CHAPTER 1: C’rinth
Commander Nathaniel Hawke tossed back his drink and grabbed his belongings, intent on waiting out the remainder of his time aboard the StarCruiser hovering in orbit around C’rinth. He was startled to see il’Naioth, the one person who had the most reason to despise him, standing in the marble foyer of the embassy, her normally confident features creased in a look of uncertainty. She looked up when he approached, unconsciously straightening her robes that designated her as an Elder.
“You are still here, I see.” Her tone was indifferent, cold. Hawke didn’t say anything, but he figured she must have known she’d find him here or she wouldn’t have come. Taking that as a positive sign, he stepped forward and reached out, clasping her hand in his, meeting her gaze unflinchingly. “I’m sorry,” he whispered softly, “I’m sorry. I’ll do everything I can to help, I promise.” She stiffened, disengaging her hand from his.
“Nath-an, I cannot forgive you for what you have done to my people.” Hawke was crestfallen. To his surprise, her expression softened. “…but I have no choice than to accept your offer of help.” She graced him with the tiniest of smiles. But with that, a weight lifted from his heart. It wasn’t how he had wanted it to turn out, but maybe, just maybe, everything would work out in the end.
He leaned in and kissed her, fully and deeply. She did not pull away from him.
At least, that’s the way it always played out in his mind, like a vidfeed stuck in an endless stuttering loop. But that wasn’t how it actually happened. That wasn’t reality. Reality sucked.
He pulled out the bottom left drawer of his desk and drew out a half-empty bottle of Jack Daniels. Once, obtaining a bottle of whiskey, or any alcohol for that matter, would have been impossible on C’rinth, but now it was as easy and routine as a walk down the block to the liquor store. The clock on the far wall read ten-thirty in the morning. He unscrewed the cap and refilled his glass. Just then the girl walked in from the door over his left shoulder. By human standards she might have passed for a petite full-grown adult. But she wasn’t human. The pearly translucence of her milk-white skin gave testament to that. Less noticeable were the slight webs between her fingers and toes and the smooth nubs that were her ears, covered by her long, white-blonde hair.
She went about her business, straightening this or that, putting sheafs of paper back in the filing cabinets from where he’d taken them, watering the one live plant left abandoned in the far corner of the room. She didn’t say a word, but nevertheless Hawke felt her displeasure over the bottle on his desk. He ignored her, took a swig, and continued making notes on the balances in his ledger. Things didn’t add up, but that was nothing new. Little by little, he was going broke. He had already been forced to sell his apartment and move them into the back rooms adjoining the office. Before long, he might lose that, too. But that was a bridge to be crossed another day.
The girl continued her tidying. She emptied the wastepaper basket, though it only contained crumpled letters from collection agencies, a few bits of junk mail, and an empty bottle identical to the one on his desk. She swept the floor, positioned the two chairs in front of the desk and the one by the front door, and leveled the company sign that hung on the side wall that always managed to be crooked each morning. The sign read, “Starling Freight and Shipping, Ltd. Interplanetary and intergalactic express delivery.” The stylized logo of a bird in exaggerated flight, as if it were soaring at supersonic speeds, was splashed as a watermark across the background. Then the girl left the way she came, and with her went the palpable tension that existed when the two of them occupied the same room.
Hawke continued what he was doing, which was to say that it was nothing important, but merely a way to pass the time. He had long since stopped caring about whether he was making a positive contribution to society. Every day he remained unconvinced, but the Jack Daniels helped with that, too.
The door opened. There were no bells overhead to announce the presence of a visitor, simply the creak of dry, rusty hinges. It could have been the wind, and frequently was, for lately the door had not been closing properly and on windy days the gusts would blow through the alley and rattle the door. Just another thing he hadn’t gotten around to fixing. Sometimes the door would open without any visible sign of disturbance and he’d wonder if the ghosts from his past were haunting him. But the man who suddenly stood prominently before the desk dispelled the notion of any spectral customers. He was all too real for Hawke’s bloodshot eyes. His neatly manicured appearance was too perfect, too refined, too out of place when contrasted against the unremarkable trappings of the office, like a spot of color on a black and white image. Hawke was instantly inclined to dislike him.
