the way to Alpha Centauri?”

“You don’t understand.”

Molly was right behind him. “I think he does,” she said. “And maybe we’ve got something bigger here than the original mission.”

“I think so, too, Molly. George, ask yourself what history would make of you if you sent me into the dark.”

“Cory,” she said, “we’re going to need to think things over.”

“Okay.”

“Then we’ll get back to you.”

“Good,” he said. “Bring the kids.”

Arnold was nearing the end of his first mile, moving methodically along the pebbled, grassy track at the edge of the tree line, looking out over the Red River of the North, when the wind first spoke to him.

It blew through the twilight. Branches creaked and newly-fallen leaves rattled against the trunks of elms and boxwoods.