Starhawk (31 page)

THE BLEU-CHEESE SALAD
was delicious. Priscilla was wearing a soft, silky blouse to which she'd just treated herself. It was midnight blue and intended as compensation for missing the Orfano flight. Drake Peifer, seated across the table, was frowning at his sandwich.

“Not good?” she asked.

“It's okay. A bit flat.”

Behind him, through the room-length window, a comet was gliding past, its tail of incandescent gas disappearing behind the curtains near the host's desk. She could also see moving lights at Moonbase.

Drake was scheduled to leave in an hour on a flight to Quraqua. He saw that she was focused on the window and turned to look. “The view is spectacular enough,” he said. “I don't think they need the comet.”

She smiled. “Maybe not. But the tourists love it.” It was, of course, a projection. But that didn't matter. Everyone in the Skyview, forty or fifty people, stared at it with their mouths open. Even the people in the silver-and-blue uniforms.

“But it's outward-bound, Priscilla.”

“So what?”

“The tail should be in front of it.”

Priscilla tried to remember what she knew about comets. She was more into ship operations and couldn't recall ever having seen a comet up close. “I thought the tail was always in the rear. Isn't that why they call it a tail?”

Drake shook his head. “Not really. I mean, if they do this stuff, they should get the science right.”

Priscilla waved it away and went back to her salad. Drake was amiable enough, but he tended to be a perfectionist. Anyone mispronouncing a word in his presence would get a tolerant smile. Some poor woman would pay a price for that one day. “I prefer my tails in the rear,” she said. But he was looking over her shoulder now, not paying attention. “What's going on back there, Drake?” she asked.

“Oh,” he said, “I was just watching the kids.” There were about a dozen of them who'd left their tables and were lined up along the window, pointing and laughing at the comet. “An experience like that, for a child, is probably a life-changer. The world will never look the same.” Frank was also back there, sitting alone at a table, engrossed in his notebook. And a thin guy with blond hair who looked lost. Priscilla sipped her tea. “It's too bad we can't get everybody on the planet up here for a couple of hours. Maybe there'd be a lot less parochialism.”

Drake shrugged. “Ah, you think it would give us world peace. Good luck on that one. It's what they said after the first photos of Earth were taken from space.” The bill arrived. Priscilla reached for it, but he waved her off. “I've got it,” he said. “Can't allow a beautiful woman to buy her own salad.”

 * * * 

THEY CAME OUT
of the restaurant into the concourse. Music, laughter, and the sounds of lasers in a gaming room. Priscilla accompanied Drake as far as the connecting tube, which would take him down to the boarding platform. He was about to start down when the public address system activated: “Everyone please stay in your quarters until otherwise notified. There is no reason for alarm. But in the interests of caution—”

“No reason for alarm,” said Priscilla. She couldn't think of a better way to induce panic.

The message kept running. “. . . keep everyone informed as the situation develops . . .”

A burst of noise erupted behind them, frightened shouts, raised voices, people all talking at once, one child in tears. “I think the commotion's coming from the Skyview,” said Drake.

Priscilla stopped one of the women. “What's going on?” she asked.

The woman was so rattled she could barely speak. She looked at Priscilla with bleak eyes. “A bomb,” she said. “There's a guy in there with a bomb.”

The Skyview also had long windows that fronted on the concourse. She and Drake hurried back to look. Most people in the restaurant were out of their chairs, backing up against the bulkheads. All were focused on the blond young man who'd looked lost minutes ago. He was about twenty-five, wearing gray slacks and a white pullover. Average size, with blue eyes. There was something in his hand. He was speaking but she couldn't hear anything through the Plexiglas. The diners had gotten as far from him as they could.

Other than Frank, who hadn't moved except to activate his link so security would be able to overhear everything.

Priscilla called her office. The AI responded.
“Yes,”
she said.
“There
is
a threat at the Skyview. The subject is talking with Security now. We're getting it here. Do you want the feed?”

“Please.”

“—calm. If any of you get in the way, everybody's going to be dead.” He lifted his right hand, the one that held the device. It looked like a phone. The voice was cold and angry, and loud enough that everyone in the restaurant could undoubtedly hear whatever he decided to say. They were in tears, begging the bomber not to hurt the children, asking what they'd ever done to him. They were holding up hands, standing in front of children, hoping to shield them.

“All right, sir.” One of the security people on the link. His voice would have been coming into the restaurant through loudspeakers. “Don't get upset. We don't want anyone getting hurt here. What is it that you need?”

“Just so you know,” said the blond man, “it's a dead man's switch.” He waved the thing that looked like a phone. “If I let go of it, it'll go off.”

That caused a fresh wave of hysteria in the Skyview, more screams, kids bursting into tears, people falling down. A couple of them got out the door.

“Hey,” he said, “you guys told me you'd locked the doors. Do it now. Anybody else goes out, I'm blowing this thing. Now
do
it.”

“Sorry,” said the other voice. “We couldn't locate the code. We've got it now.”

“You're funny,” said the bomber.

“My name's Abel, sir. We're trying to do everything you ask.”

“Yeah. Try to be a little quicker about it. And keep the security guys outside.”

And, finally, Frank got to his feet. “What's your name, sir?” he asked.

“What's it matter? Who are you?”

“My name's Frank. I work here. And I'll help you if I can. We just don't want anybody getting hurt.”

The blond man stared at him. “I'm James Addison.”

“Is it okay if I call you James?”

“Maybe you better get over near the wall, Frank. With the rest of these people.”

Someone yelled, “Get over here!”

Frank smiled. “James, would it be all right with you if we let these people leave? I'll stay with you, and we can talk this—”

“No! Nobody goes anywhere.”

“All right. What can we do for you? What do you need?”

James was waving the device. “Just back off, okay?”

