Odyssey

Valya had sent information copies of the transmission to the ten ships of the rescue squadron. Hutch added a warning of her own: “They are hostile. Do not put yourself at u

Another message went to Valya: “Do what you can, but don’t lose the Salvator. As the situation changes, please keep us informed. Continue information copies to the incoming vessels. Good luck.”

Then a call came in from Allard. “Goddam you,” he said. The man was literally sputtering. “We have at least fifty dead.” He stared at her across a vast gulf, struggling to contain his rage. “Where is Asquith?”

“He’s not available at the moment, Professor. I have a call in to him, and I’ll relay your concern when I’m able.”

“You may relay more than my concern. What did you people know that you neglected to tell me? How could you possibly let this happen?”

His voice trembled, and she thought he was close to cardiac arrest. “We gave you everything we had, Professor.”

“Nonsense! You told me something about a dream. An apparition.”

“We gave you what we had. It was your decision to sit on it.” Although she understood why he had chosen to ignore their warning. They had not, after all, been convinced themselves.

Abruptly, tears welled up in Allard’s eyes. “God help us,” he said.

THE NEWS WAS getting out. Hutch had several calls in succession from the media. She admitted that yes, an attack had occurred, but at the moment that was all she had. “I don’t know any more than you do.”

Then there was Charlie Dryden. She’d been too busy to tell him what she thought of him. When he called, though, it was obvious he knew Mac had spoken to her. He was tentative rather than his usual charge-the-battlements self. “Hutch,” he said, “I hate to bother you. But is it true?”

“Yes. We have a lot of people dead.”

“I don’t believe it.” He looked genuinely shocked.

“Is that by any chance because you thought the moonriders were your own invention?”

“Well, that’s not exactly true. Look, Hutch, we meant no harm.”

Interesting how the first-person pronoun he normally used had gone plural. “Cut the act, Charlie. Anyway, the details, at the moment, don’t matter. I’m busy. What do you need?”

“I was hoping I could do something to help.”

“You could have helped three days ago when we needed two carriers.”

“Look, Hutch,” he said, “what we did, I know that doesn’t sit well with you — ”

“It’s okay, Charlie. I enjoy being lied to.”

“You wouldn’t have come in willingly. We knew that. But we were trying to save the program — ”

“I don’t have time for this.”

“We had a ship standing by near the Galactic. In case there was a problem. Nobody was ever in danger.”

“If you don’t have anything else, I have to go.”

“No,” he said. “I don’t have anything else. I just wanted you to know this was something we felt we had to do. We wanted to protect the Academy.”

“Give me a break, Charlie. You and your pals don’t really care about the Academy, except as a wedge to get government contracts for your own outfit. Was the commissioner part of it?”

“No,” he said. “He didn’t know anything about it.”

“Well, at least you’re not a snitch, Charlie.”

“Hutch, I’d really be grateful if you could bring yourself to overlook this. I meant well.”

She smiled at him. “I take it you’re headed for court.”

“No. I don’t think so.”

“I’ll try to arrange it. Good-bye, Charlie.”

GEORGE WAS USUALLY pretty unflappable. He was, after all, an AI. But when he whispered Hutch’s name a minute or two after she’d disco

Hutch thought she’d better sit down for this one. “Put him through, George.”

A young woman blinked on. Black hair, well dressed, artificial smile. “Please hold for President Crandall,” she said.

Hutch tried to arrange herself. Try to look cool. As if presidents call every day.

The woman was replaced by the man himself. Patrick O’Keefe Crandall, the first Canadian president, now in his third year. He was seated in an armchair, looking at a document — somehow it was a document and not simply a piece of paper — but when he saw her, he stood. “Ms. Hutchins. I’ve been meaning to have you over to the White House.” The New White House, actually. The old one, now an island, was a museum. He glowed with the charm that had helped him carry fifty-two states in the last election.

She stood, too. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. President.”

“May I call you Hutch?”

“Yes, sir. Of course. Whatever you like.” Dumb.

He laughed. It was okay. “Hutch, I understand the facility at Origins is under attack.”

“Yes, Mr. President. That is so. They’ve destroyed the East Tower.”

“I’m also informed you have direct contact with a ship on the scene.”

“That’s correct, Mr. President.”

“Good. I want you to stay on top of this. Anything that comes in should be forwarded directly to me. Your AI has the code.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’ve been informed you have a small squadron of ships on the way.”

