“What’s happening?” she asked.
“Political stuff. But they want me there. You’ll be acting the rest of the week.”
“Okay.”
He looked at her. “That’s it,” he said.
“No special instructions?”
“No. Just use your best judgment.”
SHE’D BEEN HIT hard by the loss of Jane Collins and Terry Drafts. Hutch had known both, had partied with Jane and risked her neck with Terry. Standing on the lawn by the Morning Pool, listening to the tributes, she couldn’t get the notion out of her head that both would show up, walk into the middle of things, and announce it was all a mistake. Maybe if they had found the bodies, it would have been easier.
The commissioner conducted the event with his usual charm and aplomb. Their friends and colleagues recalled fond memories of one or the other, and there was a fair amount of laughter. Hutch glanced up at the south wall, on which were engraved the names of all who had lost their lives over the years in the service of the Academy. Or, as she’d have preferred to put it, in the service of humanity. The list was getting long.
When her turn to speak came, she filled up. Tom Callan handed her a glass of water but she stood there, shaking her head impatiently. Poor way for a leader to behave. She began by saying that Jane and Terry were good people, and her friends. “They were bright, and they went to a place that was dark and deadly and nobody knew. Now we know.
“I’m proud they were my colleagues.”
THE HEDGEHOG AND the cloud had been on the same course, moving at the same velocity. The cloud was programmed to attack objects with perpendiculars, or even sharp edges. The hedgehog had been all perpendiculars. If Terry’s surmise that someone else was monitoring the cloud was correct, why do it with a package designed in that particular way? Why not just throw an ordinary set of sensors out there?
What was going on?
The two objects had been separated by sixty thousand kilometers. Why put a surveillance package in front instead of alongside? And why so far away?
She made some calls. Everybody she could think of who’d been involved with the omegas. She put the same question to each: Was it possible that there’d been other hedgehogs accompanying other clouds? And that they hadn’t been observed?
The answers: It was certainly possible. And at sixty thousand klicks, it was unlikely they’d have been noticed. The research vessels had been intent on the omegas. It had not been part of the routine to do long-range sweeps of the area.
By midafternoon she was satisfied it was worth an investigation. “Barbara,” she said, “record transmissions for Serenity and Broadside.”
“Ready, Ms. Hutchins.”
She looked into the imager. “Audrey, Vadim: Let’s find out if some of the other clouds have a hedgehog. Assign whoever’s available to take a look. Just nearby stuff. A few samples. Tell them if they find one, or anything remotely like it, to stay away from it. We don’t want to lose anybody else. Let me know results ASAP.”
THE VARIOUS WEATHERMAN packages had sighted several more tewks, for a total of ten. They were concentrated in two widely separated areas, three near the Golden Crescent, four near the Cowbell.
The Golden Crescent, home to millions of aging stars, floated over her couch. Great smoky walls fell away to infinity. A class-G dominated the foreground, close enough to illuminate the clock. A luminous river of gas and dust ran across the back of the room.
She activated the program, and three bright objects appeared, one at a time, inward from the Crescent. One up here, one over there, one down center.
Then the image rotated, the Golden Crescent sank, the vast clouds moved around the walls, and the three stars lined up.
She had just watched the same process happen with the four tewks at the Cowbell. Except that there only three of the four had lined up. But it was enough.
It was almost choreographed. And it chilled her.
They were no closer to figuring out what was happening than they’d been when the first sightings came in a few weeks earlier. She suspected that, with Weatherman packages becoming operational on a regular basis, they were going to see more of these things.
She checked the time and shut the program down. Leave it to Harold to figure out. As acting commissioner she had more pressing matters to attend to.
Asquith had taken her aside after the memorial. It was her first experience as the Academy’s chief decision maker, and he had apparently thought better of his intention to pass along no special instructions. “Don’t make any decisions,” he’d told her, “other than those directly in line with Academy policy. Anything that requires judgment, defer it, and I’ll take care of it when I get back.” He’d looked at her, realized what he’d said, and added, “No offense.”
None taken. Asquith was too shallow for her to take his opinion of her capabilities seriously. The problem, of course, was that he wrote her evaluation.
She pushed it aside, called Rheal Fabrics, and told them to assemble the kite. They gave her the dimensions it would have while stored, which she added to the space requirements Marge’s weathermaking gear would need.
The Lookout mission would require two ships. One would carry Collingdale and his team. The other would have to be a freighter, which meant she’d have to charter it. Oddly, the Collingdale ship was the problem. She needed something that could transport upward of twenty people, and the only thing available was the al-Jahani, currently undergoing a refitting. She’d have to hurry it along.
She’d briefed Asquith on what she intended to do. “Maybe even worse than the direct attack by the omega,” she told him, “is the aftermath. We don’t know what it’ll do to the atmosphere. Might be years before things will grow. That means a possibility of starvation for the natives. We’re going to need to send out relief supplies.”
He’d sighed. “Not our job, Hutch.”
But it would become theirs, and they both knew it. When the pictures started coming back of starving and dying Goompahs, the public would get upset, and the politicians would turn to the Academy. “When it happens,” she’d told him, “we better be ready.”
Next day he’d announced his Geneva trip. It hardly seemed a coincidence.
The al-Jahani was supposed to leave Friday. The logistics were set, and Collingdale and his people were en route. But Jerry Hoskins, the Academy’s chief engineer, had been dubious. Not enough time. The ship was due for a major overhaul, and Hutch wanted to send her on a two-year mission? But he’d see what he could do. So when Barbara informed her that Jerry was on the circuit, she got a bad feeling. “Hutch,” he said, “we can’t really get her ready in a few days.”
“How much time do you need, Jerry?”
“If we drop everything else—?”
“Yes.”
“Three weeks.”
“Three weeks?”
“Maybe two. But that’s the best we can do.”
“That won’t work. They wouldn’t get there in time. Might as well not go.” She had nothing else available. Damned stuff was all out in the boondocks. “What’s the worst that can happen if we go through with the launch?”
“You mean Friday?”
“Yes.”
“It might blow up.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Of course. But I wouldn’t guarantee it’ll get where it’s going.”
“Okay. No guarantee. Other than that, what are my chances?”
“It’ll probably do fine.”
“Any safety concerns?”
“We’ll do an inspection. Make sure. No, they’ll be okay. They might get stranded. But otherwise—”
“—No guarantees.”
“—Right.”
“Okay. Jerry, I’m going to send a record of this conversation to Dave Collingdale. You inform the captain.”