But the mission had been a disaster, and the responsibility had been laid directly on Nightingale's shoulders.
It was possible that what happened to him at Maleiva III might have happened to anyone. But as she read some of the attacks made on his judgment and on his leadership, on thinly veiled suggestions that he was a coward, she wondered that he hadn't retreated to a mountaintop and dropped out of sight.
No one ever got used to the gray mists of the hyper lanes, where superluminals seemed only to drift forward at a remarkably casual rate. Travelers watching from the scopes felt as if they were moving through heavy fog at a few kilometers per hour.
Wildside slid quietly through the haze, and Hutch could easily imagine that she was somewhere northeast of, say, Newfoundland, gliding over the Atlantic, waiting for foghorns to sound. She'd set the ship's screens, which masqueraded as windows, to display a series of mountain vistas, urban views, or whatever the passengers thought they'd like. Seated in the common room, she was looking out over London, as if from an airship cabin. It was broad daylight, early afternoon, midwinter. Snow was falling.
They were in the sixth day of passage.
"What's really out there?" asked Scolari, who had joined her for lunch.
"Nothing," she said.
He canted his head. "Must be something."
"Not a thing. Other than the fog."
"Where's the fog come from?"
"Hydrogen and helium. A few assorted gases. It's our universe in a disorganized, and cold, state."
"How'd it happen?" he asked.
She shrugged. "Nothing big ever formed. It has something to do with the gravity differential. Physicists will tell you the real question is why we have planets and stars."
"Gravity's different here?"
They were both eating fruit dishes. Hutch's was pineapple and banana with a slice of cheese on rye. She munched at it, took a moment to contemplate the taste, and nodded. "The setting's lower, much weaker, than in our universe. So nothing forms. You want to see what it looks like?"
"Sure."
Hutch directed Bill to put the outside view from the forward scope on the screen.
London blinked off and was replaced by the mist.
Scolari watched it for a minute or so and shook his head. "It almost looks as if you could get out and walk faster than this."
"If you had something to walk on."
"Hutch," he said, "I understand sensors don't work here either."
"That's true."
"So you really don't know that there's nothing out there. Nothing in front of us."
"It's not supposed to be possible," she said. "Solid objects don't form here."
"What about other ships?"
She could see he wasn't worried. Scolari didn't seem to worry much about anything. But everyone was mystified by hyper travel. Especially by the perceived slowness. And by the illusion of shadows in the mist. Those came from the ship's own lights. "According to theory," she said, delivering the answer she'd given many times before, "we have our own unique route. We create a fold when we enter, and the fold goes away when we leave. A collision with another ship, or even a meeting with one, isn't supposed to be possible."
Nightingale came in, ordered something from the autoserver, and sat down with them. "Interesting view," he said.
"We can change it."
"No, please." He looked fascinated. "It's fine."
She glanced at Scolari, who bit into an apple. "I love gothic stuff," he said.
But the conversation more or less died right there.
"Do you plan to return to Pinnacle, Randy?" Hutch eventually asked. "Or will you be going on another assignment?"
"I'm retiring," he said, in a tone that suggested it should have been obvious.
They both congratulated him.
"I've bought a seaside place in Scotland," he continued.
"Scotland." Hutch was impressed. "What will you be doing there?"
"It's tucked away on a remote coastline," he said. "I Me remote."
"What will you do with your time?" persisted Scolari.
He poured himself a cup of coffee. "I think, for the first year, absolutely nothing."
Scolari nodded. "Must be nice." He commented that he'd lined up a teaching post at the University of Texas, went on for a bit about how good it would be to see his folks again after all these years. And then asked a question that made Hutch wince: "Randy, do you have any plans to write your memoirs?"
It was of course a minefield. Scolari undoubtedly knew that Nightingale was a celebrity of sorts, but probably didn't have the details.
"No." Nightingale stiffened. "I don't think many people would find my life very exciting."
Hutch knew from experience that she and her passengers would form a tight bond. Or they'd come to dislike one another intensely.
Small groups in long flights always developed one of those two behavior patterns. Some years ago, a sociologist had been aboard to study the phenomenon and had given his name to it. The Cable Effect. She expected to see this one divide in two, with Nightingale on one side and everyone else bonded on the other.
The voyage so far had been short on entertainment and long on conversation. They'd forgone the games and VRs With which passengers usually entertained themselves, and instead had simply talked a lot.
There'd already been some personal admissions. That was always an indication that passengers were coming together, but it usually took several weeks. Embry confessed the third night out that she was seriously considering giving up medicine. Couldn't stand people constantly complaining to her about how they felt. "The world is full of hypochondriacs," she'd said. "Being a doctor isn't at all the way most people think it is."
"My mother was a hypochondriac," said Toni.
"So was mine. So I should have known before I went to medical school."
"Why'd you go?" asked Hutch.
"My father was a doctor. And my grandmother. It was sort of expected."
"So what'll you do if you give it up?"
"There's always research," suggested Scolari.
"No. Truth is, I'm just not interested. I'm bored with it."
Toni Hamner, despite Hutch's initial impressions, turned out to be a romantic. "I went to Pinnacle because it was so different. I wanted to travel."
"You did that," said Embry.
"And I loved it. Walking through places built by something that wasn't human. Built hundreds of thousands of years ago. That's archeology."
"So why are you going home?" asked Scolari.
"My tour was up."
"You could have renewed," said Hutch. "They're paying bonuses to have people stay on."
"I know. I'd already done a one-year extension. I'm ready to do something else."
"Uh-huh," said Embry. 'That sounds like a family."
Toni laughed. "At least checking out the prospects."
Scolari nodded. "None on Pinnacle?"
She thought it over. "It isn't that there aren't some interesting men out there. In fact, there were a lot of guys. But they tend to be married to the business. Women are more or less perceived as strictly entertainment value."
She never mentioned her ex.
Only Nightingale had not revealed himself, and now they sat, gazing at the eternal fog while he said, yes, he wished his life was interesting enough that people would want to read about it. And he said it with such conviction that she wondered whether he actually believed it.
Scolari went back to the foggy outdoors. "Does anyone," he asked, "have any idea about the architecture of this place? How big is it out there?"
"As I understand it," Hutch said, "that question has no-"
Bill's message light began to blink.