“Good day, Mr. Hawke. My name is Harold Winston Winthorpe. But you can call me Winston.” He held out his hand expectantly. Hawke didn’t take it, so Winthorpe was forced to pull it back. Undeterred, he launched into the next part of his speech. “I can see you’re not a man to beat around the bush, as they say. Well, I’m the same way. Time is a valuable commodity. A man without time is a poor man indeed. Something my grandfather used to say. So I’ll come right to the point. I need a pilot, sir, but not just any pilot. I want a man who’s got experience, but not just any experience–”
“Forget it,” he interrupted. “I’m not the one you want.”
The man’s confidence suddenly wavered. “Aren’t you Mr. Nathan Hawke, formerly Captain Nathan Hawke of the USSC, the man who commanded the original exploratory mission to M51?” His eyes scanned the stark wall dubiously, as if seeking confirmation to his question among the cracked and peeling plaster. A newspaper clipping. An award or medal. A plaque commemorating his outstanding service to his country. But there was nothing.
“That was a long time ago.” His glass empty, Hawke put the bottle to his lips and upended it.
“Well, sir, I’m sure you are exactly the man I am looking for.”
“Look, pal, maybe I’m not making myself clear. I don’t care who you are or what you’re selling, go find yourself another pilot. I’m in the shipping business.”
“I’m prepared to pay you handsomely.”
“Do I look like someone who gives a crap about money?”
“No, but you look like someone who could use some.”
“Fuck you.”
Winston smiled. “That was disrespectful of me and I apologize. Perhaps you think I’m here to take unfair advantage of you. Let me be clear, my intentions are nothing of the sort. And I can assure you, going into a business arrangement with Harold Winston Winthorpe is always a successful venture. Not that I need to boast about my success, but my nickname on Wall Street is Win Win.”
“I don’t care if it’s Suck Dick. I told you I’m not interested.”
Winthorpe made a distasteful face. “I was warned that your mannerisms were somewhat, well, crude. But I was assured your skills more than made up for any lack of professional tact and that your attention to detail and commitment was superlative.”
“Well, whoever told you that doesn’t know shit about me. And if he were here, I’d tell him to his face.”
“Her.”
“Huh?”
“Her face. Mr. Hawke, allow me to introduce my wife, Mrs. Elizabeth Winthorpe. But I believe the two of you already know each other.”
He hadn’t seen her come in behind the businessman. She had taken a seat near the door and not moved. It struck him as incredible that he didn’t notice her immediately. She stood and walked slowly toward the desk.
“Hello, Nathan. It’s been a long time.”
With more effort than he could have imagined, he managed to say, “Hello, Betty.”
During her years in Vice-Admiral Langolier’s office, she had maintained an aloofness of everyone, and him in particular, that had only made her beauty more chiseled by its coldness – like a statue carved from ice.
“I’m the one who convinced Winston to seek you out. I hope you’ll at least hear him out.”
Hawke’s eyes went back to the businessman, as if he just suddenly became aware of him. His eyes narrowed warily though his overall skepticism wavered. “Alright. You’ve got my attention.”
Winthorpe rubbed his hands together. “Excellent. Where to begin? I suppose the beginning will do. Mr. Hawke, I’m planning to go on a journey. A potentially very long journey that most men would be unwilling to undertake.”
Hawke frowned. “Are you implying that it will be a one-way trip?”
“God, no! At least, I certainly hope not.”
“Well, do you know where you’re going?”
“Yes, that much I know. What I don’t know is where I’ll end up.”
“I’m not in the mood for riddles. Either say what you came to say or leave.”
“Very well, then let me be as frank as I may. I believe you refer to this as ‘laying your cards on the table.’ I’ve recently made a discovery that, if publicly known, would be of international government and corporate interest.” He paused. “Or perhaps not, as our resources are radically different than they were ten years ago before the M51 discovery. Perhaps it would just be an idle curiosity for astrophysicists, but nevertheless I intend to find out.” He paused again.
