by Unknown
“Why are you interested in rotation rates?” Richards asked.
“We’re curious about where these asteroids came from, where they’ve been, how often they’ve been hit, the perturbation effects of the gravity of other planets,” Doris replied. “System dynamics. The way the rocks are spinning constitutes a kind of cryptic memory of solar system history, if we can unwind the data. With enough number crunching, we can make a start.”
“Sounds tedious,” said the reporter.
“I don’t agree, and I would if anybody would—I’m supposed to be an astrophysicist. Stars and galaxies were my thing, not puny bits of rock and ice. But the oldest asteroids are made of exactly the same stuff as the stars. And they contain clues to the origin of the solar system and the Earth, and thus to the origin of human life. Also to our future.” Her words were energetic, but she’d obviously stated this argument often. “Deciphering those clues is time-consuming, but I can’t imagine any payoff more exciting.”
The young reporter looked at the astronomer’s shining, earnest face and nodded politely. “Yeah.” Travis came back into the room from whatever he’d been doing outside. Richards glanced at him. “You people give good quotes.”
“We aim to please.” Travis smiled vaguely; he seemed to have lost interest in the proceedings.
“Travis, did you look at the IAU faxgrams yet?” Doris asked him. There was a playful quality to her voice, as if she’d arranged a surprise party.
He missed her excitement. “Hm? Anything interesting?”
“I think so, yes. Right there on the console.”
Travis picked up the curling yellow scrap of paper. It was headed “Central Bureau for Astronomical Faxgrams, International Astronomical Union.” Beneath the Cambridge, Massachusetts, fax block was an identifying year and letter code. “The following asteroidal object was discovered by R. Rouse and N. Kline in analysis of CCD recordings taken on the 2.2-m UH telescope at Mauna Kea.” Dates, observed coordinates, and a table of calculated orbital elements were appended. Travis’s eyes skimmed the fax.
“What’s that?” the reporter asked.
Travis rubbed his face. “Notice of a new asteroid. Found a couple of days ago by Rouse and Kline at Mauna Kea. That pair’s the most systematic team of asteroid hunters in the world.”
“Isn’t that news?” Richards was fumbling with her recorder. “Isn’t it pretty rare?”
“No, we get notices like this dozens of times a year.” He let the paper fall to the console. “The International notifies all interested parties whenever somebody gets a fix on a new rock.”
“Travis, did you look at the elements?” Doris was staring at him, upset now and trying not very well to hold it back.
He heard the edge in her voice and saw the angry emotion. He picked up the fax again. He studied it for half a minute before comprehension dawned. “Son of a bitch.” Travis handed the fax to the middle-aged telescope driver. “Can we have those coordinates, Wally?”
“Want ’em now?” With his turquoise eyes and turquoise and silver belt buckle, the weather-beaten technician looked more the Marlboro man than the astronomer.
“If you’d be so kind.”
Wally spat something black on the floor and turned to his console. Motors hummed, the data screens scrambled, the massive dome slid, and the tall telescope tilted to new celestial coordinates.
They waited impatiently for the telescope to settle on its target, low in the southern sky. Travis looked at Doris sheepishly. “Thanks. And I owe you an apology.”
“No sweat, boss.”
“So what’s the fuss?” asked Harriet Richards, frustrated.
Travis took the fax and handed it to Doris. “This is yours. Tell her about it.”
Doris turned to address Richards, whose sense of timing had told her to aim her pistol-sized video camera and press the record button. “If these orbital elements are correct, this asteroid must have the most eccentric orbit anybody’s ever seen. It’s practically falling right into the sun.”
“Yeah, so what?” Richards pressed. “I mean, why is that important?”
“Lots of reasons. That couldn’t be a stable orbit, so this thing might have an interesting history. Practically speaking, it’s got a substantial orbital velocity—and it’s going to approximate an Earth encounter on the way in.”
“Forget hitting the Earth, she was just trying to wake me up.” Twelve hours later, Harriet Richards was in an editing suite in the NPV headquarters in Washington, cutting her story together. “Keep the bite where she says it’s falling into the sun.”
“It’s not going to hit the Earth?” the editor asked.
“Not even close—fifty times farther away than the moon.” Richards was an authority now; she had the facts and she would happily hit you over the head with them.
“Oh?” the editor murmured.
“Anyway, I mention it in the stand-up at the end. Find me Hill, in front of the dome.”
