"Chindi" - читать интересную книгу автора (Макдевитт Джек)Chapter 2 September 2224WHEN THE ACADEMY announced that Clay Barber would receive the Commissioner’s Special Recognition Medal for his actions during the Renaissance Station incident, Hutch realized it was time to go. She had put in more than twenty years hauling people and cargo back and forth between Earth and its various outstations. The flights were long and dull. She spent weeks at a time inside her ship, usually with no crew, with a code that required her to minimize social relations with her passengers, with no clear skies or empty beaches or rainstorms or German restaurants. And without even recognition for services performed. For people’s rear ends bailed out. Other women her age had families, had careers, at least had lovers. Unless something radical changed, Hutch had no prospect for marriage, no likelihood of advancement, and no serious chance for anything other than an occasional ricochet romance. She was never in one place long enough. Moreover, the Academy had now hung her out to dry twice during the last year, once at Deepsix, and now at Renaissance Station. It was enough. Time to walk away. Find a nice quiet job somewhere as a lifeguard or a forest ranger. Her retirement money would keep a roof over her head, so she could afford to do whatever she liked. She returned to Serenity for refueling and maintenance, then carried some of the Renaissance Station personnel back to Earth. It was a five-week flight, and she spent most of it on the bridge making plans. Her passengers grumbled extensively about management and how their lives had been needlessly jeopardized. And they formed a community bond on the way home, a bond that might have been stronger than whatever had held them together at Renaissance, because they’d now come through a terrifying experience together. They played bridge and hung out in the common room and organized picnics on a virtual beach. Although Hutch was not excluded, and was in fact quite popular with them, especially some of the younger males, she was nevertheless always an outsider, the woman who, in their view, was never at risk. Two weeks out, she received an invitation to the Clay Barber ceremony, which would be conducted at the Academy’s Brimson Hall in Arlington on Founder’s Day, September 29. She would pass on that, thank you very much. But then she noticed Preacher’s name on the guest list. Well, that put a different light on the occasion. Not that she was going to chase him around or anything, but what the hell. Meantime she composed her request for retirement. She had thirty days’ leave coming up, and she’d take her option to get paid for the time and just walk out the door when she got home. “Are you really not coming back?” asked Bill. His image had become young, virile, handsome. He flashed a sly smile, filled with promise. “You don’t have enough software, Bill, to make it work.” He laughed. But there was a solemn ring to the sound. “I will miss you, Hutch.” “I’ll miss you too, partner.” THE SCIENTIFIC COMMUNITY was heavily represented at the banquet. In addition, several major and a number of minor politicians attended and got their pictures taken, and members of several philanthropic groups who had actively supported the Academy since its inception sat with the commissioner at the head table. Estel Triplett, who had played Ginny Hazeltine in the previous year’s megahit, FTL, opened the festivities with a soulful rendering of “Lost in the Stars.” They served chicken and rice with green beans and an array of fruit and desserts. As banquets usually went, the food wasn’t bad. Sylvia Virgil, the Academy’s Director of Operations, emceed the program, introduced the guests, and gave special recognition to Matthew Brawley, who, alerted by Barber, had “arrived at the critical moment” to rescue Dr. Dimenna, his team, and their dependents. Preach came forward, received a plaque, and got a round of applause. He looked like a hero. He was only a bit over average height, but he walked like a man who would not hesitate to tangle with a tiger. Somehow, he also managed a self-deprecating aw-shucks smile that suggested we are all heroes, that he just happened to be in the right place. Hutch watched him and became conscious of her heartbeat. Well, why not? She was entitled. Virgil next asked all the persons to stand who had been at Renaissance Station when the catastrophe developed. They were seated more or less together in the front of the banquet hall on the left. They got up and smiled back at the audience while imagers homed in and applause rolled through the room. One of the smaller children looked around, bewildered. The director next summoned Senator Allen Nazarian to present the award to Barber. Nazarian sat on the Science and Research Committee, where he functioned as a champion of Academy funding. He was one of the widest human beings Hutch had ever seen, but despite his girth, he rose with grace, acknowledged the applause, strode to the lectern, and looked out across the tables. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he said in his Boston Brahmin tones, “it’s an honor to be with you tonight on this auspicious occasion.” He went on in a high-flown manner for several minutes, talking about the dangers and rigors of doing research in the hostile environment beyond Earth. “Our people constantly put their lives at risk. And one has only to stroll through these buildings to see plaques commemorating those who have made the ultimate sacrifice. “Fortunately, tonight, there’ll be no memorial. No monument. And we owe that happy fact to the judgment and swift response of one man. Everyone here knows the story, how Barber correctly interpreted the danger when communications were lost almost simultaneously with both Renaissance Station and with the Wildside.” Hutch’s emotions must have been showing: A young man on her right asked if she were okay. “Clay recognized the fingerprint of an EMP event,” Nazarian continued. “And he realized that the disruption meant conditions at Proteus had worsened. It was possible that both Renaissance Station and the ship were in danger. He could not know for certain what was happening, and there was only one vessel, the Condor, that could be sent to the rescue. But the distance between the Condor and the people at Proteus was increasing every minute he delayed. “In the best traditions of the Academy, he assumed the worst and diverted the Condor, and to that happy judgment, we owe the lives of the men, women, and children who had been living and working at Proteus.” He turned and looked to his left. “Dr. Barber.” Barber, who’d been seated at a front table, rose with all due modesty. Smiled at the audience. Started forward. Nazarian bent down behind the lectern, retrieved an object wrapped in green cloth. It was a medallion. “It gives me great pleasure…” Barber beamed. Nazarian read from the inscription. “…for exercising judgment and initiative, resulting in the rescue of the fifty-six persons at Renaissance Station. Given in recognition by the commissioner, September 29, 2224.” Dimenna, seated a table away from Hutch, glanced over his shoulder at her, then leaned toward her. “Bet you’re glad he was there to pull your chestnuts out of the fire, Hutchins.” Barber held the award high for everyone to see, shook Nazarian’s hand, and turned to the audience. He confessed he had done nothing that any other operations chief under the circumstances wouldn’t have done. The inference to be drawn from the evidence had been clear enough. He thanked Sara Smith, a watch officer who’d called his attention to the anomaly. And Preacher—Barber dropped the Matthew and used the name by which the man was really known—Brawley who, when alerted to the danger, had not hesitated to go to the rescue. At his insistence, Matt stood for a second round of cheers. Oh, and Priscilla Hutchins, who helped get some of the staff out on the Wildside, was here also. Hutch rose to scattered applause. WHEN IT WAS over, she noticed that Preach began to head her way. She idled out through a rear door, giving him time. She was talking to a couple of the Academy’s administrative people when he caught up, beamed a smile at her, bent down, and kissed her chastely on one cheek. “Good to see you again, Hutch,” he said. There’d been no chance to talk during the rescue. She’d had to replace her damaged electronics while the Condor waited to dock. And while she scrambled across the hull, locking in the new gear, Preach had fidgeted. “I don’t want to rush you, babe,” he’d said. And, “It’s not getting any earlier out here.” She’d wrapped the job in seventeen minutes flat, and three minutes later wished him luck and cleared the area. She was well ahead of the flare and knew the Wildside would have no problem. The Condor, though, was going to need a quick getaway and lots of acceleration. It would be a bumpy ride, accompanied by a serious scare. But the Preacher brought them through and delivered everyone several days later to Serenity Station. By then Hutch was gone, on her way home. “I didn’t know you were going to be here,” he said. “They told me you were on assignment.” Hutch nodded. “I’m not surprised. They think everybody’s always on assignment.” “Does the Academy really give awards when people are smart enough to overcome a screwup that shouldn’t have happened in the first place?” She laughed and waved the question away. “I was never so glad to see anybody in my life, Preach.” She’d told him from the Wildside how grateful she was for his timely appearance, and he’d smiled and shrugged