“What is it?” He didn’t really care, but Hawke figured the sooner he asked, the sooner he’d get to the real point.
“Imagine if you will a perfectly spherical disc of energy of unknown origin. According to our calculations, its diameter is on the order of a medium-sized planet.”
“And this is important because…?”
“Because, by all the laws of physics, it’s not supposed to exist. Not naturally at least. And not where we found it.”
“And where is that?”
“In-between galaxies. Just beyond the Boötes Void. Approximately one billion light years from here.”
Hawke’s jaw dropped. “One billion? Then this whole thing is insane. We’d all be dead long before we got there.”
Winthorpe smiled like a man who knew he held a winning hand. “What if I were to tell you that my company has developed a teleportation drive system that is nearly two orders of magnitude faster than any currently available on the commercial market.”
“That’s impossible.”
Winston laughed. “Hardly. My wife and I are living proof that the technology works. Two weeks ago I was standing in my boardroom in my Tucson corporate office giving a lecture to regional managers on the principles of rapid technology forecasting and strategic growth planning.”
“Even if you’re not trying to bullshit me, the Global Aerospace Administration will never authorize a flight that extreme. If something goes wrong, well, there’s no way they’d be able to send a DSR in time.”
“Yet long-range military flights are sanctioned all the time.”
“That’s different. They’re never solo.”
Winthorpe conceded his point. “True, but similar flights have been undertaken by corporations and governments turn a blind eye. Where there’s profit to be made, there’s always risk. Surely you know that.”
Hawke shrugged. “I wouldn’t know about the profit thing. Still, you must have one hell of a maintenance officer.”
“Actually, I don’t. Nor do I plan to enlist one for my journey.”
“You’ve got to be kidding? How could you even consider…?”
“I have my reasons for keeping the number of crew to a minimum, but if you’ll forgive my overconfidence, my ship isn’t like the substandard commercial frigates they use to shuttle passengers around. It’s the best ship money can buy, with a few added enhancements that I’m pretty proud of. But I will say this: the ship’s AI is completely reliable. I would trust it with my life. And we will have an impeccable teleportation engineer. A brilliant scientist who’s been the head of my propulsion systems research and technology department for twenty years, and has worked for me faithfully for almost half a century.”
“There’s a big difference between how things work in a lab and how they perform in the real world.”
“Your point is taken. Nevertheless, I am fully confident in his qualifications.”
Hawke grunted. “I’ve heard that kind of cocksure BS before. There are too many things that can go wrong that far out of the normal travel routes. A voyage of this magnitude, without a qualified maintenance officer, is nothing short of suicide. Forget it. I’m out.” He put up his hands.
“You’ll forgive me if I point out the irony. After all, you built a reputation for yourself by taking on dangerous missions, by throwing caution to the wind.”
“Well, consider me older and wiser than I was in those days. I tend to spend my time in, shall we say, risk-averse activities.”
Winthorpe glanced down at the bottle. “Such as drinking whiskey for breakfast?”
“Yeah, so? No one gets hurt but me.”
“Mr. Hawke, I’ve heard many alcoholics utter similar sentiments. And they, like you, are completely mistaken. Alcohol destroys the ones you love. I know. My father was one. But I’m not about to lecture you. Your reasons are your own, and as long as they would not interfere with your official duties should you accept my offer, you are welcome to them, even if I personally disapprove.”
Ordinarily, Hawke would have responded with a sarcastic retort just to get a rise out of him, but he just didn’t care that much anymore and curiosity got the better of him. “There’s still something you haven’t told me. Why me? You said you’re content with the ship’s AI, so you don’t need a human pilot. I’m no navigation specialist, or even a mechanic, so what value could I possibly have?”
Winston smiled. “I didn’t think we’d need to get into all that now, but since you brought it up.” He shrugged in an almost embarrassed way. “You do have something. Something no one else does. Something that means a lot to me and my particular mission. You’ve spoken to him.”
