12
Free from the glare of skeptical senators and whatever machinations Cheever had in mind, Traci could finally begin to process what she’d just learned. Before she could ask any questions of her own after the hearing, the administrator had swiftly exited with her chief scientist in tow, offering no further explanation. It confirmed that she and Roy had in fact been there as decorations, only to have their plans blown up in the most dramatic way possible. She had mustered all of her prior military experience to maintain a professional bearing as they left the hearing. Inside, her stomach was doing backflips and her knees trembled.
Wormhole. Something out of science fiction, right here in their solar system. Even if they ignored Jack’s predicament, shouldn’t that make them want to send a crew to investigate?
That single, shocking revelation had thrown the committee into a furor. It was hard to catch seasoned politicians by surprise, but by God Cheever had done it. If she’d wanted a bombshell to cement her position then she’d found it with Trumbull, though judging by the member’s reactions she may have been too clever by half. Perhaps there was still a chance to salvage this, to put an actual crewed mission together.
Roy had silently remained by her side, and now took her gently by the elbow. “Need to sit?”
She looked up and down the expansive hallways, swarming with busy staffers doing presumably important things, and suddenly felt claustrophobic. “No . . . I need some fresh air.”
“Then let’s get out of here. There’s a car waiting outside.”
“Go without me,” she said with a wave. “I’ll walk.”
“Sure. See you at the hotel later, okay?” He wanted to talk this through with her but recognized her need for space.
“Absolutely.” She gave him an impromptu hug and headed for the nearest exit. After the cloistered, heavy presence of the Capitol building it was like opening the airlock to head out on a spacewalk. She took a long, cleansing breath and considered what to do next. Digging deep into her purse, she retrieved a worn slip of paper with a single phone number, devoid of any context other than a set of initials.
Traci soon found her way to the open greenspace of the National Mall where she could hopefully escape prying eyes and listening ears. She stared at the phone number, debating her next move. It had been given to her after returning to Earth and had been called exactly once in the years since, just in thanks for the gesture. She’d considered it “emergency use only,” the open-in-case-of-fire or airstrike-on-her-own-position option. When she needed the big guns brought to bear, this was who to call.
She reached back into her purse and pulled out an old, prepaid plastic cell phone her father had given her after she’d been released from the hospital. He hadn’t trusted the tightening social surveillance net, and the old man had been proven right too many times over. Such antiquated devices couldn’t be purchased anywhere now, not unless she wanted to take a chance on the burgeoning black market.
As she dialed the number, she glanced over her shoulder to ensure she was well out of earshot of any listeners, human or otherwise, and resenting the clandestine game itself almost as much as the need for it.
The line picked up on the sixth ring, her contact no doubt wondering where the call was coming from. A female voice answered guardedly: “Penny Stratton.”
She drew in a breath. Here goes nothing. “Ms. Stratton? This is Traci Keene from—”
“About time you called,” the woman interrupted. “For a while there I thought you might be back in an induced coma, but then I do keep up with goings-on back at the shop.”
She was tempted to ask exactly how, but then the former NASA administrator had a deep bench of contacts. “I apologize for not keeping in touch, ma’am. Life has been a little strange since we got back.”
A sympathetic groan came from the other line. “No apologies necessary, dear. It’s been strange for all of us. And for goodness’ sake, don’t call me ‘ma’am.’ I’m not your boss anymore. Or your mother.”
There was an uncomfortable pause, Stratton leaving the conversational ball in Traci’s court. She still wasn’t sure how she was going to play this. “I wouldn’t be bothering you if it wasn’t important.”
“You also wouldn’t be calling me from a burner phone,” Stratton pointed out. “How old is that thing, anyway?”
The dreaded social credit bots, informing on her again. Perhaps nothing was safely anonymous anymore. “No idea. It’s a gift from a couple years ago, and it was antiquated then. This seemed like the time to use it.”
“I presume you have something delicate you’d like to discuss? Something you’d rather keep official NASA out of?”
The lady had a reputation for getting right to the point. “I do. Are you aware they’ve found Magellan?”
“I’ve heard the rumors,” she said lightly. “Can’t say who or from where, you understand. But I gather some paperhanger at headquarters decided the news needed to stay under wraps.”
She paused, considering how much to share of what she’d only recently learned herself. It was almost too much to believe and rehearsing it in her mind hadn’t made it sound any less incredible. For now, she punted. “They have their reasons,” and not necessarily good ones, she thought. “In fact I just came out of a closed-door Senate hearing and can barely believe it myself. But it’s created a more practical problem, an urgent one that you might be able to help with.”
“I’m listening.”
Traci jumped right in. “Jack Templeton is alive. He has limited resources and not nearly enough delta-v to make it home before his consumables run out.” Being a former astronaut herself, she counted on Stratton immediately grasping his predicament.
“And the official line is it was a risk he knew he was taking. Almost a certainty, in fact,” Stratton said, then drew the obvious conclusion herself. “You want to go after him.”
She swallowed. “I do.”
“Yourself? What’s your medical status?”
She explained her long history with the medical examiners. “I’m good, but the flight surgeons won’t clear me for a mission.”
“So you could get a job flying commercial spaceplanes,” Stratton said with a mordant chuckle, “while the agency has you flying a desk. What are you doing now?”
“Future Applications.”
“The office where they send astronauts out to pasture. Any chance you investigated how to take Columbus on a high-energy run across the solar system?”
“You read my mind.”
“I’m just good at solving puzzles.” Stratton paused. “You know, some might say this is divine intervention to put you in just the right place at the right time.”
Traci knew the former administrator had spent time as a missionary pilot, and yet she was surprised at her suggestion. “Yes . . . I sometimes wonder that myself.”
“The longer you live, the more you’ll wonder. Life’s funny that way.” Stratton paused again. Was she thinking through options, or thinking about hanging up? “Are you still in D.C.?”
“Yes. I’m staying at the Hyatt.”
“Can’t meet there,” Stratton said. “Too many ears. I know a place. Just go about your normal routine while you’re in town. I’ll find you tomorrow.”