They didn’t like being lectured by the captain, but it gave them a new focus for their dissatisfaction, and maybe that was all that was needed.
Judy liked Alexandra. She offered no apologies, never allowed Frank or any of the others to intimidate her, never backed down. Took no nonsense.
SHE HAD LOST all patience with the complainers around her, with Melinda Park, who kept talking about how valuable her time was and how it was being wasted; with Wally Glassner, who was prepared to tell anyone who would listen how he would have done things had he been in charge; with Jerry Madden, who’d been there now for seven months and what did he have to show for it?
Even among her own people, some had not been able to come to terms with the situation. And they were all young, convinced they would rise to the top of their respective professions, would keep control of their lives, and would one day retire after many years of success and joy.
At midmorning, Alexandra got on the allcom to inform her passengers that one of the rescue vessels had made the jump out of hyper and would be within visual range by late afternoon. That was the Vignon, which would be taking off everyone who was going back. The Vignon would deliver them to Broadside, where they’d embark on another ship for the flight home. It would be an eight-month run altogether, putting them back in Arlington by summer. Keeping her voice carefully neutral, the captain thanked them for their patience and understanding.
The Vignon would also be carrying engineers. They would do whatever had to be done to get the jump engines running again. The Westover was due within a few days. It would pick up Frank and Judy and the six members of her team who were going on to Lookout. When they were safely on their way, Bill would take the al-Jahani to Broadside. And if something went wrong en route and the ship disappeared into the mists, well, no one would be lost with it.
The people who were going back on the Vignon began clearing out their quarters. When Judy wandered into the common room after lunch, Melinda Park and Charlie Harding were already sitting there with their bags packed. “I’ll miss you, Judy,” Charlie said, and Melinda used a smile to indicate she felt the same way. The gesture also suggested that Melinda couldn’t believe that Judy hadn’t had enough. Next time Melinda rode one of these things, she said, people would read about it in the New York Times.
Several of the linguists came in, also ready to go. Rochelle was leaving, and Terry MacAndrew. Judy wasn’t certain, but she thought he was leaving because she was.
Despite the circumstances, it wasn’t a good career move for the linguists to bail out on the mission. It would get around, and people had long memories. When future positions came open, they’d go to the ones deemed loyal and dedicated. Judy had mentioned that to the group shortly after they’d bobbed to the surface out here, advising them to do what they thought best, but underscoring how important reputation was.
On the other hand, they were linguists rather than researchers, and maybe the people hiring them wouldn’t care the way she would.
During the next half hour, the rest of those who were leaving showed up, Malachy looking tired and dispirited, Jason Holder frowning as if everything that had happened out here had been personally directed at him. Elizabeth Madden held up pretty well, and Ava MacAvoy. Jean Dionne was visibly relieved to be turning around. Of them all, Judy was going to miss John Price, tall and quiet and good-looking, a guy she could have fallen in love with, until she discovered he always took care of himself first. And Mickie Haverson, an anthropologist who spoke the best Goompah outside her people, and who had talked about putting on one of the disguises, and wandering around the cafés trading stories with the natives.
Valentino and Mike Metzger were packed and ready to go. And Marilyn McGee and Ed Paxton. Judy wondered how that marriage would fare when they got back into a normal situation. She was convinced that romances formed under unusual circumstances had little chance to prosper. But maybe she was wrong.
One by one, they shook her hand and kissed her. Thanks, Judy. I wish it could have worked out better. Appreciate the opportunity. Good luck. I hope there are some left when you get there. Sorry it turned out this way.
Alexandra came by, expressed her regrets, and gave them their compartment numbers on the Vignon. Twenty minutes later, the ship moved within visual range. It was that star over there, the one that kept getting brighter, that broke apart finally into a cluster of lights. Then it was alongside, sleek and gray, a dwarf compared with the Hawksbill. But big enough. And with working engines.
The engineers were the first ones through the airlock. Judy, who somehow felt it her duty to be on hand, stood to one side while Alexandra greeted them as they came in. There were two of them, both males, carrying cases and gauges, with instruments dangling from their belts and cables looped over their shoulders. Both very businesslike. Alexandra took them below.
THE ENGINEERS MADE several trips back to the Vignon. At one point, in front of Judy and several others, one of them told the captain that the engines would not have survived another jump. When Judy asked Alexandra what that would have meant she said that they would either have exploded or, more likely, stranded them in hyperspace. It was a reflection of the mood in the ship that Judy wondered whether the conversation had been staged to rebuff those who’d grumbled at the captain’s insistence on going no farther.
Ah, well. She had no reason to doubt Alexandra, but she would have considered doing that herself had she been in the captain’s place.
Meantime, the doors opened on the Vignon, and there was a final round of handshakes and farewells as people headed across. When the exodus had ended, the al-Jahani felt empty. Subdued. Only Frank remained, and six of her Shironi Kulp.
Charlie Harding, who had never stopped talking about how he looked forward to watching the cloud sweep in over Lookout, raining down meteors and then lightning bolts (although he felt sorry for the inhabitants, yes, pity we can’t do more for them) got bored waiting for the Vignon to depart and came back to complain. Judy hoped they wouldn’t leave without him.
She strolled down to her workroom and found Ahmed and Ginko engaged in a role-playing game, while Harry Chin watched. It had something to do with trying to move supplies down a mountain slope with a limited number of pack animals, all of whom could not be watched at once, in the presence of lions that attacked wherever they saw an opening.
Nick Harcourt was in the tank leading the Boston Philharmonic in a rendition of the 1812 Overture. Guns roared, the strings and horns delivered “La Marseillaise,” and the drums rolled. Shelley and Juan were with him, so caught up in the performance that they didn’t see Judy come in. She closed the door and found a seat.
They were inside a symphony hall, although Judy had no idea if it was a specific site or simply something made up by Bill. Nevertheless, there was the illusion of a packed house. She closed her eyes and saw tattered flags and cannons and cavalry charges. She knew Napoleon was involved—it was hard to miss—but she wasn’t sure about the other details. Was it Brits on the other side? Or Russians? Well, it didn’t matter. She let the music overwhelm her, carry her along. Once more unto the breach, dear friends. And finally she was participating in a thunderous ovation while Nick bowed and pointed his baton to various sections of his orchestra, which responded with a few fresh chords, thereby provoking another round of applause.