Hawke guffawed. He didn’t need any further explanation of who ‘him’ was. “Is that what this is all about? I hate to burst your bubble, but in case you didn’t know, we haven’t exactly been swapping Christmas cards. Hell, he’s gone off and left us again so he can create some other world. And then, when he’s bored with it, he’ll probably abandon that one, too. I’m sure you’ve read all the public testimony, including the official report of scientific findings. God’s not here.”
“It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t change the fact that he exists. That all our lives serve some purpose.”
“They don’t. Don’t you get it? There is no divine purpose. He created us on a whim. He didn’t even think we’d survive this long. Do yourself a favor and forget about this. It’s a stupid idea. And forget about me.”
Winthorpe stood silent for a moment, and his shoulders suddenly slumped. For just a moment, he looked years older. “I suppose you are correct, Captain – ah, Mr. Hawke. If truth be told, I suppose the real reason I want you with me, the reason I sought you out, is because you are a physical presence to remind me that it’s not some mythical token or talisman I’m seeking, like Ponce de Leon and the fabled fountain of youth or Sir Galahad and the Holy Grail. What I’m looking for goes much deeper than that. Mr. Hawke, there comes a time in every man’s life where he must look himself in the eye and question not only his accomplishments, but the very objective behind his existence. You may say God had no motive in creating us, but I say that even that act demonstrates a higher purpose that transcends all else. I may never find the answers I seek. And I know I will falter along the way, that my faith will be tested. That’s the real reason I need you.” He cleared his throat but Hawke only stared down at his desk. “Well, I’m sorry if I’ve wasted your time.” He turned to go.
Hawke kept his head down as he said, “No, you’re wasting your time. All you’re going to find is disappointment…whether you find him or not.” His head snapped up and they locked gazes. “Let me think about it. I’ll get back to you in a couple days.”
Winthorpe’s smile spread like warm butter across his face. “Very well, that’s fair.” He reached into his breast pocket and withdrew a card. “My office can be reached by calling the number on this card. Good day, Mr. Hawke.” He put his arm out for Betty and the two of them walked out the door. Betty cast one look back over her shoulder before the door shut. He expected to see something like disdain or hostility, but her expression was impenetrable.
Hawke refilled his glass and stared back down at the ledger on his desk, but his eyes were focused far beyond the paper, on a memory of a surreal conversation with an enigmatic being. He pulled open the bottom right drawer of the desk. It was littered with junk: old invoices, receipts, empty bottles, food wrappers. He riffled his hand through the contents until he found what he was looking for. He held it in his hand, thumbing over the rank insignia with its multicolored merits of distinction. Admiral Langolier had been true to his word. Hawke was immediately promoted to Captain upon the “success” of the M51 mission. In addition, he gained an instant celebrity status, for a time. Thoroughly appalled, he retired from the military shortly thereafter and tried to disappear from the public eye. He went into the private transport business because he was a pilot and it was what he knew the most about. Also, with all the mass immigration to C’rinth there was a surging need for transport. And more importantly, because being out in space was one of the few joys he had left. His only true freedom.
But even that had been taken from him. Lately he was spending more and more time on the phone lining up potential clients. Larger transport corporations quickly filled the void and drove out the smaller, independent charter companies, forcing them to compete for the less profitable jobs. The moon-base acted as a temporary shipping and receiving station. Too much titanic-class cargo traffic caused disruption of the vidfeeds on the planet, and God forbid anything should wreak havoc with someone’s entertainment channels. Trips to C’rinth’s smaller moon, il’Naioth, now comprised over ninety percent of his business, but more than that, it was salt in his wound. He flipped the badge into the drawer and shut it with his foot.
Then he felt the eyes again.
“What?” he asked accusingly, swiveling his head around.
The girl said nothing, but there were tears forming in her eyes before she ducked back into her room.
“Fuck,” he said, and downed the rest of his glass in one shot.
**********************************************
Hawke called the number on the card the next afternoon after a sleepless night. That was all it took for him to make up his mind. A young woman answered, “Winthorpe Holdings. How may I direct your call?”
“Uh, I’d like to get a message to Mr. Winthorpe.”
“Certainly.” There was a pause. “And what is the message, sir?”
“Could you tell him that I accept his offer? He’ll know what I’m talking about.”
