We ran some VR, turned the kids and some of the adults loose in the entertainment section, and played bingo. The passengers, given a choice of shows, voted for a virtual concert by the Warwick Trio.
A couple of the passengers drank too much, and that became a problem. Jack advised me about the standard procedure for handling drunks, which was to give them a whiff of a nephalic. That brought them back down.
I spent a fair amount of time on the bridge, talking to Jack. I told him about Rachel, and how I’d bailed out on Alex, and how I hated my life. I don’t think I realized how gloomy I’d gotten until I finally broke down and had those conversations with the AI. He listened and didn’t launch into a series of reassurances the way a human would have. AIs are designed to reflect reality, as least as they see it.
“I’ve never understood the concept of
guilt
,”
he said, when I’d finished.
“On a superficial level, of course. Do good and avoid evil, and pay a psychological price if you fail to comply. That is simple enough. The problem is that we are really talking about
intent
. There is no other way to define evil. But sometimes people inadvertently cause damage to others. Sometimes it can’t be helped, and one must choose the lesser of evils. In any case, the fault may result from negligence; it may result from positive action; it may result from indecision. In all of these cases, regardless of intent, the human guilt complex may be expected to cut in.”
“Okay.”
“It’s your conditioning, Chase. You have to get past that. You did not choose to injure Rachel Bannister.”
“I’m not so sure about that.”
“Chase, the incident is unfortunate. But you are not responsible. Even Rachel understood that. Do not punish yourself.”
“Thanks, Jack.”
“You must get control of your conscience.”
But I kept seeing Rachel’s eyes when she told me it wasn’t my fault. And when she got away from me and began to fall. They were full of fear.
Jack showed up in the right-hand seat. It was the first time he’d used a hologram representation. He came across as a father figure, with steel blue eyes and a neatly trimmed white mustache. He wore the same uniform I did, though without the rank designators.
“Chase,”
he said,
“you’ll never be free of this until—”
“Until what?”
“Until you can show that your actions were justified.”
I looked at him a long time. “What if they weren’t?”
“I think that is an unlikely outcome.”
That third flight was a rocky ride, and I was glad to get to Arkon. Almost half the passengers, including Lombard and Eun and the two drunks, got off. The rest waited at the station while cargo was removed and replaced. We routinely stay overnight at the station, and I was glad to be out of the ship. In the morning, we were on our way to Arcturus.
Among the passengers we picked up were a married couple who were at each other’s throat the rest of the voyage. Not that they were screaming at each other, or fighting, per se. But they glared a lot. Neither could manage a civil tone. And the atmosphere in the cabin changed accordingly. The party climate went away, and we tiptoed around each other. I remember thinking that we needed the drunks back.
Eighteen days after leaving Rimway, we docked at Earth’s orbiter. Everybody disembarked, including the happy couple. I wandered down to the local Pilots’ Club.
There was a four-day layover. Then, with a new load of cargo and new passengers, the
Jack Gonzalez
was on its way back.
The SOP as you approach Skydeck is to turn control of the ship over to Operations, and they bring you in. Minutes after I’d done so, they were back on the circuit.
“Chase, we have a message for you.”
I thought it would be from Robin.
Hoped
it would. “Go ahead, Ops.”
“Eliot Statkins wants to talk to you as soon as you get in.”
Statkins was Rigel’s director of operational personnel. “Any idea what it’s about?”
“Negative. Maybe they’re going to promote you.”
“I’m sure. Okay, thanks, champ.”
Statkins was a little guy who’d lost most of his hair, and who, on the couple of times I’d seen him, looked confused. He did nothing during the meeting to change my impression. He had to think about why I was there. He glanced down at his desk as if checking on his lines. Made the sort of faces you might when arriving at difficult decisions. And all this before he even said hello. Finally, he got settled. “Hi, Chase,” he said. “Have a seat.” He was probably somebody’s brother-in-law. The rumor was that he’d never been off-world.
I sat down.
“I have good news for you.”
“Well,” I said, “I’m glad to hear it.”
He opened a folder. “We’re going to make you permanent, Chase. And we intend to raise you to a grade twelve. Congratulations.”
A twelve was one level above the base grade for a pilot, but I was glad to take it. “Thanks, Eliot,” I said.
“You’ll be happy to hear you’re going to stay on the Blue Route. That’s the one you have now, of course.” Did he really think I might not know that? “You’ll run on the same schedule, so you can start making whatever long-term plans seem appropriate. We’ve already arranged permanent quarters at the Starlight.”
“Thanks again.”
“You’re welcome. Glad to have you on board.”
TWENTY-FOUR
In the end, all matters of significance emanate from, or are relayed through, a bar.
—Kesler Avonne,
Souls in Flight
I had three days off before going back on the Blue Route. Without leaving Skydeck, I put my condo up for sale. That drew a call from Robin.
“I was sorry to hear about it,”
he said.
“I was hoping you’d change your mind.”
“I guess I could get a job somewhere as a secretary.”
“I’m serious, Chase.”
“I know.”
“Are you coming down? I can’t get away to go to the station.”
“I thought we’d broken up.”
“I was hoping you’d decided you couldn’t get along without me.”
“Oh, yes. I can see why you’d expect that to happen.” I didn’t really want to go down. I’d use half my free time traveling. But I needed a distraction after the
Gonzalez
. “Tomorrow,” I said.
