Джек Макдевитт - Odyssey

“You’ll enjoy it,” said Hutch.

“How did your parents feel about it? When you told them you were going to be a pilot?”

That was a long time ago. “My father was dead by then, Amy. I think he expected me to become a librarian. Or maybe an accountant.”

“Why?”

“He used to tell me I wasn’t active enough. I guess I was something of a homebody. ‘You need to go out and get some sun, Prissy.’ That was what they called me. ‘Prissy.’”

Amy giggled.

“I wouldn’t answer to ‘Prissy.’ The other kids started using my last name. Which got shortened pretty quickly.”

“How about your mother?”

“She was there when I got my license. She’d resisted it the whole time. Wanted me to find a good man and settle down. But I could see she was proud.”

“Good.”

“She never liked the idea of my being far away. She got rattled once when we went on a class trip to Lexington, Massachusetts. There was no way she was going to be happy about my heading off to Alpha Centauri.”

They slipped into orbit, and the sky turned dark. The attendants served eggs and biscuits.

“But you did get married,” Amy said. She smiled down at Maureen, who was waving a toy shuttle around. “So everything had a happy ending.”

“Yes. I’d say so. But it kept my mom nervous for a long time.”

Amy grinned. The thought of making the senator nervous must have appealed to her.

There were times that Hutch missed piloting. She had loved taking researchers out, especially ones who’d never been in space before, to see the objects they’d spent a lifetime studying. She’d been with Berghoff, the lifelong brown dwarf specialist, the first time he’d actually seen one. And with Dupré, who’d go on to do groundbreaking work on radio pulsars, when he got his first look at JO108-1431.

But she was happily married now, and if Tor wasn’t always as exciting as, say, a flight to Procyon, it was okay. She wanted her life to be a bit dull. Dull was good.

She must have been thinking aloud. “You don’t really believe that,” said Amy.

Hutch laughed. “I didn’t mean for you.”

THEY NEEDED TWO hours to overtake the station. When they did, Maureen clapped while Amy commented how beautiful it was. The senator was going to have trouble keeping her on the ground, Hutch thought.

They slipped under Union’s flaring approach modules and banged clumsily into the dock. Harnesses lifted, and Hutch led her charges out through the airlock, along the ramp, and into the concourse. A press shuttle had arrived just moments earlier, and the boarding area was filled with journalists. She got past without being recognized. Minutes later they stopped at one of the viewports to get a look at the Earth. The ground was invisible through a solid layer of clouds, but they could see patches of ocean to the east.

The Peifer was due in a bit less than an hour. She checked in with Peter and let him know she’d be there when it arrived.

“Is the commissioner coming?” he asked.

“No,” she said. “He had work to do.” It was another thing she disliked about the job, covering for him.

After Peter signed off, she turned to the girls. “Okay, what do we do first?”

The concourse was filled with shops — buy a souvenir cap, enjoy a pizza, get a space station jacket, pick up a better piece of luggage. “Could we look at one of the ships?” asked Amy. “Maybe go on one?”

“Sure,” said Hutch. “We’ll go on board the Peifer when it arrives. Meantime, how about some snacks?” They strolled along the concourse. The girls looked out the viewports at the blue planet beneath them, at the moon and stars. They stopped for cinnamon buns and saw a supply ship leave for somewhere. Amy insisted on watching it until its lights dwindled to a rapidly dimming star.

WHEN THE TIME drew near, they went down to the lower levels and turned onto one of the loading ramps. Hutch watched the girls react as they walked through a connecting tube giving them a view of the entire maintenance area. One of the ships, Maracaibo’s Alice Bergen, cast off as they passed and started out. They stopped to gawk.

“It’s beautiful,” Amy said.

Hutch wasn’t given to nostalgia. She’d learned early the importance of being able to cut ties and move on. Still, while she stood watching the long, gray shape slide through the doors, her heart skipped a beat. She wondered, not for the first time, if she’d made a mistake pulling the plug on her career so early. She had no passion for assembling flight schedules and assigning priorities to missions. She had done it not because she wanted to move up in the bureaucracy, but because she wanted to secure a stable home life. Because she wanted Tor and Maureen.

It had been a long time since she’d felt the emotions associated with making an approach to a previously unvisited world, or with standing in front of a temple built thousands of years ago by alien hands.

Peter broke in to warn her the Peifer was only minutes away. She didn’t take the girls directly to the boarding area because visibility was limited. Instead, she slipped into Peter’s communications section, where they could see the dim star that was the approaching vessel. It was coming in over the rim of the moon, growing progressively brighter, and they watched it blossom into a cluster of individual lights. At last they could see the outline of the ship itself, the sleek prow, groups of thrusters, the line of lighted windows marking the bridge. It was even possible, as it drew nearer, to see people inside. They watched it brake and finally disappear beneath the line of the viewport.

Hutch took them below so they could see the ship ease into its dock. “It’s so big,” Amy said.

It was an electric moment. One Hutch suspected Amy would remember.

A boarding tube snaked out and connected with the airlock. The reception area was crowded with Academy technicians, journalists, family members, and probably others who just happened to be at Union and had come down to watch the excitement. They heard voices in the tube, everyone pressed forward, and the passengers began to come out. Four were the biologists who had been on the Heffernan; the others were passengers on the Peifer.

There were cheers and embraces. Then Abdul appeared. And finally the Peifer’s captain, tall and resplendent, the hero of the hour. His name was Koballah, and he had, until then, enjoyed a relatively quiet career.

The media crowded in, asking questions, getting pictures. “How did it feel?” they demanded of the biologists. “Were you scared at any time?” And, “Are you glad to be home?” Several backed Abdul into a corner.

A couple of the journalists, including a woman from The National, tried to raise the level of conversation, asking about the nature of the project in which the Heffernan had been engaged, and whether, in view of recent cancellations, there were any plans to reschedule the mission. In response to one of the questions, Abdul looked toward Hutch, and the press spotted her.

They left him and hurried in her direction, firing questions. What kind of condition were the Academy’s ships in? Could she guarantee there wouldn’t be more incidents? What exactly had happened? “I don’t have any answers yet,” she said. “You can see I have my hands full.” She glanced down at the girls and got a laugh. “For now,” she concluded, “we’re just glad everybody got home safely. We’ll let you know what happened as soon as we know the answer ourselves.”

“Why,” asked The Washington Post, “were you looking for the Heffernan in the wrong place?”

“We just didn’t know where it was, Frank. It’s pretty big out there.”

She congratulated Abdul and his people on their safe return and took time to express her appreciation to the Peifer’s original passengers for their patience. She shook Koballah’s hand and thanked him for bringing everybody home. Then she took the girls in tow and edged toward the tube. “Would you guys like to go on board the Peifer now?”