The editor tapped keys; the machine clicked and the screen displayed Travis, dramatically posed in a low-angle shot with the dome of the telescope rising behind him, glowing faintly in starlight.
“…whether its a rocky asteroid or a burnt-out comet or something in between, still it’s certainly one of the most unusual small bodies ever discovered,” Travis was saying. “Let me emphasize the excellent work by my colleagues, Rouse and Kline—”
“Want me to cut out this bit about his brilliant colleagues?” the editor asked, freezing the image.
“Yeah. If these guys had their way, every science story would be a list of other people’s names—”
Travis unfroze and continued speaking. “Our own preliminary work, which you witnessed just within the last hour here, suggests that the geology of the thing is unique. And we’re in great luck—great timing—this country has a ready spacecraft capable of the enormous velocity changes—”
“You want to stick your cut-away question in there? About ‘How are we going to get a closer look?’”
“You want I should let you do this yourself?”
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to interfere, but it’s just another talking-head piece to me,” the editor said complacently. “I mean, as long as the thing isn’t going to hit the Earth…”
“There’s more of a story here than you think,” said Richards, patting her hair. “That guy Hill would give his left nut to get a ride on Starfire—at least he worked hard to give me that impression. Maybe both nuts, considering how much radiation he claims he’s taken.”
The editor laughed; tough-talking little girls gave him a kick. “Maybe if he threw in a lung and a kidney. I cut a couple of pieces on Starfire already. Everybody wants a ride.”
Richards looked at the image of Travis on the screen. “I’m not saying he’ll make it. I’m just saying it could be fun to watch the fireworks.”
The story appeared on home screens across the nation the same evening. Earlier in the day, the science pages of the more comprehensive fax dailies, like the Global Post and New York–Los Angeles Times, had carried brief mentions of the newly discovered asteroid with the unusual orbit. The science journals, of course, despite their electronic publishing capacities, would not get to the story for days.
Travis Hill found himself on every video screen, in a story filed by NPV reporter Harriet Richards and picked up by the commercial carriers. “The asteroid’s not exactly a flying gold mine,” he said, in response to his interviewer’s question, “but it could be a flying platinum mine. The main thing is, we have the chance to see for ourselves.”
Oh, Professor Hill? How would we do that?
“We’re in great luck—great timing—this country has a ready spacecraft capable of the enormous velocity changes needed to actually visit the object.”
But Starfire’s missions are already scheduled for a year or two in advance, Professor Hill.
“That’s right. As a matter of fact, Starfire’s first operational mission, scheduled only eighteen months from no
w, is to launch a pair of solar satellites—the ship’s great power will be used to overcome the Earth’s orbital speed and launch these satellites directly into orbit around the sun. That same power can be used to match speed with the new asteroid—without impinging on Starfire’s solar mission. This is a bonus. An opportunity that comes along maybe once in a quarter of a million years—which, incidentally, is about how long the human species has been evolving from its primitive ancestors.”
But is NASA prepared to explore the surface of an asteroid, Professor Hill? Is there anyone among the present crews with the necessary expertise?
“No, an experienced exogeologist will have to be added to Starfire’s crew—virtually the only significant change in the present mission plan at this stage.”
An experienced exogeologist such as yourself, Professor Hill?
“There are many good men and women in this field.” He grinned his most engaging grin. “I’d hate to say I wasn’t one of them.”
Cut.
As soon as she said cut that night, as soon as he was off camera, Travis swayed with fatigue. He had paid his respects to his fellow astronomers, the asteroid’s real discoverers, but he doubted his acknowledgments would ever make it onto the air. He was in danger of becoming one of those scientists who make themselves so famous as to arouse the bitter jealousy of their colleagues. Travis regretted the inevitable fallout, but he didn’t let it deter his sales pitch; he hoped that Rouse and Kline, whom he knew well, would not hold it against him.
He could not have predicted what actually happened. Because of the lucky timing of the newsbite, and perhaps because of his rugged good looks and his practiced video charm, Travis suddenly found himself owning an asteroid.
7
“Seems a shame to bring you all the way to Washington when I practically live in the next county”—Jack Fassio pounded Taylor Stith’s shoulder heartily—“but I just can’t seem to get home as often as I should.”
“You may be seated right away, Senator, if you wish. Your usual table.” The maître d’s cheek muscles bunched and his purple lips stretched, but the smile touched his eyes not at all.
