There’d been a time when Hutch would have blamed herself for the series of catastrophes. But she’d learned that there were limits to what she could do. If people wouldn’t listen…
Still it seemed as if she might have made a stronger case, maybe even called George’s bluff to take over the Memphis.
They’d lost Preach and his passengers on the Condor, they’d lost Kurt on the Wendy, they’d lost Pete and Herman on Paradise, and they’d lost George on the chindi. Was it worth it?
To the people who write the history books, and probably to the species as a whole, the answer was yes. The discoveries that would come out of this were going to be far-reaching. The human race would never again look at the stars in quite the same way. But she, personally, would gladly have returned it all, wrapped it up and sent it on its way, if by so doing she could have Preach and George and the others back.
During the nights, she wandered through the Memphis, padding quietly between her quarters and the bridge, where Bill maintained a discreet silence.
The others were adrift, too. She heard them sometimes in the small hours, Nick looking for a place to read that was less confining than his compartment, or maybe less lonely, where there was a chance of meeting someone. And Alyx, who could be heard occasionally crying in the early morning hours.
MOGAMBO WAS A tower of frustration. The Longworth was just approaching the Twins, and the fox, as he thought of the giant vessel, was on the run. He told Hutch that he’d considered changing course, making directly for 97, but he wanted to see the Retreat, which at least wasn’t going anywhere. He directed her to inform him as soon as she’d established the object’s presence, and he would come immediately.
“But don’t put anybody else aboard it,” he said sternly. “Rescue your man, but otherwise leave it. It’s too valuable to have people running around inside.”
She also received a long message from Sylvia Virgil, congratulating her on the various discoveries, and exhorting her to protect her passengers. (Remaining passengers, she thought.) “They’re not used to the dangers of field work, and we don’t want to lose any more of them. Not after everything that’s gone on already. People would start to think we can’t take care of our clients.”
She reminded her that Mogambo would take over the operation on his arrival. Hutch should do everything in her power to assist him. And she finished by assuring her that she would not be forgotten when all this was over.
That was precisely what worried Hutch most at the moment.
Virgil informed her, almost by the way, that their discoveries had ignited a worldwide sensation. Included in the transmission were a number of panels, news shows, and commentaries, discussing the discoveries and their impact. The director included an intercept package from the chindi net, which was the term given by the media to the series of stealth world-to-world relays. Some were believed to date back a few centuries although they were live signals. Everyone, she said, had been overwhelmed by the pictures from a place with no known name, which contained hauntingly beautiful images of a crystal city, gleaming in sunlight, built into the crags overlooking a misty sea. The prominent CBY analyst Creighton Wolford was proclaiming that humans, after several false starts, would finally have to give up their quaint notion that they were at the center of the universe. Tiras Fleming thought we would find technological marvels inside the chindi. (They were using the term, which appealed, it seemed, to everyone’s instincts for a foray into the supernatural.) It was likely, he thought, that any living civilization we encountered would be far older than we, perhaps by millions of years. Chindi technology, according to the New York Times, would be applied to the way everyone lived. Within a few years, it went on, we would not recognize our civilization.
The Kassel Report noted claims from inside sources that no one had been found on board the chindi, but that the mission had already learned how to operate its engines and that it was bringing the giant ship back to Earth orbit. Nobody believed official denials. Virgil herself looked suspicious. “There’s nothing to this story, right? Please send assurances.”
A rumor had gotten loose that something terrifying had been found on board the chindi, and that a second mission, composed of military units, had been sent out to attack the alien ship with nuclear missiles.
Some politicians were promising that the chindi would not be allowed near Earth. Others were assuring everyone there was nothing to worry about.
One story even had it that the original crew of the chindi had been found dead of a mysterious, and virulent, plague. And that the giant ship, as well as George Hockelmann’s mission, had been quarantined.
She reminded Hutch that a Black Cat media team was en route from Outpost and had probably already arrived at Gemini. Hutch would be sure to make her people available for interviews.
There was also a packet of personal mail, which she duly distributed. There were several messages for George.
Tor had fourteen. There was no junk mail. Interstellar communication was too expensive. These would all be personal or professional correspondence. She relayed them to his mailbox, where they would await his return.
Alyx received an invitation to speak to a Parisian working group on a date she couldn’t possibly make. The fee was generous, and the exposure would be helpful, but she remained philosophical. “I’m alive,” she said. “If this mission does nothing else, it’s given me some perspective on my priorities.”
There were only a few pieces for Hutch. A commission was being assembled to look into the loss of the Wendy Jay.
That was routine, and she’d been expecting it. Since she’d been on hand, they’d want her to testify.
Her mother had read the mission had taken casualties and urged her to be careful. A couple of former male companions took advantage of the opportunity to say hello and wish her well. Omega Styling (“The Last Word in Fashions”) offered her a lucrative endorsement contract, and someone who was writing a book on the chindi wanted to interview her at the earliest possible moment. He, too, was on his way to Gemini, although he didn’t say how or when he’d arrive.
THEY EMERGED IN the 97 system on the third day after making their jump into the sack. Tor’s clock showed four days, twenty-two hours remaining.
Hutch’s first act was to ask Bill whether he was picking up any stray signals. It was unlikely that the chindi could have beaten them there, since theory dictated that all vehicles moving through hyperspace traveled at the same velocity relative to the standard space-time continuum. But that was theory, and if the chindi actually possessed advanced technology, who knew what they might be capable of doing?
In any case, Bill replied as expected: “We are not receiving anything from our transmitter.” Then he appeared on-screen, up close, eyes intense. “But we are getting a distress call.”
Nick rolled his eyes. “Bill’s having a breakdown,” he said.
They were a hundred light-years outside the bubble. In a place nobody had ever gone before. “Bill, how would you know it’s a distress call?” she asked.
He appeared across the room, a VR version, white slacks, navy blue shirt, anchor on the breast pocket. “It’s in English,” he said.
Chapter 29
Bless me, how little you look. So shall we all look—kings, and kaisers—stripped for the last voyage.
MAURICE MOGAMBO STEPPED out of the lander, took a few steps, and stopped to gaze at the Retreat. The oculus window gave it a kind of surprised look. How good to see you, Maurice. Nice of you to come by. We don’t get visitors here very often.