Claggett’s interest in education was no secret. He’d pushed local politicians to get more money for the schools, and had long campaigned to get parents involved. You live or die with the parents, Julie had quoted him as saying. If you don’t have them on your side, you’re helpless. “We’ll be okay,” said Matt. “The kids just need somebody to turn them on. Maybe Orion could arrange free tours for some of them.” Ari sat on Orion’s board of directors.

He allowed himself to look as if he thought it was a good suggestion. “Why don’t you and Julie make the request? Come up with a scheme and put it in writing? We couldn’t send the whole school, but we could consider giving some awards to a few of the kids.” He nodded. Why not? “It shouldn’t be a hard sell. It would be pretty good PR for Orion.”

“Yes, it would.”

“Which suggests something else.” Ah. Finally, we were getting to the reason for the call. “Listen, Matt, I have a proposal for you. If you’re interested.”

“Okay.”

“We’re putting together an advertising program. Orion is. We want to have a few well-known former star pilots do spots. You know, stand on the bridge and say how much fun it is to take one of the tours. How educational it can be. The money’s not a whole lot, but it wouldn’t take much of your time. And I thought it was something you might enjoy doing.”

He hesitated, not certain why. Yes, he’d be glad to do it. “Sure,” he said.

Ari plunged ahead: “We’re going to get maybe five or six guys to do this for us. You’re our first choice. It’s my way of saying thanks for what you’ve been doing for Julie.”

Funny how it became Ari doing a favor for him. “I’m not much of an actor.”

“Don’t need an actor,” he said. “We’re looking for people who believe the message.”

HE HAD DINNER with Reyna that night. The conversation eventually got around to the loss of the Jenkins. To the narrow escape of the people on board. “You know,” she said, “I know you don’t want to hear this, but it makes me glad you’re not still out there. Say what you want about real estate: At least it’s safe.”

NEWS DESK

POLAR BEARS RELEASED FROM CAPTIVITY

Latest Effort to Replenish Species

REPORTS OF RELIGIOUS EXECUTIONS IN MIDDLE EAST

Death Penalty Still in Place for Muslims Who Go Astray

Christian Missionary Reported Among Victims

World Council Demands Access

LONGEVITY A GLOBAL PROBLEM

Are People Living Too Long?

“Bosses Linger, Politicians Stay Forever,” Says Melvin

HAPPINESS GENE UNCOVERED

“A Little Tweaking Will Go a Long Way”

Some Want It Banned

Yuvenkov: “Relentlessly Happy People Will Become Slaves”

MINNESOTA TEACHER FIRED FOR PRAYING TO ZEUS

Religion in Public Schools?

Or Violation of a Basic Freedom?

GREENWATCH SAYS CLIMATE HAS STABILIZED

Conditions Worsening at Decreasing Rate

“Light at End of Tunnel,” Says Bokely

NUMBER OF MEAT-EATERS DECLINES ELEVENTH

CONSECUTIVE YEAR

Health, Ethical Considerations, High Prices Are Factors

MCGRAW CONVICTED ON ROBOTICS CHARGE

Violation of Prohibited Technology Act

Sentencing Set for Next Week

Court May Seek to Set Example

DAMAGED STARSHIP SAW BILLION-YEAR-OLD ARTIFACT

chapter 5

RUDY INSISTED HUTCH be present when Jon Silvestri came in to make his case. “Why?” she asked. “I’m not a physicist. I can’t pass judgment on what he says.”

In the background, the volume turned low, Brad Wilkins was singing about the Savannah Express, rolling through the night.

Rudy’s fingers drummed the edge of his desk, the way they did when he was being forced to waste time explaining the obvious. “He came to you. I think it’ll be more comfortable all around if you’re here.”

He also brought in Paul Parmentier, a physicist who specialized in Hazeltine technology and spatial structure. Paul was a little guy with a big mustache and a reputation for driving his colleagues crazy. He closely resembled Banjo Hawk, a walk-on comic who was enormously popular with high school dropouts. Oddly enough, it was the big mustache that made it work. Hutch never understood why Parmentier would want to cultivate the similarities. It was as if he longed to be one of the guys. It was a curious attitude for an accomplished physicist.

Paul’s feelings lay close to the surface. He never forgot a slight, and any criticism of an idea he supported was deemed personal. Nevertheless, Rudy insisted there was no doubting his mastery of the field. You want to talk about transdimensional drives, he was your guy. Paul got there early and started by telling them before Silvestri had arrived that he didn’t think a more effective system than the Hazeltine was possible. But he was willing to keep an open mind.

Paul had been a consultant for the Foundation since its beginning, not because of any philosophical leaning toward exploratory starflight, but simply because of his connection with Rudy. They were old friends. Hutch suspected Rudy was the only one he had. They constituted one of those unusual pairings in which both men had courted the same young woman, both had married her, both had been cast aside by her, and through it all they had maintained the friendship. How they’d managed that, Hutch couldn’t imagine. The former wife had been a good catch, quite attractive, and herself a biologist of no mean accomplishment. The last time Hutch had seen her, she’d insisted she would never marry another physicist. Maybe not marry again at all.

Paul was about forty, with red hair and expressive eyes. You always knew what he was thinking.

Within five minutes of his arrival, he was explaining why it was impossible to move across the galaxy any more quickly than the Hazeltine drive would allow. Hutch caught something about manifold derivatives and net inconsistencies, but could make no sense of it. She suspected Rudy was lost, too, but he nodded in all the right places, asked a few questions and, if he was as puzzled as she, did a decent job hiding the fact.

Twenty minutes later, right on time, Jon Silvestri arrived. He stood in the office doorway, almost as tall as the door itself, hesitating, not sure which of the occupants to address. Rudy escorted him into the office, and he smiled at Hutch. “I appreciate your seeing me,” he said. “And I wanted to say first that I was glad you were able to save the people on the Jenkins.” Rudy thanked him, and Hutch took them through the introductions.

Silvestri was nervous. He was young, and he probably knew both Rudy and Paul by reputation. Moreover, the two older men were suspicious of him, especially Parmentier, and there was no way he could not be aware of the fact. Their suspicions were driven, of course, by his extraordinary claims. There might also have been a problem with the way he dressed. He wore a dark gray business suit, the sort you might get at Christiansen’s. It was out of the mainstream for a profession that took pride in rumpled clothes. If you’re paying attention to your wardrobe, Rudy believed, your mind isn’t sufficiently occupied.

Within minutes they were talking about bending space and juggling local parameters and manipulating tensor beams. Silvestri inserted a chip into Rudy’s AI. They closed the curtains to darken the room, and the AI, at Silvestri’s direction, provided a series of images, representations of quantum forces, logarithmic spirals, hyperboloids, and God knew what else. He asked the AI to hold this image or that while he made his points. They might have been salient. Or not. Hutch couldn’t tell from the reactions she was seeing. Paul got behind Rudy’s desk, found a pad, and took to writing things down. He asked a lot of questions.