“Good. You want me to pick you up at the terminal?”
“That’ll work.”
“Give me a time.”
“I’ll be on the midmorning flight. Be there around eleven.”
“I’ll be in school.”
“Yeah. I forgot. I’ll take a cab. Let’s just make it for tomorrow evening. Maybe we can go to a show or something.”
“I’d like that.”
I was tempted to call Alex. See how he was doing. But it seemed best to leave him alone. And in the meantime I had the rest of the day to relax. I decided to do what professional pilots always do when they have time on their hands.
There were about two hundred of us based at the station. Approximately half frequent the Pilots’ Club or at least show up there on occasion. Even among those who don’t, who are married or who for one reason or another don’t socially fit the scene, there’s often operational contact. What I’m trying to say is that we know one another fairly well. Running vehicles through the void can be a lonely business, especially, as I’d been discovering, when you have a shipful of passengers. And I know how that sounds, but it’s true. So we tend to stay in touch.
On that evening, the day before I would be heading groundside again, about thirty people were in attendance. Most were pilots; a few were friends or spouses. Soft music filled the place, the volume kept low to allow conversation. There was a lot of laughter, and occasionally some loud voices.
I guess I looked unsure of myself, or worried, or something, because Bill Wright, who’d gotten certified at the same time I had, appeared out of nowhere and asked whether I was feeling okay.
“Sure,” I said. “I’m fine, Bill.”
He was easygoing, quiet, a guy who had never quite gotten over the fact that he was piloting interstellars. It had been a dream since he was four years old, and it had actually happened. He owned an amiable smile, had pale skin, and the kind of jaw you associated with leading men. “It’s good to see you again, Chase. Can I buy you a drink?”
Absolutely.
He wandered over to the bar while I grabbed a table. He came back balancing the drinks and some nuts. “How you doing, Chase? Haven’t seen you for a couple years. You still working for that antique guy?”
I hadn’t really met Bill until the night of the commissioning ball. We’d swapped numbers and gone out a few times before he took off for some distant place. I didn’t remember where. “No,” I said. “Not anymore, Bill. I’m working for Rigel now.” The drinks were white rainbows, with a dash of karissy and two cherries on top. “You still with Intercon?”
“Yes,” he said. “Best job on the planet.” Intercon provided tours. But they were strictly in-system two-day operations. Out and back. Nothing like World’s End. “How do you like Rigel?”
I tried my drink. “It’s good.”
“I don’t hear a lot of enthusiasm.”
“I’m still getting used to it. Just got hired, in fact.”
“I worked for WebCor for a while. Same kind of slot, hauling freight and passengers back and forth. Mostly to Dellaconda and Toxicon.”
“Why’d you leave?”
“Got bored. Always the same run.”
We talked about old times, and I bought the second round. A young woman came over and made off with him, and I found myself wandering around the room, talking to old friends and making new ones.
Some of them knew about my connection with Alex. “You left that cushy job, Chase? You must be out of your mind.”
And: “You went out to Salud Afar, right? My God, Chase, I’ve been in this business for almost a century, and I’ve never gotten farther than the run out to Valedor.”
And: “Chase, you know if Benedict is looking for a replacement? He is? Would you be willing to put in a word for me?”
I was surprised to see Eddie Kirkewicz, who’d married one of the women I’d gone through training with. Eddie recognized me and waved me over, without stopping what he was saying: “—been out to the City on the Crag. My favorite spot out there is Archie’s. You haven’t? They especially like pilots. If you get there, tell Marty I said hello. The big guy behind the bar.” He jabbed a finger in my direction. “Chase, you haven’t changed a bit. How you doing?”
Toward the end of the evening someone mentioned World’s End. Donna Carpenter, a veteran pilot whom I knew only from the Club, was in the conversation. She responded about some experiences she’d had with them. And when I had a chance, I asked her what it had been like working for them.
“I didn’t work for them,” she said. “Harry did.” I had no idea who Harry was. “He retired a few years ago. Never thought I’d see the day.” She looked wistful. “Harry always said he’d die on the bridge.”
“Instead he pulled the pin?” I asked.
“I loved Harry. He was really a good guy. Can’t believe he’s gone.”
There were four or five of us at the table. One of the other people pointed out that Harry had only retired. “You’re talking as if he died.”
“Same thing,” she said.
“When did he work for World’s End?” I asked.
“For about the last twenty years.”
Damn. I wanted to get up and walk away. Go talk with someone about politics or religion. Anything but World’s End. But I just couldn’t let go. “I knew a pilot from that era, too.”
“Who’s that?”
“Well, not really
that
era. Turn of the century, really.”
“Who?”
I didn’t want to mention Rachel’s name. So I went with my number two guy. The scout. “Hal Cavallero.”
“Oh, yeah.” Donna paused. “That name rings a bell.” She’d had a little too much to drink. “I remember the name from somewhere. I don’t think I ever met him.” There was no way to know her age. Somewhere between twenty-five and a hundred and forty. She looked good. Blond hair, an easy smile. She wore a red jacket with a ship’s name scrawled across the front: STARCAT.
Somebody else commented that he’d heard World’s End had been a great place to work. But Donna’s thoughts were elsewhere. “Cavallero,” she said. “I know that name.” She seemed lost in thought for a few moments. Then she brightened. “Sure. That’s the one. Hal Cavallero. I
did
meet him.”