Chindi

Chapter 5

Cruise by Orion, swing north at Sagittarius, lay over a bit at Rigel. Starflight has always sounded impossibly romantic. The reality is somewhat different. One sits sealed in a narrow container for weeks at a time amid strangers who prattle on, and at the end of the voyage arrives at a place where the air’s not so good and the crocodiles are fierce.

HUTCH CAUGHT THE after-di

She checked into her room, showered, and changed. She eased into one of the outfits she’d picked up in D.C., gold slacks, white blouse, gold lapels, clasp, and neckerchief. Open collar, revealing a hint of curved flesh. She had to be a bit careful there, because she didn’t really have a lot more than a hint, but she’d been around long enough to know that it was mystery rather than flesh that really counted.

This was the ensemble she’d pla

Pretty good, actually. She was, at the very least, competitive. Ten minutes later she entered the dining room at Margo’s, on the A Level.

Because the Wheel served flights arriving from and departing to points all over the globe, it never really slept. Its service facilities never closed, and a substantial portion of its staff stood always ready to assist. Or to sell souvenirs or overpriced jewelry.

Margo’s was never quiet. It was divided into a breakfast kitchen, a dining room, and a “penthouse” bar that featured live and virtual entertainment. The theory was that people who were having breakfast didn’t want to have it next to a group begi

She was trailing behind the host when she heard her name. “Captain Hutchins?”

A casually dressed man with a crooked smile rose from a nearby table, where he’d been eating alone. “Hello,” he said. “I’m Herman Culp. One of your passengers.”

Hutch offered her hand. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Culp. How’d you recognize me?”

“You’re pretty well known,” he said. “That business on Deepsix last year. You must get asked for autographs everywhere you go.”

He was unfailingly polite, and yet there was something rough-hewn in his ma

Hutch hadn’t yet looked at her passenger manifest. “A member of the Contact Society, Mr. Culp?” She tried to say it without implying the goofiness she assigned to the group.

But he caught her. The man was more perceptive than he looked. “I’m the general secretary,” he said. “And please call me Herman.”

“Ah,” she said. “That must keep you busy, Herman.”

He nodded and looked at one of the empty seats. “Can I persuade you to join me, Captain?”

Hutch smiled. “Thanks,” she said. She disliked eating alone, but Herman looked like fairly dull company. Nevertheless, she settled into a chair. It was already begi

“I’ve been trying to find George,” Herman said.

“I haven’t met him,” said Hutch.

That seemed to throw him off pace somewhat. “So.” He floundered a bit, looking for a subject of mutual interest, “Will we be leaving on schedule?”

“Far as I know, Herman.” The waiter came and took her order. A blue giraffe and a melted cheese.

“I saw the Memphis today,” he said. “It’s a beautiful ship.”

She caught a touch of reluctance in his eyes. This wasn’t a guy, she decided, who really wanted to go along. “Yes, it is. Top of the line, they tell me.”

He looked at her suddenly. “Do we really expect to find something out there?”

“I suspect you’d know more about that than I do, Herman. What do you think?”

“Maybe,” he said.

Ah. Strong feelings here.

He pressed his palms together. Another rehearsed move. “May I ask a question? How safe is this kind of ship?”

“Perfectly,” she said.

“I understand people get ill sometimes when they do the jump.”

“Sometimes. Not usually.” She smiled reassuringly. “I doubt you’ll have any problems.”

“I’m relieved to hear it,” he said.

Her order came.

“I don’t like heights,” he added.

SHE ENCOUNTERED A second passenger at poolside an hour later.

“Peter Damon,” he said, bowing slightly. “I was on the Be

She knew him immediately, of course. The onetime host of Universe. “Stand on a hilltop and look at the night sky and you’re really looking back at the distant past, at the world the way it was when Athens ruled the inland sea.” Oh yes, she’d recognize those dark, amused eyes and that mellifluous voice anywhere. He wore a blue hotel robe and was sipping a lime drink. “You’re our pilot, I understand.”

“You’re going out with us?” She knew he’d been on the original mission, but had not for a moment expected him to show up for this one.

“Yes,” he said. “Is that okay with you?” He said it lightly, gently. The man oozed charm.

“Sure. I just thought—” Damn. She should take a look at the passenger manifest before she did anything else.

“—that I’d have more important things to do than chase shadows?” Before she could answer, he continued. “This is what I’ve been after my whole life. If anything’s waiting out there, Priscilla, I want to be there when we find it.”

Priscilla. Well, he’d done his homework more thoroughly than she had. “My friends call me Hutch.”

“I know. Hutch.”

She felt as if this guy was swallowing her alive. My God, she needed desperately to get out and around a bit more.

“Glad to meet you, Peter.” She extended a hand and eased into a chair beside him.

“The Academy treats these people too lightly,” he said. “They’re hung up on the Fourth Floor.” Where the administrative offices were. “I really hope something comes of this mission.”

“You actually think there’s something to all this?”

“Probably not,” he said. “But I’d love to see somebody like George get credit for the biggest discovery in the history of the species, while the horses’ asses get left behind.” His eyes radiated pleasure. “If there’s a God,” he said, “this is His chance to show He has a sense of humor.”

The pool was empty save for a muscular young man tirelessly doing laps. Hutch watched him for several seconds. “I hope you get your wish,” she said.

He finished off his drink and put the glass down on a side table. “You’re skeptical.”

“Yes.”

“Good. One should always be skeptical. That’s always been our problem. We have too many believers.”

“Believers in what?”

“In everything.”

The swimmer hit the end of the pool, turned under, and started back. He was smooth. An attendant came by and took a drink order. A young couple wandered in, glanced around, and apparently recognized Pete. They came over, looked hard, and came still closer. “Aren’t you Peter Damon?” the woman asked. The man stood back a bit, looking embarrassed.

“Yes,” said Pete.

She smiled, bit her lip, told him she wished she had something for him to sign. When they were gone, Hutch asked whether that sort of thing happened regularly.

“Fairly often,” he said. “Balm for the ego.”

“I guess.” And then: “There’s something to be said for faith.”

“In yourself, Hutch. But you already know that.”

“What makes you think so?”

“I know about you. I’m the one who asked for you.”

SHE WAS UP late next morning, had a quick breakfast, and reported to the operations officer. She knew by then that she’d be picking up two passengers, an artist and a funeral director (of all things), en route. And she’d have another celebrity on board, Alyx Ballinger, who’d begun as a star of musicals and later went downhill (Hutch thought) to playing beautiful women in danger. Nobody, it had been said, could scream like Alyx. It was said to be a riveting sound that froze the blood and moved every male to want to leap to her defense.