An hour and a half after his departure from Reagan, the shuttle docked at the orbiter, and his harness released. MacAllister was off-world for the second time. He told himself to straighten up, that he’d enjoy the flight and catch up on his reading if nothing else. In fact he needed a break. This would be his first vacation in nearly nine years. (He prided himself on telling people he hated vacations.) But it would be good to get away from the routine for a while. He let the other passengers get off before he rose and headed casually for the exit.
As he emerged from the boarding tube, he was surprised to find Hutch waiting. As always, she looked good. Crisp white blouse, dark blue slacks. There was a teenage girl with her. That would be Amy. “Good to see you, Mac,” she said. “Hope you had a good flight.”
“Yes, indeed,” he said. “I’ve been looking forward to this.”
“Good. I suspect you’ll enjoy yourself. Amy, this is Mr. MacAllister.”
The girl was almost as tall as Hutch. She looked bright enough, but he could see a resemblance to her father. That was a problem since he didn’t like her father. Taylor’s politics were sensible; but he made too many speeches and clearly thought well of himself.
Despite the resemblance, she was pretty. She extended her hand, and bracelets jingled while she told him she’d read The Quotable MacAllister. “I enjoyed it,” she said. “You have a marvelous sense of humor.”
The book had been put together by a pair of maverick journalists. MacAllister hadn’t gotten a cent out of it. “Thank you, Amy,” he said. He was impressed. The girl obviously had a brain.
“You’ll be leaving in four hours,” Hutch said. “I’ve arranged to have your bags delivered directly to the Salvator. I hope you don’t mind.”
Hutch never seemed to change physically. But she’d become more subdued over the past two or three years. The devil-may-care attitude he remembered from the Deepsix rescue was gone. Maybe it was motherhood; more likely it was watching the decline of the Academy. He wished there were something he could do to ease that particular trauma.
They stopped at a place called All-Night Charlie’s for coffee. “They’ve been servicing the ship,” she said. “But it should be ready for boarding in an hour or so.”
“Wish you were coming?” he asked.
“Part of me does.” She glanced at Amy, who was hanging on the answer. “One day, when the kids are on their own, I’d like to take one of the ships out and go deep again.”
“‘When the kids are on their own.’ You have another one coming?”
“Yes,” she said. “A boy.”
“When’s it due?”
“September.” She looked radiant.
“Congratulations.”
Amy squeezed her hand. “When it happens,” she said, “I’d like to be your pilot.” Hutch smiled.
“You know,” said MacAllister, “you sound as if you don’t really expect it to happen. The flight. The deep one.”
Hutch considered it. “Tor’s not like you, Mac. He’s not much of an adventurer.” That was her little joke, but she didn’t crack a smile. “He’s been off-world just enough to know he prefers life in Virginia.”
“You don’t think he’d go?”
“He might. To keep me happy. But he wouldn’t enjoy himself. And that would pretty much take the pleasure out of it.”
The coffee came. They had a good view of the moon through one of the ports. MacAllister marveled at the mountains and craters. They were spectacularly bleak.
VALENTINA WAS WAITING on the ship, seated in the cramped cockpit they call the bridge. She was busy talking to the AI, raised a hand to say hello, but never really broke off the conversation. She’d apparently already met Amy, who had spent the night on the station. MacAllister backed away, mildly irritated, and retreated to a larger room just off the bridge. This was, Amy explained, the common room. “It’s where everybody hangs out,” she said.
Moments later, Valentina joined them. Her eyes fastened on MacAllister, and she broke into a smile that was almost mischievous. “Sorry,” she said, “I was in the middle of something. Hutch, the monitors are loaded and ready to go.”
“Okay.” Hutch was visibly amused at the interplay between the pilot and her passenger. “I guess you’re all set then.”
She nodded. “How’ve you been, Mr. MacAllister?”
“Good,” he said. “Done any more shows?”
The smile widened. “No. I’m not much of a debater.”
“On the contrary, you can be quite argumentative. By the way, since we’re going to be in pretty close quarters for a while, you might want to call me Gregory. Or Mac.”
“I think I prefer Mac.” She offered her hand. “I’m Valya.”
He shook it and turned to Hutch. “Is the mission purely hit-or-miss? Are we really just going out there and hoping for the best?”
“Pretty much,” she said. “All you’re doing is planting monitors. Think of it as time off. Read, relax, and enjoy yourself.”
“Okay.”
“For what it’s worth, there’s been another sighting along Orion’s Blue Tour, at 61 Cygni. It’s your first stop, so who knows? You might get lucky and come home with the story of the century.”
“I’m sure.”
“Valya says,” said Amy, “that even if we see some moonriders, we might not be fast enough to catch them.”
MacAllister smiled at her enthusiasm. In fact, it hadn’t occurred to him he might become part of a pursuit. “I assume,” he said, “if we were to see something, we’d try to talk to them.”
“If you can,” said Hutch.
“Well, we’ll see what happens.”
Someone else was coming on board.
“It’s getting close to time,” said Valya.
Eric Samuels strolled through the airlock. “Hello, all,” he said, with that phony cheerfulness he always exuded in public. “Are we ready to go hunting for moonriders?”
It was going to be a long trip.
THE SALVATOR WASN’T exactly the Evening Star. It was cramped, uncomfortable, everything squeezed together. Its carrying capacity was a pilot and seven passengers. The walls were paneled, there was a carpet, and pseudoleather furniture. MacAllister chose a compartment toward the forward part of the vehicle. He’d read somewhere that the farther you were from the power plant, the safer you were. The compartment would be big enough provided he didn’t try to stand up. It contained a basin, but other facilities were located in twin washrooms. Only a contortionist, he saw, would be able to manage the toilet.
Samuels took a compartment in the middle of the ship, and Amy picked one at the rear. Their luggage arrived. They hauled everything inside and got settled.
Hutch got up to go. Good luck, everybody. Happy hunting. “We’ll try to bring something back,” Valya said.
“It would be nice,” said Hutch. “You guys have everything you need?”
MacAllister knew it would turn out he’d forgotten something. He always did. But he ran a quick mental check of the essentials. Unsure what the ship’s library would hold, he’d brought a generous supply of novels in his notebook. “I’m all set,” he said.
So were the others. “I’ve talked with Union Ops,” said Valya. “We’ve got launch in twenty.”
“Then I’m out of here, folks. See you when you get back.” Hutch shook their hands, embraced Amy, pressed her lips to MacAllister’s cheek, and strode out through the main hatch.
Valya closed it behind her. “We’ll be accelerating during the first thirty minutes or so,” she said, “which means we’ll all be locked down. You guys have anything you need to do, this would be a good time.”