She lowered herself into a chair and just watched. Valya’s image blinked off and was replaced by pictures from the Salvator’s scopes. Smoke and debris and two black globes.
“ — Still trying to reach them,” said Valya. “Maybe find a way to talk to them. If they talked to Amy, they must understand English, but I get no response.”
The head of personnel called. Doug Eberling. An excitable guy who’d found a home with the Academy and had no ambition other than to stay out of trouble. “Is that really happening, Hutch? My God, I can’t believe it.”
“ — To notify the West Tower. I’ve been talking to the shuttles. They’re okay. A little bit shocked.”
“Hutch,” said Eberling, “what can we do?”
“The shuttles are telling me power’s off in the tube. They aren’t getting their boost from the rings.”
“What’s that mean?” asked Eberling.
“It means,” said Hutch, “they don’t have much in the way of propulsion. Just a few missiles they can fire off and that’s it.”
Peter showed up on the circuit. “Looks like you were right, Hutch.”
“They’re moving,” said Valya. “The moonriders are moving again.” Her voice rose several decibels. “They’re following the tube. Hutch, they’re headed for the other tower.”
The Salvator’s scopes stayed with them. They’d lined up on either side of the collider and were beginning to pick up speed. Chasing the shuttles?
They moved frantically aside, trying to evade. But the globes cruised serenely past, making no effort to pursue. Thank God for that at least.
SHE INFORMED THEIR government liaison, so he could pass it up the chain of command. The World Council probably didn’t have the news yet. But it sounded as if a war had started.
Valya had sent information copies of the transmission to the ten ships of the rescue squadron. Hutch added a warning of her own: “They are hostile. Do not put yourself at unnecessary risk. We’ll send updates as soon as we get them.”
Another message went to Valya: “Do what you can, but don’t lose the Salvator. As the situation changes, please keep us informed. Continue information copies to the incoming vessels. Good luck.”
Then a call came in from Allard. “Goddam you,” he said. The man was literally sputtering. “We have at least fifty dead.” He stared at her across a vast gulf, struggling to contain his rage. “Where is Asquith?”
“He’s not available at the moment, Professor. I have a call in to him, and I’ll relay your concern when I’m able.”
“You may relay more than my concern. What did you people know that you neglected to tell me? How could you possibly let this happen?”
His voice trembled, and she thought he was close to cardiac arrest. “We gave you everything we had, Professor.”
“Nonsense! You told me something about a dream. An apparition.”
“We gave you what we had. It was your decision to sit on it.” Although she understood why he had chosen to ignore their warning. They had not, after all, been convinced themselves.
Abruptly, tears welled up in Allard’s eyes. “God help us,” he said.
THE NEWS WAS getting out. Hutch had several calls in succession from the media. She admitted that yes, an attack had occurred, but at the moment that was all she had. “I don’t know any more than you do.”
Then there was Charlie Dryden. She’d been too busy to tell him what she thought of him. When he called, though, it was obvious he knew Mac had spoken to her. He was tentative rather than his usual charge-the-battlements self. “Hutch,” he said, “I hate to bother you. But is it true?”
“Yes. We have a lot of people dead.”
“I don’t believe it.” He looked genuinely shocked.
“Is that by any chance because you thought the moonriders were your own invention?”
“Well, that’s not exactly true. Look, Hutch, we meant no harm.”
Interesting how the first-person pronoun he normally used had gone plural. “Cut the act, Charlie. Anyway, the details, at the moment, don’t matter. I’m busy. What do you need?”
“I was hoping I could do something to help.”
“You could have helped three days ago when we needed two carriers.”
“Look, Hutch,” he said, “what we did, I know that doesn’t sit well with you — ”
“It’s okay, Charlie. I enjoy being lied to.”
“You wouldn’t have come in willingly. We knew that. But we were trying to save the program — ”
“I don’t have time for this.”
“We had a ship standing by near the Galactic. In case there was a problem. Nobody was ever in danger.”
“If you don’t have anything else, I have to go.”
“No,” he said. “I don’t have anything else. I just wanted you to know this was something we felt we had to do. We wanted to protect the Academy.”
“Give me a break, Charlie. You and your pals don’t really care about the Academy, except as a wedge to get government contracts for your own outfit. Was the commissioner part of it?”
“No,” he said. “He didn’t know anything about it.”
“Well, at least you’re not a snitch, Charlie.”
“Hutch, I’d really be grateful if you could bring yourself to overlook this. I meant well.”
She smiled at him. “I take it you’re headed for court.”
“No. I don’t think so.”
“I’ll try to arrange it. Good-bye, Charlie.”
GEORGE WAS USUALLY pretty unflappable. He was, after all, an AI. But when he whispered Hutch’s name a minute or two after she’d disconnected Dryden, he sounded impressed. “Call from the president,” he said.
Hutch thought she’d better sit down for this one. “Put him through, George.”
A young woman blinked on. Black hair, well dressed, artificial smile. “Please hold for President Crandall,” she said.
Hutch tried to arrange herself. Try to look cool. As if presidents call every day.
The woman was replaced by the man himself. Patrick O’Keefe Crandall, the first Canadian president, now in his third year. He was seated in an armchair, looking at a document — somehow it was a document and not simply a piece of paper — but when he saw her, he stood. “Ms. Hutchins. I’ve been meaning to have you over to the White House.” The New White House, actually. The old one, now an island, was a museum. He glowed with the charm that had helped him carry fifty-two states in the last election.
She stood, too. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. President.”
“May I call you Hutch?”
“Yes, sir. Of course. Whatever you like.” Dumb.
He laughed. It was okay. “Hutch, I understand the facility at Origins is under attack.”
“Yes, Mr. President. That is so. They’ve destroyed the East Tower.”
“I’m also informed you have direct contact with a ship on the scene.”
“That’s correct, Mr. President.”
“Good. I want you to stay on top of this. Anything that comes in should be forwarded directly to me. Your AI has the code.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’ve been informed you have a small squadron of ships on the way.”
“That’s correct, Mr. President.”
“That they left a couple days ago.”
“Yes.”
“You knew in advance an attack was coming.” He studied her carefully, trying to make up his mind about her. “I wonder if you’d explain how that happened.”
Her reluctance must have shown.
“It’s okay,” he said. “We’re on a secure circuit.”
So she told him everything. He listened, his expression composed, nodding occasionally, explaining he understood when she described her reaction to the story. She added they’d made an effort to keep Amy’s name out of it. If that story made the rounds, the kids at her school would never let her rest. And the media would be all over her.