SL Huang - Up and Coming - Stories by the 2016 Campbell-Eligible Authors

Meg smiled back. “I’ll make sure he’s informed as soon as possible. And”—she hesitated, then went on—“I’m sorry. I suppose we all must make personal sacrifices, for the mission, but I…I didn’t think.”

He shrugged. “It’s a sacrifice, sure. But I get to go into space. I get to push a ship through space faster than light with my head.” He laughed a little, as though at his own foolishness. “I’m a light-field engineer. It’s what I’m here to do.”

“Yes,” Meg said, softly. “Thank you, Leonard. I’ll leave my card on the table. We’ll be in touch."

She let herself out, very quietly, and when she looked back he was still staring after her, his eyes bright.

"And so," Meg said, in conclusion, "that’s my formal recommendation. Delay the launch by—say, a fortnight if we can. Adrienne has put together some second-best scenarios if Campbell isn’t fit to fly by then, but we’ll hope that he is. In either case, we’re working out how to deal with the press. Thankfully, there were no other serious injuries."

The minister nodded, and yawned. "Apologies, Ms Tripathi," he said, and Meg couldn’t blame him; it was evening now, the city lights bright around them, and neither of them had slept since the first call had come about the accident. Meg looked across the Holyrood grounds and spotted the small shuttle waiting for them both, and up above her head at the bright lights of geostationary spacedock. "What about the supply pod?" the minister asked. "I ask this out of pure academic interest and not in the slightest bit because we’re about to trust our lives to one of the damn things."

"It’s a different model of pod," Meg said, amused, "and this one has a crew. Adrienne will let us have the report when it’s done."

"Good," the minister said, and said nothing while they were guided on board the small craft, the flight crew disappearing into the cockpit and the straps descending from the ceiling. Meg secured herself in her seat, next to the window, and wondered not for the first time why the minister had called her up to Edinburgh to begin with. She’d been investigating train times southbound when she received the message, and had come up with all due alacrity and increasing mystification. "Now, Meghna," he said, finally, twisting round to speak to her from his seat in front. "That was your formal recommendation. What is your informal one?"

Meg hesitated, and in that moment of silence, the shuttle left the ground, moving straight up as though hung from a cable, rapidly enough to make her ears pop. The city receded beneath then, becoming a jewellery box of shining lights. "I don’t like to say, Minister," she said, at last, and to her surprise, he smiled as though he’d been expecting her response.

"I won’t push," he said. "Oh, one more bit of shop-talk: I suppose it’s all lost beyond recovery, but what was the cargo in the pod?"

"Tins, sir."

"Tins?"

"Tins." Meg spread her hands. "There’s going to be hydroponics and food reclamation on board, but it’s a long way to Barnard’s Star. It was thought the crew might like—well. Tinned pineapple. Cream of tomato soup."

"Tinned pineapple," the minister said, faintly.

"But it’s all right," Meg added. "Heinz and the other suppliers have offered to replace everything free of cost. I pushed them into it because they need it for their advertising, you know— enjoyed all the way out to the stars! and all that nonsense."

"Meg," the minister said, chuckling, "you are a marvel. How’s your young lady?"

"She’s well," Meg said, a little amused at the phrasing. "Thank you for asking."

He caught something of her amusement, and shrugged apology. "Forgive me. When I was your age they used to ask, how’s your friend . Sometimes, special friend . Wink wink, nudge, nudge. It grew tiresome. Though, of course"—he smiled, wistfully—"friends do grow special, over the years. Meghna, it’s time we come clean."

"About what?"

"About the sinecures list."

"Alnwick," Meg said, automatically, and then: "We’ll need to take legal advice. And, sir—politically speaking…"

"Not your bailiwick, Meg," he said, a little stern. "It’s time. Thirty years ago this was the only way we could do this. Halley is…well, it’s remarkable what’s been done. Crown prerogatives will do that."

"If the prerogative money is withdrawn," Meg said, "we become a government department like any other. We’ll need to be funded by way of legislation. We’ll have to go before Parliament."

"And so we should, and so we will." The minister glanced at her. "Meg—thirty years ago, I’m sure the people in your position thought the Alnwick loophole was a gift from heaven. So inimitably British, of course. Some unknown prerogative post with unlimited executive funding! Our own Civil List! And all we have to do is make sure no one ever finds out that we’re funding a faster-than-light interstellar space programme through a twelfth-century Northumberland sinecure, administered through the coroner’s office!"

"When you put it like that," Meg said, with regret for her brusqueness with Deepika, "it sounds ridiculous."

The minister nodded, and Meg suddenly realised she’d been too distracted by his conversation to notice the rapid fall of the earth. Beyond the window glass she could make out the Firth of Forth laid out in the patterns of its own cartography, dusted with wisps of cloud. When Meg turned back from the view the minister gave her a small, secretive smile. "Tell me," he said, "was that going to be your informal recommendation?"

Meg thought for a minute. "You know," she said at last, "I met a man in Morpeth who thought my job was exciting . That it was wonderful, to do what I do, in my office in London. Leonard Ansari-Campbell was trapped for hours in the freezing cold and dark three weeks before he goes out into space, into the freezing cold and the dark, and his greatest fear is that I’ll take that away from him."

"If we delay the launch," the minister said, low and careful, "perhaps you will not have to do that."

"And, well." Meg paused, and brought a hand to her throat. "I thought we wore these little Halley ID crystals as a publicity stunt. I mean, we could use tablets like everyone else, you know? We’re not crew. We’re only logistics."

The minister nodded. "I won’t say it wasn’t thought of in those terms, at least to begin with."

"But, maybe," Meg said, hesitated again, and then said it. "Maybe something of us goes out there with them."

The minister smiled at her. "Maybe it does." He motioned beneath him at Scotland, now bright in its entirety; then at the lights gleaming out on the North Sea, and in the far distance, the terminator creeping over the earth’s surface. "Now hold onto that thought and step back. Think about the greater picture. Ask yourself why we’re not at the heart of government. Why we, of all people, and of all things, should not be funded. Ask yourself why three pence in the pound cannot go to carrying citizens into the great unknown."

"Minister," Meg said gently, "there’s no need for a speech. I’m not your public."

He glanced at her sidelong. "Did you vote for this government?"

Meg grinned. "Yes, Minister."

"Then call it your three pence in the pound." He shrugged again, and overturned his hands. "Are you ready for this?"

"It’s what I’m here for," Meg said, and watched Halley curve into view above, like a paper aeroplane made glorious and enormous, sharp and silver. Beyond it, there was nothing but the inky blackness of space. "Except," she added, "I don’t know why I’m here . Why did you ask me to come up?"

At the sound of the docking clamps, and the pressure beginning to equalise, the minister looked at her as though it were obvious. "This is the ship we built, Meg. Let’s take a look."