“I assume we won’t be using the Starhawk?”
He looked momentarily puzzled. “Oh, you mean the Bomb? Priscilla, you do tend to be a trifle sarcastic. But no, we’ll want something a little more classy. Fortunately, the Thompson’s available.”
* * *
THE SYDNEY THOMPSON was bigger, more spacious, and considerably more elegant than the Baumbachner. Of course, the Baumbachner paled in significance to some of the fishing boats along the Jersey shore. Priscilla was seated on the ship’s bridge running status checks while her passengers’ luggage was being placed in their cabins by the handlers when Yoshie Blakeslee called. “The governor’s arrived,” she said. “They’re ready to board.”
“Okay, Yoshie. The air lock is open. Send them up the tunnel.”
“They want you to be waiting at the hatch, Priscilla.”
“I’m a little busy at the moment.”
“Frank says do it.”
“Okay.” She got up, straightened her cap, went back through the cabin, and assumed a position outside the air lock. There were voices in the tunnel. Then laughter. And finally, the passengers themselves. The governor was flanked by a woman and three guys. He was looking back over his shoulder, waving at a group of trailing reporters. Then he turned, saw her, and broke into the broad smile that had been enchanting millions during the campaign. That, despite her dislike for politicians, had impressed her during their first meeting.
He came forward and shook her hand while one of the males took pictures. “Priscilla,” he said, “it’s so good to see you again. I’m glad they were able to fit you into the schedule.”
The guy with the imager took more pictures. He was older than the others, with an extended belly and a ridge of gray hair circling his skull. “That’s Al Devlin,” said McGruder. “He’s one of my staff.” The reporters were taking pictures, too, and he shook her hand some more. “I read about your flight out to that place in the middle of nowhere. You lead an exciting life, Priscilla.” He pointed at the woman. “This is Vesta D’Ambrosia, my campaign manager.” She was tall, middle-aged, with bored eyes. She did not give the impression she was anxious to see Iapetus.
“Hello, Priscilla,” she said, extending her hand.
McGruder glanced at the other two guys. “These gentlemen are my official protection, Michael and Cornelius.”
They both nodded. Priscilla welcomed them to the Thompson, answered a few questions, and posed for some more pictures. The reporters wanted to follow them through the air lock, but Priscilla, because of the security issue, kept them outside and, after apologizing, closed the hatch. She showed her passengers to their quarters. Within minutes, everyone was back in the passenger cabin.
Vesta was conservatively dressed in dark slacks and a white blouse. She stood looking down at Priscilla. “Is this flight really going to take three or four days?” She emphasized the last word, as though a reasonable flight time would have been measured in hours.
Michael, probably in his late forties, was easily the older of the two agents. He asked Priscilla how long she’d been on board, whether she knew of anyone else’s having been on the ship that morning, what security measures were in place to ensure that no one could have boarded the Thompson surreptitiously, and so on. In the meantime, his partner Cornelius wandered through the ship, armed with what must have been a bomb detector.
Priscilla answered the questions and excused herself. “Time to get moving,” she said. “We’ll be heading out in a few minutes. I’ll let you know when we’re ready to go.” She went up onto the bridge and was surprised when Vesta followed.
“I was anxious to meet you, Priscilla,” Vesta said. “The governor thinks very highly of you.”
“Thanks, Ms. D’Ambrosia. I’m happy to hear it.”
“Vesta, please. We’re going to be in here for a while. Might as well go to first names.”
“Yes, ma’am. Umm, Vesta.”
“One thing, Priscilla. The governor has a tendency sometimes to take risks. While we’re on this trip, I don’t want anything to happen to him. If he wants to do anything that seems at all to you to constitute hazardous behavior, do not allow it. Understood?”
“Of course.” Priscilla felt more intimidated than she had been by the governor. “We wouldn’t want to lose him.”
“No, we certainly would not.”
The bridge link sounded. “Excuse me.” Priscilla leaned over the mike. “Go ahead, Yoshie.”
“You’re clear to go, Priscilla.”
“Roger that.” She opened the allcom. “Attention, everybody. We’re five minutes from launch. If you’ve anything that needs to be taken care of, please do it now. When you’re ready, take a seat, secure the harness, and do not release it until I advise you that it is safe to do so. That will be approximately forty minutes into the flight. If anyone has a problem, push the red button at the lower right of your display.”
Vesta looked down at the right-hand seat. “Mind if I sit up here?”
“Sure. If you like.” One by one, the safety lamps turned green, indicating everyone was belted in.
“All right, gentlemen, Vesta, we are on our way.” Priscilla released the ship from its magnetic clamps and let the AI, Louie, guide the Thompson out past two docked vehicles and through the launch doors. Then she turned slowly in the direction of Saturn and began to accelerate.
* * *
AS THEY APPROACHED the jump point, Priscilla explained to her passengers what they were about to do. None of them had been in Barber space before or, for that matter, any farther out than the space station. “The passage is simple enough,” she said. “You probably won’t even notice the jump. The only thing you’re likely to be aware of is that, if you’re looking outside, the stars will seem to go out.” She said nothing about the possibility of an upset stomach, which was not an uncommon feature of the experience, especially for people going through it for the first time. But Jake had told her he knew no better way to ensure passengers would throw up than to warn them that it might happen. A bag was available at each seat if needed.
“Nice view,” Vesta said. Earth and Moon glowed in the sunlight.
“I doubt I’ll ever get used to it,” said Priscilla.
They indulged in small talk for a few minutes. Vesta had grown up in Oregon, graduated from the University of California Business School, got into politics because of President Goulart, twenty years earlier. “He was trying to control everything,” she said. “Progress stopped dead while he was in office. Everything was run by the bureaucracy. So eventually—”
“You went into politics yourself.”
“Damn right,” she said. “You’re probably not aware of it, but the best thing that could happen for the space program would be for the governor to win.”
* * *
THEY MADE THE jump into Barber space with no visible ill effects. “Everybody stay belted,” Priscilla said, speaking over the allcomm.
“Why?” asked Vesta. “There are a few things I need to talk over with the governor.”
“Just hold on a few seconds.”
The sound of the engines shifted a notch higher as the Hazeltine unit cut in. Suddenly, they were floating in the gray mist, with little indication of forward movement. But Vesta was holding her stomach. “What was that?” she asked.