and allowed as how he was glad to have been in a position to help. “I’ll say this for him though,” said Preach. “I have to like anybody who gives me the chance to win the gratitude of a beautiful woman.” He looked around the banquet hall. “How about joining me,” he said, “for a drink at the Skyway?” “If you’ll show me your plaque.” He nodded and unwrapped it for her. It carried an image of the Condor, and the legend, Salvation Express. It was made of burnished oak, and she felt mildly jealous. “Salvation Express?” she said. He let his amusement show. “Better than The Preacher Rides Again, which they tell me was their first choice.” They were starting for the door when Virgil spotted them, signaled that they should wait, and came over. “Well,” she said, glancing from one to the other, “imagine finding you two together.” Hutch introduced the director. “We’re indebted to you both,” she said, shaking Preach’s hand. She moved them off to one side. “That could have been a disaster out there. If you two hadn’t gotten everybody out, we’d have been looking at a public relations debacle that might have shut us down altogether.” And people would have been dead, too. But never mind. She had good reason to be grateful: The director had had a role in approving the decision to keep Renaissance open. “You were lucky,” rumbled Preach, looking solemnly at her. He was extraordinarily handsome, Hutch decided, in evening clothes. Blue jacket, white shirt, blue cravat. An eagle ring on the fourth finger of his left hand. It was silver and had been awarded to him by the World Humanitarian Commission for taking emergency medical supplies to Quraqua at his own expense. All in all, he was quite dashing. He caught her in the act of appraising him. Something changed subtly in his expression, softening it, and his gaze swept briefly across her bare shoulders. Yes, indeed, she thought. If Virgil caught any of the counterplay, she kept it to herself. She had a reputation for ruthlessness, and the rumor was that she had paid her way through school by performing as a stripper. Any means to an end. She would have been a beautiful woman, save that everything about her had a hard edge. She always spoke with the voice of command, her eyes were too penetrating, her manner a bit too confident. She had been married three times. Nobody had renewed. “Hutch,” she said, “may I speak with you a moment about your transmission?” The retirement. “Certainly, Sylvia.” But I wish you wouldn’t. “I wanted you to know I’m distressed to see that you’re thinking about leaving us.” “It’s time,” Hutch said. “Well, I can’t argue with you about your feelings.” She looked at Preach. “We’re losing a superb officer, Preacher.” Preach duly nodded, as if he knew as well as anybody. “Hutch, I’ve a favor to ask. I’d like to persuade you to undertake one more mission for us. It’s important. You’ve been specifically requested.” “Really? By whom?” “Moreover,” she said, as if Hutch hadn’t spoken, “we’d like very much to keep you with the Academy. I believe that I’ll be able to offer you a challenging position groundside. In a few weeks. And I’d be grateful if you kept that to yourself, because technically we have to post the job.” Pretend that all applicants would receive serious consideration. “We’d keep you here in Arlington,” she added. Hutch hadn’t been prepared for this. She’d expected to be processed out, no glitches, thank you very much, have a good life, write when you get work. “What’s the mission?” she asked. Virgil had taken over the Academy less than a year earlier, and had wasted no time in clearing out, as the phrase went, the dead wood. That involved most of the administrative force. It sounded as if someone else had lost favor. “I wonder,” she said, “if we could go by my office for the rest of this?” Hutch hesitated. She didn’t want to walk away from Preach. “Both of you” Virgil added, smiling pleasantly at his surprise. Whatever else you could say about her, Hutch thought, the woman is no dummy. Hutch got her wrap, the Preacher shrugged into a coat, and Virgil led the way out into the park. They crossed the bridge over the moon pool. The night was cloudy, brisk, threatening rain. The lights from the District of Columbia created a glare in the northern sky. A few taxis drifted down to pick up departing guests. “Lovely event,” said Hutch. “Yes, it was an emotional evening.” Virgil slipped a pill from an engraved box and swallowed it. There was talk of medical problems. “When everything has run its course, I’ll be encouraging him to resign.” Hutch had to run the comment through a second time before she realized she was talking about Barber. They stopped in the middle of the bridge. “I’m telling you this, Hutch, because I want you to understand I appreciate your discretion. I know you could