Starhawk (18 page)

THEY PARTIED INTO
the night. Mom had a glorious time, Uncle Phil drank a little too much, and Ed turned an ankle trying to dance in the near-nonexistent gravity. Miriam formed what would turn out to be a lifetime friendship with Denise Peifer, Drake's sister.

Meantime, Preacher Brawley took Priscilla aside and told her he understood she didn't have quite the position she'd hoped for. “But Jake has told me about you. Just be patient, Priscilla. Your day is coming.”

Jake had gone missing.

They spent the next several days on the Wheel, sightseeing, hitting the restaurants and gift shops, and touring the launch bay. When the
Exeter
arrived on Christmas Eve, carrying tourists who'd been looking at one of the monuments—Priscilla was so caught up in the celebration that she didn't pay any attention to which one it had been—they had front-row seats. Mom especially liked Skyview, and said it was the wildest place for hamburgers she'd ever seen. And, finally, it was time to go back to Princeton. Priscilla went with them.

She was still on the shuttle when Wally Brinkman called.
“Congratulations,”
he said. Wally had sent chocolates to her at the Starlight.
“I was hoping we could get together when you get home. I'd love to see you again.”

“Sure,” she said. “I'd enjoy that.”

“How about we do dinner, then go to the Corel? They're doing
Midnight Special
.”
Live theater.
Midnight Special
had been a major hit a half century earlier. The Corel featured an amateur troupe, but they were good. “Absolutely,” she said.

 * * * 

TWO NIGHTS LATER
they were headed for the theater, with a stopover at Maroni's Italian Restaurant, where she treated herself to a fettuccini alfredo. Then it was off to watch the show. She'd seen
Midnight Special
performed when she was in college. It hadn't exactly been the laugh riot her teacher had promised, but it was okay. Maybe, she thought as she and Wally took their seats near the front, it would work a bit better tonight.

One of the lead characters, Mark Klaybold, is a public relations guy who takes special pride in his ability to create markets for worthless products. He generally has his way with women until he meets Amanda, with whom he falls in love. Amanda, however, finds it impossible to take him seriously as anything other than a scam artist. “The world is all about perception,” Mark tells her when they first meet. “If you can get people to believe something,
anything
, that makes it true.”

They were only a few minutes into the first act, though, when her mind began wandering. How long would it take her to get a serious position? Could she talk her way into the Academy Project within the next year or so? Occasionally, she tuned the show back in, laughed at Mark's fumbling efforts to persuade Amanda he sincerely loved her. That she could trust him not to lie.

Despite everything, Mark was a likable character, a charmer, good-looking, but constantly overreaching. Constantly in trouble. He meant well but even when he tried to be honest, communication breakdowns left him looking not only deceitful but clumsy.

 * * * 

THE TRADITION AT
the Corel was that, after the performance, the cast lined up outside to shake hands and talk with the patrons. It was, for Priscilla, a major part of the show, meeting the people who'd been onstage. She'd envied her classmates in high school and college who'd participated in the theater programs. She would have loved to play Erica in
All for Love
or Maureen in
Moonbase
. Any of the romantic roles in the school shows. But the prospect of memorizing a part and getting out in front of the curtains without forgetting her lines and making a fool of herself overwhelmed her. No. It was never going to happen. And it never had.

So she smiled pleasantly at the director, and at each of the six actors, congratulating them and telling them how well they'd performed. From her perspective, if you got through without blowing the material, you'd done all that could be expected.

Mark had been played by a young man whose name was Calvin Hartlett. Somehow, the good looks that carried Mark to his various conquests had disappeared. He was tall, with brown hair and gray eyes. But offstage and out of the lighting, he looked rather ordinary. Maybe it was that the energy had drained out of him. He was at the end of the line, with his leading lady. Priscilla smiled at them. “Nice performance, guys.”

Hartlett looked at her oddly. “Aren't you Priscilla Hutchins?”

“Yes,” she said.

His eyes brightened. “Princeton's own star pilot.”

She nodded. “More or less.”

“It's a pleasure to meet you.” Remarkably, Mark Klaybold seemed to have returned. “I'm glad you enjoyed the show.”

“It was a solid performance.”

“Thanks,” he said. “I hope you come back to see us.” He glanced at Wally, and she knew she'd hear from him again.

 * * * 

IN THE MORNING,
she'd finished breakfast and was out on her daily walk when her link chimed. It was Jake.

