The gas giant at Outpost was big, maybe six times Jupiter’s mass. It was called Salivar’s Hatch, after a pilot who had disappeared into its clouds twenty years before. There were more than thirty moons, not counting the shepherds located in its elegant ring system. Some had atmospheres, several had geologic activity, two had oceans frozen beneath their icy surfaces, none had life. Twenty-one was a small chunk of ice and rock, not quite half the size of Luna.
Most of its surface was covered with needle peaks, craters, and broken ridges. But an enormous plain dominated almost a quarter of the landscape, where lava had erupted eons ago, spilled out across the area, and frozen.
AS HUTCH MADE her approach, Bill broke in. “You have a transmission from the Wendy Jay, Hutch.”
That would be Kurt Eichner, the Academy’s senior captain, a model of Teutonic efficiency. A place for everything and everything in its place. Kurt was the only Academy skipper she knew who could have torn down his ship and put it back together.
He had a softer side, which passengers were not allowed to see. Even when he was in the act of performing a signal service for them, he did it with polite yet brusque dispatch. The baby’s been delivered. Ma’am, you may sit up now.
He liked Hutch, but then he liked all the women pilots, although, as far as she knew, he scrupulously kept hands off. She wasn’t sure why that was. In his younger years, he’d had a reputation as something of a rake. But she had never seen any indication of it, even though she’d occasionally encouraged him.
Her favorite recollection of Kurt Eichner was from Quraqua, where he’d once cooked for her, in a portable shelter, an unforgettable dinner of sauerbraten, red cabbage, and potato dumpling. Perhaps because of the desolate location, perhaps simply because of Kurt’s culinary abilities, it was the most memorable meal of her life. With the possible exception of some fruit and toast she’d once had after three days with no food.
“Pipe it through, Bill,” she said.
Hutch switched it to her main screen and settled back. Kurt blinked on. He was in his seventies. With most people it was possible to tell when they started putting on serious mileage, because even though their bodies didn’t age, their eyes tended to harden, and the animation went out of their personalities. Some argued this was because humans were intended to live the biblical threescore and ten, and nothing could really change that. Others thought the condition could be avoided by refusing to allow the iron grip of habit to take hold. However that might be, Kurt had managed to stay youthful. His smile made her feel girlish, and she delighted in his approval.
“Hello, Hutch,” he said. “I just heard you were at Outpost. How long are you planning to be there?”
“I’m already gone,” she said. “Leaving as soon as I make my pickup.”
There was a delay of several minutes, indicating he was at a substantial range. “Sorry to hear it. I’d have liked to get together.”
“When will you be in, Kurt?”
“Tomorrow morning. I understand you’re on a private flight this time.”
“More or less. It’s an Academy assignment, but the ship’s not one of ours.”
“The Contact Society?” He couldn’t entirely smother a smile.
“You know about it?”
“Sure. It’s not exactly a secret.”
They prattled on until Bill interrupted. “On close approach,” he said.
THE MEMPHIS WENT into orbit, and Hutch took the lander down. A small gray pocket dome stood on the edge of the plain, its lights brave and cheerful in the vast emptiness. They were on the inner side of the moon, with a spectacular view of rings and satellites. The giant world itself was marked with green and golden bands. It was one of the lovelier places the starships went.
“Message,” said Bill.
She nodded, and he put it through. Audio only. “I’m almost ready,” a male voice said. It was, she thought, familiar.
“Am I speaking to Tor Kirby?” she asked.
“Yes, you are.”
She was sure she knew him. “Bill,” she said, “open the passenger packet. Let’s see if we can find a picture of this guy.”
“Coming up.”
An image blinked on. It was Vinderwahl!
She stared at it, puzzled. Why the name change? “Tor, this is Hutch.”
“Who?”
“Hutch.”
Pause. “Priscilla Hutchins? Is that really you?”
Still no visual. “Who’s Tor Kirby?”
“I am.”
“What happened to your last name? What are you doing out here?” The last time she’d seen him, he’d been working part-time as a greeter in an electronics depot. And trying to paint.
“I changed it.”
“Your name? Why?”
“Let’s talk about it when I get into the ship, okay? I’m a little busy at the moment.”
“You need help?”
“I can manage.” She heard him moving around, heard the click of a notebook snapping shut, heard the creak of fabric, presumably his pack. And finally she heard the gentle hiss of a Flickinger field forming as he activated his e-suit. The lights went off in the dome, the door opened, and he came out onto the surface. He looked up at her and waved.
Well, who would’ve thought? She’d said good-bye to him several years before and he’d shocked her by nodding, saying he was sorry she felt that way. And he’d simply withdrawn from her life. Gives up too easily, that one.
It had hurt her pride at the time, but it was just as well. Now, of course, here he was again.
She waved back. He was wearing a gray shirt with a dragon on the front, khaki shorts, and tennis shoes. He hadn’t changed.
Tor had been cautious around her to the degree she hadn’t been sure about his feelings. When, one snowy night at the Carlyle Restaurant on the Potomac (odd how she remembered the detail), she’d concluded he was in love with her, realized it was so in spite of all his efforts to hide it, it had frightened her away. Gotta go. Starhopping. Catching the next freight off the Wheel.
Now here he was. Tor Vinderwahl. Her Tor.
“Take us closer, Bill,” she said. “Put the cargo airlock on the ground.”
He was moving his equipment and his air and water tanks out of the pocket dome when the lander touched down. She activated her own suit and went outside with mixed feelings.
He looked good. He smiled at her uncertainly, and it was like the years collapsed and the giant rings overhead were swept away and they were back along the Potomac again. “It’s good to see you, Hutch,” he said. “Been a long time.” His eyes were blue, and his black hair tumbled down over his forehead. He wore it longer than she remembered.
“It’s nice to see you, too, Tor,” she said. “It’s a pleasant surprise.” Actually, something had changed, in his demeanor, in his eyes, something. She saw it in the way he approached her, hauling gear in both hands, his gaze moving between her and the lander.
She expected to be embraced. Instead he gave her a quick squeeze and kissed her cheek. The Flickinger field flashed when his lips touched it. “I didn’t expect to see you out here,” he said.
“Why the name change, Tor?”
“Who’d buy artwork from somebody named Vinderwahl?”
“I would,” she said.
He grinned. “That makes one.” She saw an easel among the equipment.
He followed her eyes to it. “It’s why I’m here,” he said. He pulled out a long tube, opened it, and extracted a canvas. Then he unrolled it and held it up for her to see. He had caught the gas giant in its glory, suspended above the moonscape. The sky was filled with rings, and a couple of satellites, both at third quarter, floated in the night sky. Silhouetted against the banded planet, she saw a superluminal.