Providence - Max Barry Page 0,4

“Yes,” Gilly said.

Len eyed him another moment, then turned to Anders. “Paul, there will be two empty seats beside your uncle.”

Those would be for Anders’s brothers, who had been lost in an earlier engagement of the war. There was a third brother who’d taken his own life, Gilly knew, as well as a father who had drunk himself to death. The only member of Anders’s family to attend the launch was an uncle, who, when they’d been allowed to mingle this morning, had repeatedly squeezed Gilly’s shoulder and entreated him to invest in his mattress store.

“The governor will deliver the opening address,” said Len. “Six minutes. For this part, you just need to stand still and look attentive. We then have a two-minute spiritual but strictly nondenominational blessing, during which you may look down or skyward. Alternate between the two as your heart tells you. But please do not, repeat, not, make eye contact with families, wave at anyone, or give off the impression of being bored or distracted.” He eyed Gilly. “Understood?”

“Got it.”

“There are times when your bumbling obliviousness to protocol is seen as endearing,” Len said. “I just want to make it clear: This would not be one of those times.”

“I’ve got it,” he said.

“I believe in you,” Len said, and looked at Gilly a moment longer, which, Gilly felt, undermined the message. “After this, we get into the politicians and corporates.” He rattled off a few names, only some of which Gilly recognized. He’d spent the last year being trained by Service but was still technically a civilian: an employee of Surplex, the company that had built the ship. Of the crew of four, he was the only one who didn’t have a military background. He was also the youngest, at twenty-six, beating out Beanfield by six months.

“At one point, the admiral will refer to your husband,” Len said to Jackson, who was gazing out the window at the gantry. She’d put on dark sunglasses, which made Gilly wonder how much she could see. The van’s weak interior light carved lines into her face. Jackson had a decade over any of them, coming up on forty. “He may ask him to stand up, or may just call attention to him. Neither of you need to do anything. I just want you to know there will be this moment of acknowledgment.”

“That’s fine,” said Jackson.

“Then the admiral will face you and say something like ‘So are you up to the job?’ And you’ll say . . .” He pointed at Gilly.

“Well, our job is pretty simple,” Gilly said. “When the ship detects salamanders, we attend station. Beanfield goes to Life, Anders to Weapons, Jackson to Command. I attend Intel, back where you can feel the engines. Then we pound everything in a thousand-mile radius into bite-size pieces.”

“Rousing,” Len said. “If, however, we want to sound a more upbeat note . . .”

Beanfield said, “We’re going to spend every day working to repay the faith that nine billion people across two hundred countries have placed in us. If we’re not up to it, we’re sure going to try.”

“Better. Maybe lose the part about two hundred countries.”

“I always say that. Shouldn’t I be inclusive?”

“As a rule, yes,” said Len. “However, some of our international allies are yet to fully discharge their funding commitments for Providence Five, or, just between us, to begin discharging them at all, and the negotiations are ongoing. I’d like to steer clear of that whole area.”

“Also there aren’t two hundred countries,” Gilly said. “I think it’s one ninety-six.”

Beanfield looked at him.

“I guess you were approximating,” Gilly said.

“Also a fair point,” said Len. “Let’s not accidentally grant statehood to any unrecognized nations. Every flag on that stage has been carefully positioned so we can get an angle of the four of you with the Stars and Stripes behind and the ship visible above.”

“Visible?” Gilly said. It was a popular idea that you could see the ships being built from Earth. But they were the tiniest of dots, little pinpricks distinguishable only at night.

“Sure,” said Len, “after a few filters and adjustments.”