Orbital Decay
Page 38
As the sun began to set, the man opened the bottle of cheap red wine and stripped off a little bit of jerky to feed to the dog. That morsel was all he needed to win the dog’s loyalty; he crawled closer and lay his head in the man’s lap, his dirty tail thumping in the dirt as he gnawed on the tough jerky.
After a little while the sun blazed out in a haze of orange and yellow, and the stars began to appear. The man put the back of his head against the wiry trunk of the tree and stared up into the sky. Once his eyes had become adjusted to the darkness, he could make out a tiny, twinkling constellation, a round sparkle of starlight, like silver appearing against the black. He smiled and raised his bottle to the little constellation in a silent toast, then drank deeply. The dog stirred a little, tail swishing once, twice, in the dirt, and the man petted him as they both contented themselves with the warmth of each other’s company. It was a good night to be out in the desert with a friend.
Acknowledgments
THE AUTHOR EXTENDS HIS deepest gratitude to the people who helped make this novel possible: Rick Dunning, who designed Olympus Station and aided in the design of Vulcan Station, and otherwise acted as an unofficial science adviser in the creation of the backgrounds and technology; Jim Ball of NASA’s Public Affairs Office at the Kennedy Space Center, who gave me a first-class tour of the facilities and answered many questions about flight operations at the Cape; David Moja, also of the Kennedy Space Center, who lent me an enlightening half-hour of his time; Joye Patterson and Roy Fisher of the University of Missouri School of Journalism, for enabling me to take off on a couple of off-campus trips to the Cape and Washington, D.C., which allowed me to gather material while conducting postgraduate research at the same time; Ken Moore, John Hollis, and Dan Caldwell of the Nashville Science Fiction Club, who supplied me with invaluable insights, criticism, and magazine articles during the genesis of the book (and to Ken’s cats—Avco, Big Black, Pinhead, and Toker—for educating me in feline psychology); Ginjer Buchanan, who rescued this novel from the slush pile and gave me encouragement when it was needed the most; Ian Ralph, who volunteered to be the novel’s first reader and survived the experience to give me a critique; and, definitely not the least, Linda, for back rubs, patience, beer runs, and all the other big and little things.
September, 1983–October, 1986; Columbia, Missouri; Nashville, Tennessee; Washington, D.C.; Worcester, Massachusetts
About the Author
Before becoming a science fiction writer, Allen Steele was a journalist for newspapers and magazines in Massachusetts, New Hampshire, Missouri, and his home state of Tennessee. But science fiction was his first love, so he eventually ditched journalism and began producing that which had made him decide to become a writer in the first place.
Since then, Steele has published eighteen novels and nearly one hundred short stories. His work has received numerous accolades, including three Hugo Awards, and has been translated worldwide, mainly into languages he can’t read. He serves on the board of advisors for the Space Frontier Foundation and is a member of the Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers of America. He also belongs to Sigma, a group of science fiction writers who frequently serve as unpaid consultants on matters regarding technology and security.
Allen Steele is a lifelong space buff, and this interest has not only influenced his writing, it has taken him to some interesting places. He has witnessed numerous space shuttle launches from Kennedy Space Center and has flown NASA’s shuttle cockpit simulator at the Johnson Space Center. In 2001, he testified before the US House of Representatives in hearings regarding the future of space exploration. He would like very much to go into orbit, and hopes that one day he’ll be able to afford to do so.
Steele lives in western Massachusetts with his wife, Linda, and a continual procession of adopted dogs. He collects vintage science fiction books and magazines, spacecraft model kits, and dreams.
Linda Steele
All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
The excerpt from The Space Enterprise by G. Harry Stine, copyright © 1982 by G. Harry Stine, has been used by permission of the Scott Meredith Literary Agency.
Permission has been granted by Ice Nine Publishing Company, Inc., for use of lyrics from the following songs:
“U.S. Blues” Words by Robert Hunter, music by Jerry Garcia, copyright © 1974 by Ice Nine Publishing Company, Inc.
“Truckin” Words by Robert Hunter, music by Jerry Garcia, Bob Weir, and Philip Lesh, copyright © 1971 by Ice Nine Publishing Company, Inc.
“The Wheel” Words by Robert Hunter, music by Jerome Garcia and William Kreutzmann, copyright © 1971 by Ice Nine Publishing Company, Inc.
“Cumberland Blues” Words by Robert Hunter, music by Jerry Garcia and Philip Lesh, copyright © 1970 by Ice Nine Publishing Company, Inc.
“Brokedown Palace” Words by Robert Hunter, music by Jerry Garcia, copyright © 1971 by Ice Nine Publishing Company, Inc.
Copyright © 1989 by Allen M. Steele
Cover design by Michel Vrana
978-1-4804-3992-4
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