“And to whom am I speaking?”
“My name is Nathan Hawke.”
“Oh! Mr. Hawke, Mr. Winthorpe instructed me to notify him immediately if you called. Will you please hold?”
“Sure.” The line was replaced by a soothing orchestral symphony. After less than a minute, Winthorpe’s enthusiastic voice cut into the string section.
“Mr. Hawke, I’m so glad you called. I wasn’t expecting to hear from you so soon. Does this mean you’re interested in my proposal?”
“I am.”
“Do you even care what I will pay you for your services?”
“I told you, I don’t care about money. I’m interested. That’s all that matters.”
“Very well, but I prefer to be upfront about such things. I am prepared to pay you the sum of thirty million credits, paid in advance, pending your signature on a legal contract.”
Hawke’s jaw dropped. “Thirty million? You could get any hot-shit pilot you want for a hundredth of that.”
“I don’t want any pilot, Mr. Hawke. I want you.”
“Why?”
“I thought I made my reasons quite clear the other day.”
“Okay, fine, but I’m going to have to familiarize myself with the ship’s cockpit and controls. When is the planned launch?”
“Three weeks from now.”
“Three weeks! You can’t prepare a mission like this in three weeks.”
“I have been making preparations for this voyage for months. You could even say years, though the exact destination wasn’t known until less than a year ago. But I can assure you, all proper safety considerations have been implemented.”
Hawke clenched his jaw. “Still, you were assuming that I would agree to this.”
“I always intended to make this journey with or without you. But for the sake of argument, let’s just say that I’m not accustomed to being turned down.”
“So you sweetened the pot.” Winthorpe chuckled. “How do you expect me to learn to fly your ship with only three weeks of training?”
“If the stories I’ve heard about you are true, you once flew a ST/A-41 Dogstar around the moon with only three hours of training. And if those same stories are true, you commandeered that craft without, ah, official authorization. Still, it’s not necessary that you even know how to fly my ship. But if it will make you feel better, I have a fully operational simulator. And the ship itself will be at your disposal. Andrea can instruct you in the primary flight controls.”
“Andrea?”
“Yes. She’s the ship’s AI, and also the default pilot.”
Hawke grimaced. “You know how I feel about that.”
“Mr. Hawke, computers perform all the flights in and around the universe. Only the military insists on having fully trained humans in the loop for all flights. But you will have clearance to take manual control any time you see fit.”
That did little to reassure him.
“In addition to my StarCruiser, I also own a fully functioning airfield on C’rinth with my own dedicated airspace. Aside from coordinating minor details with the Federal Interplanetary Agency, the usual red tape and policies associated with getting on and off the planet are conveniently…overlooked, shall we say?”
Just a little grease under the skids. “That implies the launch won’t be registered in the Global Launch Log which, in itself, poses a certain assumption of undeniable risk.”
There was a long moment of silence. “You are correct.”
What the hell am I getting myself into? “In that case, I’d like to get a copy of the flight plan. And the maintenance reports. When was her last overhaul? What’s the status of her airworthiness certification? What redundancies are built into the teleporter array? What’s the thrust-to-weight ratio of the electromagnetic coils in case we need to make an emergency landing? How many omni-directional emergency DSR beacons will you be carrying?”
“I’ll tell you what, Mr. Hawke. I’m hosting a little get-together at my house tonight. Nothing special. Just a few potential clients I’m pursuing. Why don’t you stop by? My senior scientist, Dr. Grebe, will be on hand. He can address all your concerns.”
“No, thanks. I’ve never been very fond of formal occasions.”
“Oh, it’s not really that formal, but suit yourself. The invitation still stands. And I’m sure my guests would love to meet you. You’re still something of an icon, you know. If you change your mind, just call my office number again and ask my receptionist to give you the directions.”
“I’ll think about it, but don’t count on me.”
“I understand, but you should know by now, I’m counting on you a lot.”
