Chapter 23
Rudy took his seat beside Antonio and the harness locked him in. The murmur of electronics in the walls—the bulkheads, to use the right terminology—rose a notch, and Hutch’s voice came over the allcom: “Outward bound, gentlemen.”
There were clicks and beeps. He could feel power moving through circuits. Something popped, and the ship began to move. Sidewise, but it was moving.
Antonio reached over and shook his hand. “Here we go, Rudy,” he said.
Rudy found himself humming Brad Wilkins’s “Savannah Express” as they pulled out. Through the night, rolling, rolling, the Savannah Express carries me home to you…
He’d prided himself on the notion that his passion for the interstellars was purely selfless. That he was content to stay behind while others moved out among the stars. He’d always felt that spiritually he’d been with them. He’d studied the reports that came back, had looked down from orbit on hundreds of distant worlds, had cruised past the giant suns. As long as there was a human presence out there, he rode along. But he knew that sitting in a VR tank wasn’t the same as actually being there.
As the Preston moved slowly from its dock and turned her prow toward the exit lock, toward the stars, he recalled Audrey Cleaver’s comment from TX Cancri: The day would come when he’d give almost anything to repeat the experience. And he understood what she had meant.
The monitor blinked on, and the interior of the station began to slide past, the docks, the working offices, the long viewports provided for the general public. Most of the docks were empty.
The common wisdom was that Union was on its way to becoming a museum, a monument to a dead age. But the Preston might change all that.
The picture on the monitor provided a forward view. They eased out through the exit doors. The sound of the engines, which had been barely discernible, picked up, and picked up some more, and eventually became a full-throated roar. The acceleration pushed him into his seat. It was a glorious moment. Up front, Hutch was talking to the AI.
The monitor switched to a rear view, and he watched the station falling away.
After she’d cut the engines and announced they could release their harnesses, Hutch came back for a minute to see how they were doing. “Matt’s just launching,” she said. “We’ll give him time to catch up, then I suspect we’ll be ready to go.”
Rudy made an inane comment about the Preston still being a reliable ship. Hutch smiled politely and said she hoped so.
“How’s it feel,” asked Antonio, “taking a ship out again after all this time?” He was still a journalist, hoping for a pithy reply.
“Good,” she said. “It’s always felt good.”
The stars were so bright. What was Homer’s comment? The campfires of a vast army? But the sky itself looked quiet. No moving lights anywhere. “Any other traffic?” Rudy asked.
“No,” she said. “Nothing other than Matt.”
“Was it always like this?” he persisted.
“Pretty much. Occasionally you’d see somebody coming or going. But not often.”
Behind them, near the station, a set of lights blinked on. “That’ll be him now,” she said. Phyl increased the mag, and they watched as the McAdams turned toward them.
They were accelerating again as the other ship moved alongside. It was the bigger of the two vehicles. He couldn’t see its viewports because of the shielding. Hutch was talking to them, putting everything on the allcom so he and Antonio could listen. Much of the exchange meant nothing to him.
“Time set.”
“Got it. Do you have it lined up yet?”
“Negative. Don’t trust the coordinates.”
“Neither do I. Check the statrep.”
“Doing it now. Ready to start the clocks?”
“Give me a minute. Phyl, how’s the charge rate look?”
Rudy knew some of it had to do with the Locarno. Because it jumped such enormous distances, it was difficult to arrange things so the ships would arrive within a reasonable range of each other. So they had to calibrate the jumps with a degree of precision unknown before in multiple-ship operations. A minor deviation on this end, in either course setting or time in transit, could result in the ships being unable to find each other at the destination.
“Okay,” said Hutch. “Ready with the clocks.”
“Do it.”
“Phyl, we’ll lock it in at four minutes.”
Rudy understood Phyl and the McAdams AI were working in tandem.
“It’s at four minutes on my mark, Hutch.” Phyl commenced a ten-second countdown.
“Four minutes to TDI, gentlemen,” Hutch said.
Rudy’s heart picked up a beat.
“Mark.”
Jon had said he didn’t think the two ships would be able to communicate in Barber space, but he admitted he didn’t know for sure.
Union had long since dropped off the screens. Earth floated blue and white and familiar on the rear view. Ahead there was nothing but stars.
From the bridge, Hutch asked how they were doing.
They were doing fine. Antonio was studying the starfields on the display. “Which one?” he asked. “Which is Makai?”
“You can’t see it from here. It’s too far.”
“Good.” He was consulting his notebook. “Rudy, do you know what’s the record for the longest flight from Earth?”
Rudy knew. He’d looked it up several weeks ago. “Mannheim Kroessner got out to 3340 light-years in 2237. Travel time one way was eleven months, nine days, fourteen hours.”
“Where did he go?”
“The Trifid.”
“Why?”
“As I understand it, he just wanted to set the record.”
Phyl counted them down through the last minute. At zero the thrum of the engines changed, shifted, while the Locarno took over. The lights dimmed, blinked off, came back. The acceleration went away abruptly, and they seemed to be floating.
“That’s it,” said Hutch. “TDI is complete.”
Rudy looked up at the monitor and out the port. With the armor out there, it was like looking through a tunnel. But it didn’t matter. He was still overawed. The sky was utterly black. Not a light, not a glimmer, anywhere.
“Matt.” Hutch’s voice again. “Do you read me?”
Rudy discovered he was holding his breath.
“Matt, this is Preston. Do you read?”
Nothing.
Antonio made a sucking sound. “Guess we’re out here by ourselves.”
Four weeks inside a few compartments. Rudy had known he’d be in good company with Hutch. She could hold up her end of a conversation, didn’t take herself too seriously, and had a lot of experience being cooped up for long periods. “It’s not as bad as it sounds,” she told them, with an easy grin. “Some people can’t deal with it, and get cabin fever during the first few hours. I don’t think you guys are going to have a problem. But you will get tired hanging out with the same two people every day. Doesn’t matter who you are, or how much charisma you have, you’ll get sick of it. So you need to break away periodically. Just go find a good book.”