“The man of leisure,” she said. “Where are you now?”

“In the Blue Ridge. Not far from Roanoke.”

“Nice country.”

“You looked good at the ceremony.”

“Thanks. I wish you'd stayed around.”

“That was
your
party, babe.”

“You should have been part of it.”

“Thanks. I was.”

She was going to ask when he'd gotten home, but she didn't want to go plunging off into small talk. “Jake, is there anything I can do for you?”

“No,”
he said.
“I don't need anything. As far as the WSA is concerned, I've gone away, never again to be heard from. And good riddance.”

“I wanted to thank you for going out of your way for me with Frank.”

“Irasco? What do you mean?”

“You apparently said some pretty nice things about me.”

“I didn't tell him anything that wasn't true.”

“Whatever. Anyway, I appreciate it. I'm working for him now.”

“So I heard. I think, Priscilla, you just need to be patient. I know you're probably not very excited about sitting behind a desk, but just stay with it. You're a damned good pilot, and I'd trust you to take me anywhere.”

 * * * 

CALVIN HARTLETT DIDN'T
disappoint her.
“Is this Priscilla?”
he asked when she picked up.
“We didn't really have much of a chance to talk last night. I'd love to get to know you better. We're off this evening. I know it's short notice, but it's the only night I'm free all week. And I suspect you won't be in town long. I was hoping you'd let me take you to dinner.”

 * * * 

PRISCILLA'S JOURNAL

No sign yet of Monika going after Kosmik. All that talk about taking a stand.

Headed for the high country. I get the leading man. And an unbridled vote of confidence from Jake. When I started my qualification flight a couple of months ago, Harry Everett had been my instructor. But he got ill during the first week and had to be replaced by Jake. Jake showed up, and his first comment was whether my piloting skills had brought Harry down. It was supposed to be a joke, but I was in a sensitive place and took him seriously. I thought he'd seen something in my record he hadn't liked, or someone had said something to him. It was one of the most unsettling moments in my life. Tonight, though, I feel like that Amazon on the HV show.

—December 29, 2195

PRISCILLA HAD HOPED,
naturally, that she'd be going to dinner with the handsome, devil-may-care Mark Klaybold, the character Calvin had played in the show. He'd pretend to be an ordinary guy, though with extraordinarily good looks. He'd take her to a pricey restaurant, probably the Tablet, show how impressed he was being out with someone who'd been to other worlds, point out that her eyes sparkled in the candlelight, and, at the end of the evening, try to coax her into bed.

Instead, she got Cal, who, except for his car, seemed quite ordinary. He picked her up in a sleek white Benson, obviously impressing Mom, whose jaw dropped when she saw him. Or maybe the car. Priscilla wasn't sure which. But her hopes visibly soared. Calvin might be the very guy Mom had been looking for, someone who'd completely entrance her daughter and help put this interstellar craziness on a back burner.

Cal had expressive eyes and broad shoulders and a square jaw. But they needed stage lighting. Or animation. Something. “Priscilla,” he told her while holding the car door for her, “I'm really glad you came to the show last night. It was so nice to meet you.” Mark would have said,
“Priscilla, you must be the most gorgeous pilot on the planet.”

En route to the restaurant, they talked about what had led her to her career and how enthralling it must have felt to help rescue those kids. She asked him about his acting ambitions. “I'd like to go to Hollywood eventually,” he said. And, as if the notion were ridiculous, “What I'd really like is to take over when Brace Hopkins retires.” The prime action star of the era. His smile suggested he was kidding. But not really.

“What do you do for a living, Cal?” she asked.

“I'm a financial advisor.”

“Really?”

“Sure. I'm the guy you go to when you want to pick up some securities.” They pulled into the parking lot at Gilmore's. It wasn't the Tablet, but it was nice. “I've fallen in love with the theater, though.” He turned off the engine and sat staring out at the gathering dusk. “I don't think I'd ever realized before how pedestrian managing stock portfolios can be.”

“You don't want to do that for a lifetime?”

“Lord, no. But it's hard to find anything that pays as well.”

It was an unusually cold night. They got out of the car and hurried inside. The doors closed behind them and cut off the chill. He took her jacket and checked it for her. The host came over, a small man with a neat mustache. “Hartlett,” Cal said, “we have a reservation.” A fire crackled in a grate, and a pianist across the room was playing something soft and romantic.