When he got off the phone, Hawke scoured through his appointments. There were pitifully few of them, but he made arrangements for other contractors to complete the jobs for him and notified his customers of the change, assuring them that there would be no additional cost billed to them. It was amazing how much easier it was to divest himself of this work than it had been to bring in. Still, it had taken the better part of the afternoon and evening rolled around quickly, yet his work still wasn’t done. Then there were other considerations: licenses to keep up to date, FIA airspace taxes, freighting fees, maintenance contracts, utilities, and so on. Some of these had been paid up for the year and it was unlikely they would offer him a refund. Not that it would matter once he received his lump sum windfall from his new benefactor. It was ironic, really, all those years barely scraping by. But at least now he would be able to comfortably provide for the girl once he had gone.
He fixed himself a drink and paced the office with caged intensity. He told himself it was for the best. He was so deep in his thoughts that he didn’t see or hear anyone enter until there was a polite clearing of the throat. Hawke looked up sharply.
“Am I interrupting? If this is a bad time..?” She let the question hang in the air.
He gave a smirk. “I’ve been known to say there’s no such thing as a bad time when I’m around,” he said with mock bravado. Then he let out a long, tired sigh. “But that was a long time ago, and was probably never true, anyway. No, you’re not interrupting at all. Please, have a seat.” He gestured to one of the chairs in front of the desk as he settled into the one behind it.
Betty accepted the invitation and sat.
“Would you like a drink?” he offered.
“No, thank you. I’m not one for whiskey. And from the look of you, you shouldn’t be either.”
He didn’t take offense. If anything, it was reassuring to hear the disapproval in her tone. It briefly reminded him of the old days back at the office. The Department of Space Defense. He had been a Commander then. And she, the head receptionist on the G4 level working for Vice Admiral Langolier. Since then, Langolier had retired from the military and he and his wife, Gertrude, settled into a senior living community around Wichita so his wife could be closer to his sister. At least, that’s what Ben had told him.
She was dressed in a long, jade evening gown under a light-colored long-sleeved shawl.
“Shouldn’t you be at a party?”
“I wanted to get some fresh air.”
“Does your husband know you’re here?”
She stiffened. “Of course he does.”
“He’s very trusting.”
“Why shouldn’t he be? I’ve never given him cause to be otherwise. Nor has he done so to me.”
“Still, he must be a little concerned.”
“Nathan, let me tell you something about our relationship. Winston and I keep no secrets from each other. We’re not children. And neither of us are fooling ourselves into thinking our marriage is something it’s not.”
“That doesn’t exactly sound like love.”
“Like you’re one to lecture on that subject,” she replied frostily. Hawke said nothing, his lips pressed together in a firm line. “You think I’m just some trophy wife to him. He loves me. And I love him more than you can know or understand. But that’s neither here nor there, and certainly none of your business. I support Winston in all of his aspirations.”
“He said why he wants to go, but what about you? You never expressed any interest in adventure or space travel.”
“Not that you would have known. But you’re right. I’m only going because he’s my husband.”
“That’s crap.”
“Why? Do you think I have some personal demon inside me that drives me to search for an impossible dream? Oh, wait, that’s you. Or maybe you think I have some hidden desire to kindle some passion we never had. Do you think me so shallow?”
“Well, no.”
She laughed. “Good. And make sure you get that notion out of your oversized head. It amazes me that you can’t fathom doing something for someone just for love.”
“Maybe I can.”
She nodded, politely accepting the truth behind the statement without dredging up details. “I’m glad you accepted Winston’s offer. It means a lot to him.”
“I know. He was giddy as a schoolboy on the phone.”
Betty frowned, her eyebrows creasing. He expected some sort of sarcastic retort in defense of her husband, something that reminded him of her old fire. Instead, she laughed.
“I’d completely forgotten about that silly game you used to play with Jim and, what was the Lieutenant’s name?”
“Ben Johnson.”
“That’s right.” She was momentarily lost in thought. “But your cliché is apt. He has the boundless enthusiasm of a little boy. When he talks about this, he just goes on and on. And believe me, he’s been talking about it for years. I’ve endured countless of his speeches. Anytime he embarks on a new business venture – new market areas, scientific advancement, mergers. They all pale compared to his excitement of this.”
