It was Charlie.
Jake was relieved, pleased, and annoyed. He released his belt and got up. “Charlie. You came.” Ordinarily, Charlie’s eyes would have locked on Vicki. But he brushed past her and came toward Jake. “I should have realized,” Jake said, “you’d be here to say goodbye.”
Charlie held up a boarding pass.
Jake fought back a rush of tears. “You’re coming.”
Charlie did not look happy. He threw a briefcase into an overhead compartment and dropped into the seat opposite Jake’s. “I can’t let you go alone. God knows what you’re getting into.”
Vicki closed the front hatch.
Jake sat back down. “Charlie, I appreciate this but I don’t want you to do it.”
A voice addressed them over the sound system. “Ladies and gentlemen, this is the captain speaking. Welcome aboard Flight 111, through service to Centaurus and beyond. Federal regulations require you be belted in during takeoff, landing, and rendezvous.”
“It’s okay,” Charlie said. “I wouldn’t want to miss this trip.”
“That’s not true.”
The captain’s voice again: “We’ll be taxiing out in just a few minutes.”
“Sure it is.”
“Jake, if it were, I’d be somewhere else.”
“Does your family know about this?”
“I called them. They told me to go for it.”
The engines came to life. One of the thrusters belched, unleashing some dark smoke.
Vicki checked the overhead compartments, spoke briefly to the people with the kids. “She looks good,” said Jake.
“Yeah. She’s okay. Listen, we aren’t going to have to sit in these seats all the way to Alpha Centauri, are we?”
Jake laughed. They both laughed.
The thrusters, they were advised, would need a few minutes to warm up. “Then,” said Vicki, “we’ll be on our way.”
In the distance, Jake could see the Penrose Ferry Bridge. Its lights tracked back to Philly. To steak sandwiches and Sundays at the Vet. And the army of secretaries on Chestnut Street. And Mary.
It was the town of the Tornadoes. Scattered now across the country, maybe around the globe. Two that he knew of were gone to their graves. The team would never meet again, but they had been here once.
“You okay, Jake?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
“You’re not having second thoughts, are you?”
“No. Of course not.”
Casey’s Bar & Grill still stood on Eleventh. And he wasn’t far from Hal Koestler’s place in Springfield where he’d met Mary. Their time together had been short.
He should have said goodbye to Cal Mooney and the guys at the bowling alley.
The cabin jerked, began to move. Charlie sat silently. What was he thinking?
“Charlie?”
“Yeah, Jake.”
“You figure they got bowling alleys out there? On Centaurus?”
“Sure. What kind of place wouldn’t have bowling alleys?”
Jake took a deep breath and looked down the aisle at Vicki, who was checking the overhead storage bins. “I think we want out.” He punched the service button, released his seat belt and climbed to his feet.
Charlie didn’t move. “What are you doing?”
“We’re not going. At least I’m not.”
“Why not?”
“Get your briefcase.”
Vicki’s features were hidden in the semi-darkness. Jake thought her eyes actually, really, glittered.
“No,” said Charlie. “I’m staying. You’re not going to load this on me. I’m here. You said this was what you wanted to do. I’m staying.”
Jake nodded. “Suit yourself. I’m getting off.”
Charlie crossed his arms.
Jake pushed past Vicki. “Is something wrong, Mr. Cashman?” she asked.
“I’ve changed my mind.”
“Are you sure? Please understand, this offer cannot be repeated.”
He looked into her eyes. His pulse kicked up a couple of notches. “Vicki, I wouldn’t want you to think I’m not grateful. But I’m the wrong guy for this.”
“Okay.” She said something into her mike. The rumble of the thrusters slowed and stopped. “Your bags will be returned through baggage claim,” she said, opening the hatch.
Charlie barged out of his seat. “Goddam, Jake, I wish you’d make up your mind.”
“What now?” growled Charlie as they waited at the luggage pickup counter. The launch vehicle was just barely visible through a window on the other side of the concourse. It was still rising into the sky, its lights fading quickly amid dark clouds. “Back to the South Pacific?”
“How about season passes for next year? Boxes?”
“Yeah. Good.” He pushed Jake. “You know, say what you like, interstellars are bunk. You got to go for the things that really matter.”
LUCY
“We’ve lost the Coraggio.” Calkin’s voice was frantic. “The damned thing’s gone, Morris.”
When the call came in, Morris had been assisting at a simulated program for a lunar reclamation group, answering phones for eleven executives, preparing press releases on the Claymont and Demetrius projects, opening doors and turning on lights for a local high-school tour group, maintaining a cool air flow on what had turned into a surprisingly warm March afternoon, and playing chess with Herman Mills over in Archives. It had been, in other words, a routine day. Until the Director got on the line.
Denny Calkin is a small, narrow man, in every sense of the word. And he has a big voice. He was a political appointment at NASA, and consequently was in over his head. He thought well of himself, of course, and believed he had the answers to everything. On this occasion, though, he verged on hysteria. “Morris, did you hear what I said?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “We’ve lost the Coraggio.”
“How’s that again, Denny? What do you mean, lost the Coraggio?”
“What do you think I mean? Lucy isn’t talking to us anymore. We haven’t a clue where she is or what’s going on out there.”
Morris’s face went absolutely white. “That’s not possible. What are you telling me, Denny?”
“The Eagle Project just went over the cliff, damn it.”
“You have any idea what might be wrong?”
“No. She’s completely shut down.” He said it as if he were talking to a six-year-old.
“Okay.” Morris tried to assume a calm demeanor. “How long ago?”
“It’s been about five hours. She missed her report and we’ve been trying to raise her since.”
“All right.”
“We’re trying to keep it quiet. But we won’t be able to do that much longer.”
The Coraggio, with its fusion drive and array of breakthrough technology, had arrived in the Kuiper Belt two days earlier and at 3:17 a.m. Eastern Time had reported sighting its objective, the plutoid Minetka. It had been the conclusion of a 4.7 billion-mile flight.
Morris was always unfailingly optimistic. It was a quality he needed during these days of increasingly tight budgets. “It’s probably just a transmission problem, Denny.”
“I hope so! But I doubt it.”
“So what are we doing?”
“Right now, we’re stalling for time. And hoping Lucy comes back up.”
“And if she doesn’t?”
“That’s why I’m calling you. Look, we don’t want to be the people who lost a twenty-billion-dollar vehicle. If she doesn’t respond, we’re going to have to go out after her.”
“Is the Excelsior ready?”
“We’re working on it.”
“So what do you need from me, Denny?”