“That’s correct, Mr. President.”

“That they left a couple days ago.”

“Yes.”

“You knew in advance an attack was coming.” He studied her carefully, trying to make up his mind about her. “I wonder if you’d explain how that happened.”

Her reluctance must have shown.

“It’s okay,” he said. “We’re on a secure circuit.”

So she told him everything. He listened, his expression composed, nodding occasionally, explaining he understood when she described her reaction to the story. She added they’d made an effort to keep Amy’s name out of it. If that story made the rounds, the kids at her school would never let her rest. And the media would be all over her.

“And you say the thing looked like you?”

“Yes.”

His eyes widened perceptibly. It was a reaction everybody in the country was familiar with. “Well,” he said, “they certainly have exquisite taste.”

She smiled at the compliment. “I don’t know where it came from.”

“We’ll give it some thought. Hutch, thank you for your efforts. And we’re grateful you didn’t wait to send out those ships.”

SHE SENT A warning to Valya to let her know her messages were being relayed directly to the White House. It would be two hours before she received it, probably too late to be of any practical value, but it was all she could do.

She’d just finished when another transmission came in from the Salvator. “We’ve checked with both shuttles. They’re okay for now. I’m going to leave them to get over to the West Tower on their own. There are sixteen souls on board. No sign anybody else made it.”

Hutch forwarded the message to the New White House and her other consumers. Then she called Amy.

“I’ve been watching it on the news,” Amy said, looking stricken. “How many dead?”

“Looks like upward of fifty.”

“I told you. Nobody would listen.”

“I’m sorry, Amy. You were right, and the rest of us were wrong. We should have trusted you from the first moment. But in the end we did listen. Because of you there’s a rescue fleet moving in. At the other terminal. A lot of lives will be saved.”

She shook her head. “Fifty dead. How could you let it happen?”

ORIGINS ATTACKED

Fifty-Six Feared Dead at Science Outpost

WORLD COUNCIL IN EMERGENCY SESSION

Pasturi to Issue Statement

DID ALIENS DO IT?

Random Attacks Baffle Experts

HAND OF GOD SERVES WARNING, SAYS TRAPLEY

“Some Things We Are Not Meant to Know”

Project Was Examining Creation

CRANDALL WILL ASSURE NATION

President to Speak Tonight

DEFENSE COMMITTEE CALLS FOR MORE SPENDING

HURRICANE HARRY TO MAKE LANDFALL TOMORROW

Evacuation in Carolinas, Georgia

During the late twenty-first century, when the Lysistrata movement was at the height of its power, and the world’s major powers were being forced to disband their militaries, there were those who warned that we would eventually regret the action. The assumption was that a rogue state would surreptitiously arm itself and create havoc in its region and possibly around the world. Eldrige Westin led the assault on Lysistrata. “Those who seek peace, but who are not willing to fight for it, will have no peace, and will quickly lose the ability to seek anything.” American women thanked him by voting him out of office.

It looks now as if the hour of retribution may be upon us. We have been attacked, not by our own kind but by something outside our experience. The politicians will not admit it but, whatever this force may be, we stand naked before it. If it comes here, we will have no defense other than to throw ripe fruit in its direction.

God help us.

— Marianthy Golazko, Parthenon, Sunday, May 10

chapter 41

The creative act requires both will and intelligence. Breaking things is easy. You only need a hammer.

— Gregory MacAllister, “On the Road”

Where the East Tower had been, there were only a few scorched struts and beams, somehow still co

“Incoming transmission,” said Bill. “From one of the shuttles.”

It was audio only, three or four panicked voices. “Who the hell are they?”

“Salvator, is anybody coming?”

“They killed them all…”

And Bill again: “The other shuttle wants to talk to you, too. As does West.”

Ahead, something lit up the sky. And subsided.

“What was that?” asked Eric.

“I’ve no idea.” She told both shuttles she’d be with them in a minute and directed Bill to link with West. It was Estevan. If she’d been tense before, she looked on the verge of a breakdown now. “What’s happening out there?” she demanded. “We’ve been cut off from the Tower.”

“It’s been destroyed, Doctor. By alien hostiles. It looks as if they’re on their way over to see you.”

“My God. What do they want?”

“I think they disapprove of something you’re doing.”

“What are you talking about, Valya?”