“Well, you should tell him he’s too old to go looking for adventures. I hear they’re building a bunch of high class country clubs around Darda’Ja. He’d do better to just join one than go through with this…crusade.”
“Yet you’ve agreed to go.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not the one getting my hopes up. I don’t know what he thinks he’s going to find out there, but I’m certain it’s not going to be God…whatever else his real intentions might be,” he muttered.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Maybe I just don’t believe a man would go through all this expense to find spiritual enlightenment. Maybe I just don’t trust a man who goes by his middle name. Makes me think he’s hiding something.”
“You can tell by talking to him that it’s not true. Winston’s as genuine as they come.”
“Yeah, well, you have to be pretty good at disguising the truth to be that successful.”
She laughed. “You know absolutely nothing about the business world. In fact, you’ve always despised everything it represents. But you’re confusing shrewdness with deceitfulness. The reason Winston has been so successful is because his partners recognize the foresight of his investment strategies and respect his business acumen. But that trust had to be earned.”
Hawke’s gaze was instantly distracted by a sudden movement behind Betty. Like a white shadow, the girl slipped soundlessly into the office. She hugged the wall and moved wraith-like along it, palms down as if ready to push off. Hawke stared at her. He hadn’t even known she wasn’t in her room. She stared mutely back at him, not defiant, but sullen.
“Will you at least give me the courtesy of looking at me when I’m speaking? I swear, Nathan, what is so interesting–?” Betty turned and her lips formed into a circle. “Oh.”
Like a mouse who knows it’s been caught in the pantry, the girl bolted for the door across the room and disappeared out of sight. Hawke glared at the doorway.
“I’m sorry, Betty. You were saying?”
Betty cocked her head. “Strange. I’ve never seen one with blonde hair before.”
“She’s my daughter.”
Betty’s mouth parted in surprise, “Oh. Oh. I see. Of course. You and the Obal’Elder, the one that…I had heard, I mean…”
Once, years ago, Hawke would have derived great pleasure from Betty’s awkward embarrassment. But those days, like many things, had been gone a long time.
“I’m sorry for your loss.”
He barked a laugh. “My loss? My loss is insignificant. How about their loss?”
“I won’t argue with you. I’ll admit to getting caught up in the excitement when the M51 discovery was made, but I think it’s atrocious what we’ve done here. And so quickly. It’s like watching a time-lapse video of something beautiful shriveling into ruin.”
“Why do you think I agreed to do this? For the money? You know me better than that. The truth is I can’t bear the thought of staying here any longer. Every day is a constant reminder of how we fucked up. How I fucked up.” He poured himself another drink and took a long swig from the glass.
“What about your daughter?”
“Don’t worry. I’m making arrangements.”
She frowned. “Nathan, we could be gone for a long time. You’re her father. I can talk to Winston. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind–”
“That’s alright,” he said, cutting her off. “Don’t bother. She’ll be better off without me. Without being associated with me.”
“Surely you don’t mean that.”
“The fuck I don’t,” he snarled. “You think you know what it’s been like? You come waltzing in with your high heels and your fancy jewelry and Daddy Warbucks on your arm. What do you know from worry?” He downed the whiskey.
She wore a look of disgust. “What’s the matter with you? When did you get like this? Ever since I met you, you never cared what anyone else thought about you. That was what defined you. Your headstrong, do-it-your-way, rules-be-damned character. But now, just look at you. You’re a mess. You obviously don’t care about yourself anymore. Maybe it was a mistake coming to find you.” She started toward the door.
Hawke mentally kicked himself. “Betty, wait.” She hesitated on the verge of reaching for the handle. “Look, I’m…I’m sorry.” She let her hand drop.
She held the door open. She looked beautiful standing there, with the moonlight from C’rinth’s two moons shining behind her. It reminded him instantly of il’Naioth the night she confronted him about Man’s intentions. The memory lay so sharply in his conscience that it pained him still.
“It should come as no surprise to you that I always thought you acted like a huge ass in front of me in the office. I just didn’t know you’d become one.”
Betty closed the door sharply with a bang that echoed throughout the room until it faded and was filled by a deep, still silence.