have blown the whistle on us all.” Hutch did not reply. “You were smart enough to realize it would have done no good, and it could have caused a great deal of harm. The Academy has political enemies who would love to use an incident like this to argue that we’re not very competent. To put us out of business, if they can.” Something splashed in the pool. Preach inserted himself into Virgil’s line of vision. “How incompetent is the Academy? Barber could have gotten a lot of people killed out there. For that matter—” “—So could Dimenna.” Virgil looked cold. It had been warm at the beginning of the evening, and she wore only a light jacket over her gown. “I know.” “Is this why you wanted to talk to me?” asked Preach, still obviously wondering why he was present. “No. I wanted to commend you on your good sense. And I wanted to assure you I’m taking care of the problem. He won’t be going back to Serenity.” She shivered. “And I have an offer to make to you, too. Let’s go where it’s warm.” Minutes later they hurried inside the administration building and up to the second floor. Lights blinked on for them, doors swung open, and they entered the director’s office. Virgil took a sweater from a closet and pulled it around her shoulders. Was Hutch cold? No? Very good. “Can I get you something to drink?” She rattled off what was available and gestured to a couple of padded chairs. It was spacious, luxurious in a government-issue sort of way. Fake leather. Dark-stained walls. Lots of plaques. Montrose Award for Achievement in the Field of Linear Mathematics. Commissioner’s Medal for Advancement of Science. State of Maryland’s Citizen of the Year. Canadian Mother of the Year. Pictures of a former husband and twin daughters on the desk. There were photos of the director with Oberright, with Simpson and Dawes, with sim star Dashiel Banner, with the president. On the whole, a substantial amount of intimidation hung on those walls. Preach asked for a glass of Bordeaux. Hutch opted for an almond liqueur. The director filled a third glass with brandy and sat down behind an enormous walnut desk. She sipped her drink and looked from one to the other, evidently enjoying their confusion. “I assume,” she said, “you’ve heard about the Benjamin Martin mission?” Hutch knew of it, of course. But Preach shook his head. No, he had no idea what the director was referring to. “It was a research operation out to a neutron star,” Hutch said. “Several years ago. There was a rumor they heard something. A radio transmission of some sort. Eleven-oh-seven, wasn’t it? But they were never able to confirm anything.” “It wasn’t a rumor,” said Virgil. “They picked up a radio signal that appeared to be artificial.” “Who else was out there?” asked Preach. “Well, that’s the point, isn’t it? There was nobody even remotely close.” She put the glass down. “Langley stayed out there for six months. The captain. They never heard it again. Not a whisper.” Preach shrugged. “That’s not a unique story. People hear things all the time.” “Preacher, they used a satellite array during the search. When they came back they left the satellites in place.” “And one of them,” guessed Hutch, “picked it up again.” Virgil swung around and gazed out through her window at the quad. “That’s right. There’s been a second intercept. We got the report three weeks ago.” “And—?” “The source is in orbit around the neutron star.” “Probably a local anomaly,” said Preach. “Anything’s possible close to that kind of beast. Has anybody been able to read it yet?” “No. We haven’t had any success at translation.” Preach didn’t look satisfied. “How much of an intercept?” “Not much. Like the first. Just over a second. The wave’s narrow; the satellite just passed through it. It’s a directed beam.” “Directed where?” She threw up her hands. “The direction is compatible with the first intercept. But we’re not aware of a target.” “That’s not very helpful.” She shrugged. “The beam doesn’t seem to be aimed at anything. There’s no planetary system, of course. And we didn’t see any anomalous objects drifting around.” “Which means nothing,” said Preach. Virgil’s eyes locked on him. But they were strictly business. “We just don’t know for certain what’s happening. Probably nothing. Some of our people think it might even be a temporal reflection, a signal from a future mission. Something bounced out of a time warp.” Hutch understood that time warps only operated over a few seconds. Even under the most extreme conditions. But she didn’t comment. She could, however, see where this was headed. And it seemed simple enough. They’d ask her to take some investigators out, hang around while they listened, and bring them back. Preach studied his Bordeaux in the light of a table lamp. “You want someone to go out and take a look.” “Not exactly.” Virgil