Джек Макдевитт - Odyssey

“We were wrong.”

“The physicists were wrong. Hazeltine was wrong.”

“Unfortunately, we’re the ones in the crosshairs. The only thing the public knows, and Hiram Taylor and his crowd, is that the thing was in our backyard, and we had no idea. We look dumb. What about the other ships you were sending out?”

“I’ve canceled them.”

“Next time, I hope you’ll show a little more patience.” He shook his head, a great man rising above ordinary mortals once again.

If we conclude that the drive to explore the stars is not fueled by a desire to communicate with otherworldly beings, as has always been supposed, what then does it represent? I think an argument can be made that it is the same characteristic that brought us out of Africa, that sent men in wooden boats around the globe, that gave us the arts and ultimately the sciences: an insatiable need to know, to understand, to penetrate the dark places of our environment and throw light on them. It does not matter that there may be no one out there waiting for us, or that, if there is, they may turn out to be mundane. What does matter is that there are vast emptinesses, places we have not been, worlds we have not seen. If they are sterile, or if they have shining cities afloat on their seas, it is of no consequence. What does matter is that we will have been there, mapped the place, and moved on. And that so long as there is ground on which we have not walked, we will be unable to sit quietly in our living rooms.

— A. J. Klein, The Cosmic Dance, 2216

When things go wrong, the standard management strategy is to decide who takes the blame. This should be an underling, as far down the chain as possible, but preferably with some visibility so people know management means business.

— Gregory MacAllister, interview with The Washington Post

It should have been a night for celebrating. Hutch got a voice message from Abdul, thanking her for organizing the rescue. She really hadn’t done much other than sit and watch, but it was one of the perks of the job that she got credit when good things happened. At least, inside the organization. Still, she was dismayed by the level of sarcasm aimed at the Academy. “Right here in the solar system the whole time,” said the Black Cat’s Rose Beetem. A headline in The Baltimore Sun read: UNDER THEIR NOSES. One late-night comic observed that he now understood why we couldn’t find intelligent life elsewhere: “We can’t find it at home.” A guest analyst on Worldwide endorsed the notion of a congressional investigation; another said it was time to shut the Academy down: “Costs too much. And what do we have to show for more than forty years of massive expenditures? Where’s the payoff?”

She slept fitfully through the night, and woke shortly after dawn to Franz Liszt. One of the Hungarian Rhapsodies.

THE MORNING WAS warm and damp. Heating up already. Flocks of geese filled the sky, headed north. She called Mission Ops and Union Control and left messages of appreciation for all who had participated in the search. She relayed similar messages to the three ships that had conducted the hunt and to the two that had launched from Union only to be called back.

She also sent a reply to Abdul and his passengers: “Good to have you back. Next round is on us.”

When she got to the office, she took time to express her appreciation to the people who’d secured corporate help. They were glad it had ended the way it had, and they told her anytime. But she detected a sense of distance in their voices. As if she worked for a minor-league outfit.

Later, Asquith sent for her. “There’s someone here I want you to meet.”

The visitor rose as she went in. He was middle-aged, well dressed, handsome in a sedentary sort of way. His hair was just beginning to gray. His eyes were blue, set close together. He had a long, narrow nose, and an expression that projected a general camaraderie. We’re all in it together. The commissioner, seated with his back to the door, was commenting that “we need to find a way to shut down the irresponsible criticism.” He might have been talking about Mac, but at the moment the entire planet was firing salvos at them. He looked toward her and pretended to be surprised to see her. “Priscilla,” he said. “Didn’t hear you come in. This is Charles Dryden.”

Dryden almost looked impressed. “Priscilla Hutchins? I’m delighted to meet you. Please call me Charlie. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Charlie works over at Orion Tours,” Asquith said, signaling her to take a seat. “Something odd has been happening. Something we wanted your opinion about.”

She looked from one to the other. “And that would be?”

A bot brought coffee. “You probably know,” Dryden said, “we’re in the process of building a hotel.”

“I’ve heard,” said Hutch. It was to be called the Galactic, and would be located in the Capella system, in orbit around the third world.

“Yes,” he said. “When it’s finished, it’ll be gorgeous. There’ll be easy transport to the ground. The planet itself has magnificent peaks near one of the oceans. Great beaches. Warm water.”

“But no life.”

“That’s right. None whatever. That’s another reason why we like it. We can put entertainment facilities anywhere we want. We’ll be able to ferry people around, put them up in oceanside villas, or take them on VR hunts, and we don’t need to worry about anybody getting gobbled. No predators. No bugs. No concerns about allergies. The skiing’s good, and the vistas are breathtaking. The kind of place you’d like, Hutch.”

Hutch resented the familiarity. But she let it pass. “Yes,” she said, “I’m sure I would.” And, in the same leisurely tone: “Is there a connection of some sort between the Galactic and the Academy?”

“Not directly.” He rearranged himself in his chair. Big news coming. “Two weeks ago, at Beta Comae Berenices, one of our flights encountered some moonriders.”

“I saw that,” said Hutch.

“We’ve been seeing them on a regular basis. The day before yesterday, a flight of the things buzzed the construction site. The Galactic. Eleven of them.”

“Charlie,” she said, “we’ve never gotten anything solid about these things. They’re probably a natural phenomenon — ”

“Natural phenomena don’t operate in formations.”

“Sure they do. Bode’s Law. Trojan-point and Lagrange-point orbits. Rings around gas giants. Braids in the rings. Rocks on a seashore. Lines of tornadoes. Northern lights. Sand dunes — ”

“Okay. I get the point. What I’m trying to say is that moonriders have been around a long time. They go all the way back to the Bible.”

“What are you suggesting, Charlie?”

“I think the Academy has a duty to find out what they are. If they’re natural, as you argue, fine. But they may not be. I have to tell you, Hutch, I think you’re closing your mind to this.”

In fact she had not rejected the possibility that the moonriders were indeed visitors. But she was getting maneuvered somehow.

“Charlie thinks,” said Asquith, “we should mount a campaign. Get some answers. Settle the issue.”

“We’d help however we could,” he said.

She looked at Dryden. “I’d think Orion would prefer not to have an explanation for the moonriders. If we come up with one, and it turns out to be, say, some sort of quantum thing that becomes visible in certain types of radiation, all the romance goes out of it. I can’t see how that would benefit the tours at all.”

She saw the silent exchange between the two. Conspirators caught in the act. Asquith managed a weak smile. “Can’t fool you,” he said.