Gilmore's was filled with people dressed for an evening on the town. In the center of the table, a small candle burned inside a red globe. They were seated by a window looking out across Nassau Street. The University Chapel was lovely in the moonlight.

“How long will you be here?” asked Cal.

“Just a few more days.”

“Must be great.” His eyes locked on her, full of hope. “I imagine riding around all day in one of those starships makes everything else seem pretty pedestrian.”

“Yeah,” she said. “It can have that effect.”

He smiled, and she caught a glimpse of Mark Klaybold in there somewhere.

 * * * 

WHILE THEY ATE,
Cal confessed that he suspected he'd spend the rest of his life with Martin Gable Finance. “Unless my movie career takes off.” Again, she saw that self-effacing smile that somehow nevertheless suggested he still hoped good things would happen.

“You know, you'd make a good Rick Cabot.” Cabot was, of course, the superspy who'd leaped from the pages of Carol Goldwin's novels.

“Ah, yes,” he said, mimicking Cabot's British accent, “just keep smiling, Ms. Hutchins, and don't make any sudden moves.” He was perfect.

“Very good,” she said.

“Thanks. So what do you expect to happen with you? Where will you be going next?”

“I'll be working at the station for a while. Nothing very exciting.”

“If you had a choice, where would you
like
to go?

“Someplace where there's another civilization. Where there's somebody we could talk to.”

“Really? Wouldn't that be kind of scary?”

“I suppose so. But it would be nice to sit down with someone who'd never heard of Earth. And maybe find out whether he enjoys music. Whether
it
enjoys music.”

“That's very poetic. But aliens on HV aren't usually very friendly.” He took a moment to sip his coffee. “Well, it sure sounds more exciting than tracking security equities.” He tried the coffee again. Hesitated. “Will you be coming back once in a while? To Princeton?”

“I expect so,” she said. “My family lives here. Are you from this area originally?”

“I was born in Cherry Hill. Grew up there.”

“Where'd you go to school, Cal?”

“Princeton. How about you?”

“Same,” she said. “Did you major in finance?”

“Of course. But I did some theater, too.”

Priscilla smiled. “You were beautiful last night.”

 * * * 

THEY HIT A
couple of the nightspots. And, finally, the evening tiptoed to an end. He made no overt move, took her home in the Benson, and told her how much he'd enjoyed being out with her. Priscilla pulled her coat around her. Cal climbed out and opened her door. The wind seemed capable of taking a couple of the trees down. Had she been traveling with Mark, he would have said something to her in the restaurant about how he'd miss her, how he wanted to make something happen. The piano and the fireplace would have provided the background. But Mark had never really shown up. She was disappointed.

He hovered beside her, apparently trying to decide whether to attempt a kiss. “Priscilla,” he said as they walked slowly up to the front of the house, “I'd like to do this again. If that would be all right.”

“Sure,” she said, withholding any sign of enthusiasm. “I won't be back for a while, though, Cal.”

“That's okay. I just—”

“What?”

“Well, I don't know. I just don't want you to walk out of my life after one evening.” He leaned forward, pressed his lips against her cheek, and backed off.

Oh, Mark, where did you go?

 * * * 

LIBRARY ENTRY

Yung Sun Yeun, speaking last week in his State of the World address, outlined the endless problems the World Group faces in confronting widespread famine, peacekeeping issues, and climate change. The global population is completely out of control. Numerous species are dying off. And these were, of course, only the tip of the iceberg. Dr. Yeun, fortunately, is a realist. He understands the planet's resources are limited and should not be wasted on initiatives that contribute nothing toward global survival. We do not need more maglev train routes, he said. We have no use for enhanced space-born energy systems when the ones in place are performing more than adequately. We can get along without bigger navies. It's hard to see how we profit from interstellar exploration. We don't even need, he says, to ensure the survival of the human race by establishing off-world bases. Our first obligation, he maintains, is to take care of our home world. Any action that diverts resources from that single objective should cease. Our prime concern is the people we have, not the ones who may one day be running around the Orion Arm. It's clearly time for the members of the World Group to follow Dr. Yeun's leadership. We're discovering that intelligent life seems to have gone missing among the stars. Unfortunately, we don't see many signs of it here, either.

—Gregory MacAllister,
Baltimore Sun
,

December 30, 2195