“That’s up to the president, but I imagine it will wind up in the Smithsonian.”
“And what about you?”
Bucky smiled. “My crew”—he indicated them—“and I are returning to the Moon. Jerry Culpepper, whose help has been invaluable since he joined us and who is now my second-in-command, will be in charge of Blackstone Enterprises while we’re gone”—that’s for your loyalty and for doping out the clue, Jerry, thought Bucky as Jerry looked his surprise—“and will make any decisions that need to be made. We leave in seven weeks.”
“Don’t you mean seven months?” suggested another.
Bucky shook his head. “We’re not the government. We don’t need half a year of debriefing.”
“So you’re really going back?”
“We are,” said Bucky. “It’s a big world. Even Cassegrain Crater is a pretty big place. There may be other artifacts we missed.” He paused, trying to contain his enthusiasm. “And this time, nothing’s going to stop me from walking on the Moon.”
“Really?” asked still another journalist. “But you’re fifty-eight years old!”
“Then there’s no time to waste, is there?” he replied with a happy smile.
“Aren’t you at all apprehensive? You had a clean trip last time, but a lot can go wrong.”
“True. But it could have gone wrong for you when you were driving here tonight.” He paused and looked into the cameras. “It’s 240,000 miles from here to the Moon. Last time I made it 239,990.” A huge grin. “This time I’m going all the way—and just between you, me, and the three or four billion people who are watching and listening to us right now, I can hardly wait.”
The Cassandra Project Page 36
