He was kidding, of course. Jake knew Julie. She’d never walk out on him. “So when are you planning to step down?”
“As soon as they can find a replacement, Jake. You don’t know anybody who wants to stay close to home, do you?”
The drinks arrived. “No,” he said, “I don’t think so. But if I hear of anybody, I’ll let you know.”
Rob lifted his glass. Studied it. “Is it all right if I say something personal, Jake?”
“Sure.” Jake felt his stomach beginning to churn. “What is it?”
Rob put the glass back down without tasting the contents. “I suspect your experience up there must have put you through hell. I wanted you to know that nobody here thinks you did anything wrong.”
* * *
THE FOLLOWING DAY, a memorial for Joshua was held at the Union Chapel. Priscilla and Jake attended, of course, both in the blue-and-silver uniforms of the World Space Authority. Priscilla stayed in the rear while Jake took a reserved chair near the front.
Priscilla hated funerals. And memorial ceremonies. They were too painful. She knew they were supposed to be the only way to get past the loss of someone who mattered. (Or maybe didn’t, so you had to pretend.) But they never made her feel any better. She just flat out didn’t like them. She wanted people to stop pretending the deceased was in a better place. That he’d gone home to some city in the clouds. She didn’t understand why she was so cranky that evening. Maybe too much guilt.
Chaplain Truscott entered through a side door. He exchanged a few words with Frank Irasco, the assistant director, and shook some hands. Then he came to the center of the chapel and waited for all movement to stop. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, “we’re gathered here today to pay tribute to one of the most courageous people it’s ever been my privilege to meet.”
Jake sat quietly, frozen in place.
The chaplain offered condolences to the family. He added that Joshua had also been a member of a wider family. That his loss had brought sorrow “to all those who wore the uniform of the WSA.” He was obviously affected himself. “We don’t know why these things are permitted to happen,” he said in a voice he was having trouble controlling. “We can only have faith and carry on as Joshua would have wanted us to do. Would have done himself.”
Friends and colleagues came forward to speak of how they were affected by Joshua’s loss. They talked about his walking in the green pastures, about how they would miss him, how they’d have trusted him to carry them anywhere. “He was,” said Easy Barnicle, “as he eventually proved, the ultimate captain. He took his responsibilities very seriously, and in the end, he gave his life for those who rode with him.”
Eventually, Jake stood, went to the front of the chapel, and turned to face the mourners. “Joshua Miller,” he said, “was the ideal of what I would want to be. Without his selflessness, I would not be here today.”
Joshua’s wife was in front. She did not speak during the ceremony, but when it was over and she started down the center aisle, everyone cleared space for her. She shook hands, thanked some, hugged others. But she never looked at Jake.
* * *
HE CALLED PATRICIA McCoy in the morning. “Yes, Jake?” she said, sounding as if she knew bad news was coming. Though maybe, from her perspective, it would provide a sense of relief. “What can I do for you?”
“I’ve been thinking, Patricia.” He was in the Starlight lounge, staring out through a port at an approaching ship. “I’m going to put in for early retirement.”
* * *
LIBRARY ENTRY
The details of what happened at Lalande are not yet clear. We know that one of the captains, Joshua Miller, died, but that all of the passengers returned unharmed. And we should consider that taking children on flights to other stars, while it may present extraordinary educational opportunities, nevertheless entails a substantial level of risk. Assistance, should they need it, is simply too far away. If the World Space Authority had been able to launch a rescue vehicle from the space station when it first learned a bomb had been planted aboard the Gremlin, Captain Miller might be alive today.
The hard reality is that, had the Copperhead not happened to be close to Lalande, where the bomb exploded, there might have been no survivors. The death of Captain Miller constitutes a clear statement of the courage and dedication of those who operate the interstellars. But that courage and dedication may not be enough to prevent a greater disaster eventually. Are we going to wait until we lose, perhaps, an entire vehicle filled with young people, as almost happened here?
Children do not grasp the hard fact that their lives are being put at risk. It is one thing for adults to take their chances on a flight for which aid, if it is needed, may simply not be available. It is something else entirely to put our sons and daughters on such a flight. Either we should call a halt, or we should provide the Authority with the means to ensure reasonable protection for interstellar travelers.
—The New York Times, November 25, 2195
* * *
ON THE NET
I guess there will always be loons who want to bomb people they don’t know.
—Brickoven2
We need the death penalty back.
—Bobmontana
Brickoven’s right. We’ll never run short of maniacs.
—MariaY
Hard to figure how you get a bomb on board a starship. Last I heard, they had weapon detectors. Haven’t heard an explanation, but obviously somebody wasn’t paying attention.
—Sollyforth
Sollyforth doesn’t seem to be aware that this is the first time ever somebody tried to bomb a spaceship. I’d have been surprised if they had intercepted the bomber.
—billreever
Billreever obviously doesn’t know they do routine checks at the shuttles.
—Sollyforth
Hey Solly, the shuttles don’t provide the only access to the Wheel. Some people, insiders I guess, are able to use landers. The search procedures only apply at the terminals.
—billreever
Well, whatever the reality is, when they catch the guy who did this—and it will be a guy, it’s never a woman—they should fry him.
—Bobmontana
That’s sexist, Bob. Women are just as capable of behaving like lunatics as guys are. They just don’t do it as often. Remember that mother in the Middle East a few months ago whose kid blew himself up in a temple and killed a dozen people? She said she was proud of him. That’s as loony as it gets.
—MariaY
Chapter 13
THE CERTIFICATION CEREMONY was a month away. Until then, Priscilla’s time was her own. The normal routine for a new pilot was to lock down an assignment with one of the deep-space corporations and take some leave. Priscilla needed to get away. Go home and put Lalande behind her rather than spend a week or two on the Wheel. She was tired of being closed in, of the centripetal halfhearted gravity generated by the spinning space station, and of being so far from the nearest beach. Yes, it was November, but she liked beaches. So she called home. Then she called Jake to say good-bye.
“Enjoy yourself,” he said. “Have a big time.”
“I’ll give it my best shot.”
“How’s Tawny?”
“She’s good.”
“Your mom going to take her?”
“Absolutely. Tawny and I will be headed for Princeton in the morning.”