finished her drink, put down the glass, and inspected Hutch. Humans had been wandering around their local environs now for more than a half century. They’d found a handful of living worlds, a few sets of ruins, and the Noks. “Hutch, are you familiar with the Contact Society?” “Sure. They’re a group of whackos who want to find extraterrestrial civilizations.” “Not quite,” she said. “And I’m not sure they’re, uh, whackos. They maintain that we aren’t doing enough to school ourselves for an encounter with another intelligence. They say it’s just a matter of time, and we’re behaving as if we have the galaxy to ourselves. I’m not entirely sure I’d be prepared to argue with that.” “What’s it matter? We’ve been out there a long time, and the place does look pretty empty.” “Well,” said Virgil, “that’s really neither here nor there. The point is that they’ve raised an enormous amount of money for the Academy. It’s true they believe that insufficient effort is being made to see who else is in the neighborhood. That’s their holy grail, and they think of it as the prime purpose for the Academy’s existence. And that’s fine. We have no reason to disabuse them of that notion.” “And,” said Preacher, “they’re interested in the intercept at 1107.” “Yes, they are. They’ve been pressuring us to look into it for a long time. With this latest piece of information stirring things up, it wouldn’t be prudent to just wait for it to go away.” She sat back in her chair, tapped her fingertips on the desktop. “I don’t think there’s anything to it. I mean, how could there be? Even had the Benny actually intercepted an ET communication, why would they still be hanging around out there four years later? Okay? You understand what I’m saying? I don’t know what the explanation is, but I know it’s not Martians.” Virgil was looking directly at her. “Hutch, do you know who George Hockelmann is?” She had no idea. “He’s the CEO for Miranda’s Restaurants.” “Oh. The guy with the secret recipe for tortillas.” “Something like that. He’s also a major supporter of Academy initiatives. In fact, at the end of the year, he’ll be contributing a ship.” “A superluminal?” “Yes. The City of Memphis. It’s just been launched.” “It’s named for his hometown,” said Hutch. “That’s correct. We get it after the end of the year.” “Why the delay?” “It has something to do with taxes. But that’s not the point.” She was hesitating. Something she doesn’t want to tell us. “The Memphis is going out to take a look at 1107.” “Next year.” “Next week.” “But you said—” “It’s on loan.” “Okay.” “I’d like you to run the mission, Hutch.” “Why me?” she asked. “Hockelmann wants you.” She beamed at Hutch. “It’s the fallout from the Deepsix business. He thinks you’re the best we have.” She caught herself. “Not that you aren’t. We’ll pay well for this one. And when you get back, I’ll see that there’s something waiting for you.” Eleven-oh-seven was a long way out. “That’s a haul.” “Hutch. We want very much to keep this guy happy. I’d take it as a personal favor.” “Who’d be leading the science team?” “Well, that’s where it gets a little unusual. There won’t be a science team.” She stood, rotated her palms against one another, and tried to look as if everything were in perfect order. “Hutch, this would be basically a PR mission. You’ll be carrying some members of the Contact Society. Including Hockelmann. Show them what they want to see. Which will be a very heavy dead star that just sits there. Cruise around listening for radio transmissions until they get bored, then come home.” She canted her head. “Will you do it?” It sounded harmless enough. “Which Academy job is coming open?” “Personnel director.” “Godwin?” “Yes.” She smiled. “He’s going to resign.” But he probably doesn’t know it yet. She didn’t think she’d want the job. But Brawley’s presence was having an effect. She felt uncomfortable turning down a request like this with him standing there. Not that his opinion really mattered. “I’ll think it over,” she said. “Hutch, we only have a few days. I’m afraid I have to know tonight.” She got up, came around the desk, and leaned against it. “I’d really like to have you do this.” Brawley was looking carefully off in another direction. “Okay,” Hutch said. “Good.” She picked up a pen and scribbled something on a notepad. “If you can arrange to stop by the ops desk tomorrow, they’ll have all the details for you.” She refilled Hutch’s glass and turned her attention to the Preacher. “I’d like to offer you a commission, Captain Brawley.” Preach’s eyebrows went up. “You want me to go along?” “No.” Pity, thought Hutch. Virgil touched the desk and the lights went out. A starfield appeared in the center of the room. “Syrian Cluster,” she said. “The neutron star is here.” She moved a pointer to indicate the spot. “And the