Конни Уиллис - Terra Incognita - Three Novellas

“The application,” I said.

She called back the next day. “There’s no application on file for Jeffrey Griggs.”

“I knew it. Listen, I need you to go through all the cadet files for the last five years and see how many others are missing.”

“I already did. I went back eight years and found four more: one last year, two four years ago, one seven.”

“I need you to find out where they are now.”

“I did, and you’re not going to like the answer. All but one of them are still in the Academy or working for IASA.”

“What about the one who isn’t?”

“Medical discharge. ‘Inability to tolerate space environment.’ Her name’s Palita Duvai. She’s in graduate school at Harvard,” Kimkim said. “Do you want their names?”

“Yes,” I said, even though I knew the registrar would say five missing applications didn’t prove anything. He’d claim they’d been accidentally erased, and if it wasn’t an accident, then why hadn’t they posted phony applications like the one they’d shown me?

I asked Kimkim that.

“I don’t know,” she said, “but it’s definitely not an accident. When I looked up their IASA assignments, I found something else. Next to their ranks are the letters ‘D.A.’ It’s part of Jeffrey’s class rank, too—‘Third-year Cadet, D.A.’”

D.A. District Attorney? Didn’t Apply? Dragged Away Kicking and Screaming?

“I looked it up in the IASA lexicon, but it wasn’t there,” she said. “Do you want me to try to find out what it stands for?”

“I don’t think that will be necessary,” I said. I signed off, went back to my cabin and got the slip of paper the registrar had given me with the psychiatrist appointment on it, wrote, “D.A.,” on the back, and took it up. I handed it, folded, to one of the guards, told him to slide it under the registrar’s door, and went back to my cabin to wait.

I didn’t even make it halfway. A fourth-year cadet was waiting for me before I even reached the dorm section. “Cadet Baumgarten?” she said. “The registrar wants to see you,” and took me back up to his office.

“Come in, Ms. Baumgarten,” the registrar said. “Sit down.” I noted that the slip of paper was on his desk. And that he hadn’t called me Cadet Baumgarten.

“The cadet said you wanted to—” I began, and then absorbed what he’d said. Ms. Baumgarten, not Cadet Baumgarten. I sat down.

“I’m sorry to have taken so long getting back to you,” he said. “The first few weeks of term are always so hectic. However, I wanted to tell you that we’ve completed the check on your application, and you were correct. A mistake in our admissions software wrongly identified you as a candidate. The IASA sincerely regrets the error and any inconvenience it may have caused you.”

“Inconvenience—!”

“You will be reimbursed for that inconvenience and your lost class time,” he went on smoothly. “I understand you want to go to UCLA. We’ve already spoken to them and explained the situation, and they’ve agreed to reschedule your interview at your convenience. If you encounter any other problems, feel free to contact me.” He handed me a folder. “Here are your discharge papers.”

I opened the folder and read the papers. Next to “Reason for Discharge,” it read, “Medical—Inability to Tolerate Space Environment.”

“You’re free to leave whenever you wish,” the registrar said. “We’ve reserved a space for you on tomorrow’s shuttle. It leaves at 0900 hours. Or, if you prefer, we’d be happy to arrange for a civilian shuttle, and if there’s anything else we can do, please let us know.”

He stood up and came around the desk. “I hope your time with us hasn’t been too unpleasant,” he said, and extended his hand.

And all I had to do was shake it, go pack my kit, and get on that shuttle, and I’d be back on blessed Earth and on my way to UCLA. It was extremely tempting.

“Sorry,” I said, folding my arms across my chest. “Not good enough.”

“Not—? If you’re worried about questions from your friends and family regarding your leaving the Academy, I’ll be happy to issue a statement explaining that inner-ear problems made it impossible for you to adjust to the Coriolis effect. Medical discharges carry no stigma—”

“I don’t want a medical discharge. I want to know the truth. Why did you hijack me? And how many people have you done it to besides me? I know of at least ten,” I lied. “What do you want with us? And don’t tell me you don’t have enough candidates.”

“Actually, that’s exactly why we hijacked you,” he said, and called into the inner office. “Commander! I think you’d better take over!”

The Commander came in. At least, she was wearing a commander’s uniform and insignia, but she couldn’t be the Commander. She was the recruiter who’d come to Winfrey High. “Hello, Ms. Baumgarten,” she said. “It’s nice to see you again.”

“You!” I said. “You kidnapped me because of that question I asked in assembly, to punish me.”

“Yes and no,” she said. “Punishment was the farthest thing from my mind. And I prefer the word ‘shanghaied’ to ‘kidnapped.’”

“Shanghaied?”

“Yes. It comes from the practice in the port of Shanghai in the 1800s of ship captains’ using unorthodox methods for obtaining crews for long, dangerous voyages. When they couldn’t get the sailors they needed any other way, they drugged them, carried them aboard, and held them prisoner till they were out to sea. Not a nice technique, but sometimes necessary.”

“I don’t believe you,” I said. “You have thousands and thousands of people who are dying to go to the Academy every year.”

“You’re right,” she said. “Last year we had nine thousand students who successfully completed all four tiers of the screening policy. From those, we chose three hundred, which meant they were the most determined and dedicated of those nine thousand.”

“And every one of them’s thrilled to be here,” I said.

“Exactly. They love the Academy, they love IASA, and that sort of intense devotion is absolutely necessary. Space exploration is an impossibly challenging and dangerous, often deadly, undertaking. Without complete belief in what they’re doing, it couldn’t be done. But that sort of devotion can also be a handicap. Explorers who are too in love with the jungle end up being bitten by snakes or eaten by tigers. To survive, IASA has to have people who are fully aware of the jungle’s dangers and disadvantages and not the least enchanted by its beauties.

“Which means, along with astrogation and the ability to live in confined quarters, we also recruit for skepticism, independence, and questioning of authority—in short, for people who don’t like the jungle. Unfortunately, those people generally do everything they can to avoid it, which is why we are forced to—”

“Shanghai people,” I said. “Let me get this straight. The reason you wanted me to come to the Academy was because I didn’t want to?”

“Yes.”

“And what was I supposed to do here?”

“Precisely what you did. Refuse to be impressed, challenge authority, break the rules. Your determination to communicate with your friend was particularly educational. We obviously need to do a much better job of preventing hacking. Also, we’ve learned not to put D.A. even on interior records. And it’s clear we need to reexamine the necessity of providing private space for our cadets. You’ve performed a valuable service,” she said. “IASA thanks you.” She extended her hand.

“I’m not done asking questions yet,” I said. “Why do you have to shanghai people? Why didn’t you just ask me?”