“We're doing that. No problem. What else?”

James began talking into his link again. But Priscilla wasn't getting the transmission.
“He switched channels,”
said the AI.
“Security says he's talking to somebody off station.”

One of the women, with a child in tow, was edging toward the door.

Then James was back: “Don't do it,” he said. “Nobody moves. If anybody tries to go out, I'll set it off.”

“Sure, pal,” said Frank. “We're going to close up, to make sure no one gets out, okay?”

“That's what I told you to do—”

Emergency doors slid into place, sealing off all entrances. If he set off the bomb, the effects, hopefully, would be contained.

“Okay,” said Frank. “It's all right. I'm sure we can reach an understanding.” Security guards moved into position outside the doors. “Now, what's the problem? And what can we do to make it right?”

“I want some airtime.” James's voice was crisp, sharp. “I want HV coverage. I have something to say to the country.”

“HV coverage?” More security people were arriving, fanning out. “We can't do that, James. We don't have the connections.”

“Don't try to play me. You can do whatever you want. Get me the media people.”

“We can't manage that, sir. You have to be reasonable.”

He smiled pleasantly. “No, I don't. I don't have to be reasonable at all. And it would be a good idea if you didn't lie to me. I know you can make it happen. If I'm wrong about that, if you really can't, everybody in here is dead.”

That drew more gasps and pleas. “Don't.”

“My kids.”

“Please don't do this.”

Somebody in the concourse began screaming that her daughter was inside.

“You have three minutes,” James said, “to make it happen. I have friends on the ground who will let me know when it does.”

“Okay,” Frank said. “We're trying. We're working on it. But you have to give us some time. You have to—”

“No, I don't,” he said. “I don't have to do anything. Just get it done.”

“All right. We're doing everything we can. May I ask what this is about?”

“I'll tell you in a minute. As soon as the hookup is complete.”

“Okay. Listen, can we make an arrangement?”

“What did you have in mind, Frank?”

“I'd appreciate it if you'd allow the people to leave the restaurant. There's no need for them—”

“Forget it. I don't want to hurt anybody. But I'll get a lot more attention if things stay as they are.”

Drake moved in close to her. “If he sets the bomb off in there, Priscilla, none of them will survive. What happened to security? How'd he get a bomb up here?”

“I have no idea.”

The guards were signaling for them to move. “Drake,” she said, “I have to get to the command center. I'll see you later.”

“Why?”

“It's where I'm supposed to report in case of emergency.”

More hatches were closing. That entire section of the concourse was being sealed off. Frank let James see he was listening to his link. Then he said, “You're a graduate student at Western Indiana University.”

“You guys are pretty good.”

“James Addison. You're working on a master's in literature.” He sounded surprised.

“I'm not much interested in delaying tactics, Frank.”

“I'm not trying to delay anything. I'm just wondering why you ended up here threatening strangers.”

Patricia came out of an elevator and jogged through the door leading to the command center. Priscilla followed her into the room, where Abel Parker, wearing an earpod, sat at the comm panel. The restaurant scene was on a wide display.

James looked painfully casual. “So what are you going to do, Frank? Do I get my airtime?”

Abel reacted to something that had just come in on his earpod, gave Patricia a thumbs-up, and leaned over to speak into the mike. “Frank, tell him he's on. We've got a feed through Worldwide. Tell him to look at the imager. It's over the main door.”

Frank passed the message on, and James looked directly out of the display. The nervous look was gone. “What about it, Monk?” he said.

Abel listened and then nodded. “He said yes. They've got it.”

“Okay,” said James. “Just so you know, Frank, when this is over, my buddy's going to let me know how things went. If I don't hear from him, or if I hear anything I don't like, you can say good-bye to everybody. You understand?”

“Yes. I understand.” Frank pointed toward the entrance. “Look that way. The imager's over the doors.”

“Okay. Good.” James turned and smiled. Everybody's best friend. “Hello,” he said. The good humor didn't come through. “My name's James Addison. In case anybody out there's wondering, I'm an American. Originally from Aurora, Kansas. We are currently in the process of killing off an entire world, every living thing on it. Most of you are probably not aware of this, but the World Space Authority, which is financed by
us
, by the citizens of this country, and by the citizens of a lot of other countries, is aiding and abetting this vicious genocide.

“That world has as many animals, as many life-forms, as we have on Earth. And we are massacring them. Killing every last one. I wish I had pictures to show you. I mean, many of these are very much like the cats and dogs and parrots and rabbits we keep as pets.

“They call it terraforming, and the world I'm talking about has been code-named Selika.

“If you're wondering how and why we are going to kill these helpless creatures, it's because we want their world for colonization. We want to take it over. But before we can do that, we have to change the environment. We have to change the mixture of gases in the atmosphere. We have to make it warmer. We have to produce more rain. And those actions may sound harmless, but they are lethal to creatures that have been living there for several billion years.

“And this is only the beginning. We're initiating the same process on another world. God knows when, if ever, we'll stop.

“That brings us to the question of what we can do. You and me. There is currently a bill before the Congress—”

Patricia rolled her eyes. “Full-scale nut job.”

“This bill,” James continued, “is HR210. It provides for a halt on terraforming until a further examination of the consequences can be made. It's not as strong as what we need, which is a total ban, period, with no further debate. But it's a—” He stopped, lifted a link to his ear, and listened for a moment. Then his face hardened, and he turned toward Frank. “I don't know whether you're aware or not,
Frank
, but they've blocked the broadcast.”

“That can't be right.” Frank, for the first time, lost his cool demeanor. “Give us a minute. Something like this, it takes time to set up. You didn't give us enough time.”

James shook his head. No. “You don't allow me to communicate in a rational way—” He lifted the device, stared at it, and showed it to the imager. “You're not giving me any choice.”