transmission.” A cursor blinked on and became a line. The line moved among the stars until it touched one, which turned a bright blue. “The Society had suggested the target might be located beyond the immediate area of 1107. That the signal is in fact interstellar.” She shrugged. “I think it’s crazy, but who am I to comment on these things?” She pointed at the blue star and began looking through papers on her desk. “The catalog number is here somewhere.” Preach watched with rapt attention. “You’ll note that the neutron star, the entire length of the transmission line, and Point B, the target star, are all well outside the bubble.” Beyond the 120-light-year sphere of explored space that centered, more or less, on Arlington. “The Benjamin Martin mission was our first penetration into that area. “The Society wants to send a second mission to Point B. They’re willing to pay for it, but they want us to set it up.” “Why me?” Preach asked. “Why not use one of your own ships?” “These people like comfort. The Condor is a bit more luxurious than anything we have.” She glanced at Hutch. “You’ll notice that the Memphis is somewhat more than you’re accustomed to, as well.” She held a contract out to Preach: “We’d like to lease you and your ship. For approximately four months.” He looked at the document. “Let me understand this. You want me to take these people out to Point B to do what?” “See what’s there.” “How far is it? From the neutron star?” She flicked on a lamp and gazed at her notes. “Sixteen light-years.” He looked down at the contract. “I have to check on other commitments,” he said. “I’ll let you know in the morning.” “WHAT DID YOU think of the chicken?” Preach asked as they recrossed the bridge. “It was okay,” she said. The sky had clouded over, and there was a sprinkle of rain on the wind. He looked down at her with those large blue eyes. “How about a sandwich before we call it a night? Some real food.” They took a taxi across the Potomac to the Crystal Tower. Pricey, she thought, but if Brawley wanted to show off a bit, she was willing to cooperate. They came down on the rooftop, descended one floor to Maxie’s, and settled into a booth with a view of the Lincoln Memorial and the White House Museum, resplendent behind its dikes. Constitution Island was a smear of lights in the rain, which was growing more intense. The fireplace was crackling happily, and whispery music drifted out of the sound system. Hutch slipped out of her wrap. “What do you think?” Preach asked. “Should I go?” He looked gorgeous in the shifting light. She smiled. “Why would you ask me? Did you mean what you said? Are you booked?” “I can subcontract the other assignments.” “So you are going to do it.” “Yes. I think so. The money’ll be decent.” A robot appeared, lit the candles, and took their orders, cheese and bacon for Hutch, beef stew for Preach. And two cold beers. “You have any experience with these people? The Whatzis Society?” “Contact. I’ve met a couple of them. They’re okay. As long as you don’t get them started on aliens.” The beers came. They touched glasses. “To the loveliest woman in the room,” he said, affecting to gaze about and confirm his judgment. “Yes,” he said, “no question about it.” “You’re a sweetheart, Preach.” She put some brandy into her voice. And then: “Who knows? Maybe you’ll strike gold out there.” He looked at her over the rim of his glass. “And what would the gold be?” “The neighbors. At last. After all these years, and all the ruins, and the hints, we actually find them. Preach Brawley finds them. And suddenly we have somebody to talk to.” “Here’s to the neighbors,” he said. Their meals came. While the robot set them down, Hutch glanced about her, scanned the several dozen couples in the room, and decided Preach was right: She was the most attractive woman in the place. He tried his stew, gave it his approval, and inquired about her sandwich. “It is,” she said, “delicious.” Not unlike the company. The whispery music faded and virtual entertainers appeared. They were dressed in flowing caftans and armed with a variety of stringed instruments and horns. Their leader, lanky, seductive, dark of eye and mien, signaled, and they rolled into their first number: O my baby has a ticket On the Babylon Express. She’ll be riding through the Chaldees, She’ll be gliding past the sphinx, ’Cause she loves me, loves me truly, On the Babylon Express. “Another express,” said Hutch. Preach frowned. “Who are these guys?” She shouldn’t have been surprised. Even if he knew who they were, she suspected he’d have pleaded ignorance. Preach didn’t strike her as someone who’d admit to a taste for pop culture. So she put on a tolerant face. “That’s Hammurabi Smith and his Hanging Gardeners,” she said. “‘The Babylon Express’ is their signature number.” “I can see why it would be.” She reduced the volume, and they made small talk for a few minutes, whether it might rain all night, where she was from, how Preach had gotten started as a superluminal contractor. Midway through the meal, he laid his fork down, leaned forward, and lowered his voice. “Do you think there might really be something out there?” “Somewhere,” she said. “Sure. But hanging around a neutron star? I don’t think so.” They finished up and strolled onto the Overlook. More coffee was available, and the music from Maxie’s was piped in. But they’d been there only a few minutes when someone shut it off, and a commotion developed in a far corner. “Not now, David,” said a woman, in tones that suggested now would be a very good moment. Her eyes glittered, her lush black hair fell to her waist, and she appeared to have had a little too much to drink. She wore red and black and was exposed to the navel. She and David were standing on a small stage. Professionals, she realized. David was an immense young male, probably a head taller than the Preacher. His hair was gold, and it fell into his eyes. “Beth,” he said, “I’m sure the folks would enjoy it.” Several people applauded. She gave up, and David opened a cabinet, pulled out a tocket, and turned it on. Its strings hummed with energy. Beth looked resigned, said okay if you must, and moved to the edge of the stage. David rippled lightly through a few chords. The crowd expanded. “What would you folks like to hear?” Beth asked. “How about ‘Randy Andy’?” said a female voice. David tried a few chords, producing a burst of light and sound, and then he cut it off. “Too loud. I feel moody tonight.” “‘The Macon City Bar,’” suggested a baritone. Beth laughed. “This is a desperate bunch, David,” she said. They cheered. …She stood her ground at the Macon City Bar, Took my heart, and I never been the same, Never been the same, Since she stood her ground at the Macon City Bar…. Pretty soon everybody was singing and dancing. Hutch and Preach joined in. He sang off-key a lot, but he knew it, may have exaggerated it for effect, and grinned when she laughed. “I get better after I’ve had a few,” he said. She luxuriated in his presence and in his embrace. It had been a long time since she’d been close to somebody who could generate this kind of electricity. Beth played and the crowd roared. They sang “Rocky Mountain Lollipop” and “Highballer,” a rousing number about the glide trains. And “Deep Down in the Culver City Mine” and “Last Man Out” and “Climbing on the Ark.” Beth was sitting atop a dais by then, doing requests, sometimes performing one of her own choices. In the middle of the “Peacemaker Hymn” she spotted Preach and signaled him to join her. He glanced down at Hutch, looking for her reaction. “Go,” she said, faking nonchalance. Maybe Hutch wasn’t the loveliest woman in the room. They performed “Providence Jack,” who was “faithful as long as I could see him.” When they finished she’d let him go. But she ended the evening with “Azteca,” looking at him the whole time and leaving no doubt about her inclinations. During an intermission they broke away. He escorted Hutch back out to the taxi pad, and looked innocent when she suggested he’d made a conquest. It was raining heavily. They rose through the storm, and he seemed pensive. “Hutch,” he said finally, “are you by any chance free tomorrow?” “I’m headed for Princeton, Preach,” she said, “to see my mom.” “Oh.” “Why did you ask?” “I was going to suggest dinner.” He shrugged the whole thing off. Bad idea. Should have known you’d be busy. “She’s expecting me, Preach. Hasn’t seen me in a year. I can’t really beg off.” Her instincts were telling her just as well. Don’t rush things. Not if she was seriously interested in him. “Tell you what, though. I’ll be back Friday. How about we get together then?” “Okay,” he said. “Call me when you get in.” The taxi landed on the rooftop of her hotel. He told it to wait, got out, and went with her to her apartment door. She opened up and turned back toward him, debating whether to invite him inside. She’d been drinking a bit too much, as had he. “Thanks, Preach,” she said. “It was a lovely evening.” “Me too.” He leaned toward her, planted a chaste kiss on her forehead, opening his lips and letting them linger just long enough to stoke her fire a bit. Knows what he’s doing, this lad. Then he took all decisions out of her hands by backing away. “You’re one of a kind, Hutch,” he said. And he wheeled and strode off. She watched him disappear into the lift and had to fight off the sense that she was being an idiot. She closed the door softly and went to the window. Moments later she saw a taxi rise into the night and arc off in the general direction of the Crystal Tower. |
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