Fassio gave Taylor a shove with his right hand and thrust out his left, aiming him toward the back of the crowded restaurant. He followed close behind Taylor, nodding at curious diners on both sides of the narrow room. “Larry…Marge,” he murmured, throwing in one enthusiastic, “Hey, how’re you?” when he spotted a young woman reporter whose name escaped him.
The senator’s usual table was up against a pink plush banquette in a corner; two waiters jerked it away from the wall so the senator and his guest could slide into their seats. Heavy linen, heavy silver, heavy wall mirrors mottled with black flecks of oxidation, heavy sauces on raw meat—it was the kind of lunch place that thrilled Taylor Stith even as it gave him indigestion. The mirrored walls were functional, for seeing and being seen, the restaurant’s raison d’être.
But Taylor had to wait through a drawn-out meal, frequently interrupted by Fassio’s kibitzers and fawners, to learn what signal the senator was here to send. After a frothy dessert, Fassio lit up a brown Sherman cigarette and leaned forward over the litter. “Taylor, you ought to know that our committee’s put out the word to the president’s staff. We insist on being presented with a quality nominee when Rosie steps down. You’re on our short list.”
“I’m honored, sir. Very honored.”
“Not surprised, I hope.”
“I’ve heard rumors of Rosie’s retirement. I haven’t put a lot of credence in them.”
“Commendable caution. But a good administrator’s got to keep his ear to the ground.”
“I certainly appreciate this opportunity to prepare, Senator.”
“Hell, nothin’ to prepare for. Your record speaks. You came out for Starfire when everybody else was sticking their heads in the sand. That’s leadership. Your innovations—permanent crews, specially—that’s brilliant administration, friend. Shuts up the whiners who scream favoritism when the astronauts have too much say in their own assignments.” A miasma of sugary smoke spilled from the senator’s lips.
“You’ve looked into this closely.” Taylor was turning as pink as the upholstery from basking in flattery, and from the effort of breathing.
“My job.” Fassio was a tall man, with the attractiveness of an aging boy. He leaned back and pulled on the brown cigarette, holding the smoke as he rasped, “Enough of that. How’s the solar satellite mission shaping up?”
“At this point we seem to be ahead of schedule.” Taylor settled deeper into the booth. “JPL and Goddard are nearing completion of the two satellite spacecraft. Our training programs are going into high gear. Starfire is in tiptop shape. We’ve given ourselves a year, but we’ll be ready before that.”
“Handled those guidance problems?” Fassio asked gruffly.
“Those were minor hardware glitches, sir.” Taylor did his best to be as gruff as Fassio, and reassuring; surely the man would have been horrified to hear anything other than that matters were well in hand. “Minor in terms of fixing them. And we’re doing extensive simulations.”
“And the crew? Made your choice?”
Taylor smirked. “Not officially. Not supposed to let that cat out of the bag quite yet.”
Fassio shrugged but did not smile. Smoke trickled from his nostrils.
Noting the impassive face, Taylor added, “But as long as it doesn’t get out…” He tugged at the skin under his jaw. “Braide and her people handled the initial flight test superbly.”
“No doubt. The first operational mission would be a fitting reward.”
“A confirmation of their good work, let’s say. As a matter of fact, I revealed my decision to Commander Braide last week. In strictest confidence.”
Fassio nodded. “Well done, Taylor. Proud you feel you can trust me.” He drew on the cigarette. “Knew it already, of course. Keep my ear to the ground, too. By the way, what thought have you given to this asteroid rendezvous proposal?” Just as Fassio asked the casual question, he dropped cigarette ashes in his lap. For several seconds his attention was diverted—
—giving Taylor a moment to think. The best he could do when Fassio looked up at him with those handsome, cold eyes, though, was stall. “What’s your thinking on an asteroid rendezvous, Senator?”
“Damn stupid to miss the chance,” Fassio snapped. “Criminal, even.” Fassio flicked his lighter at the tip of a fresh Sherman, inhaling slowly and blowing the smoke out his nose. “Some people don’t like Professor Hill, he rubs them the wrong way—but nobody in NASA has given the slightest indication that they can think for themselves on this, come up with their own plan.” The cold eyes flickered toward Taylor. “That’s exactly why we need a man like you in the top job. Somebody who’s not afraid to take a risk. And I’d say we’re talking about something that could affect the future of the whole human race here. Wouldn’t you?”
Tiny drops of sweat had appeared on Taylor’s forehead, beneath his fine brown hair. He twisted the heavy crystal water glass between his fingers. “Senator, I have to take personal responsibility for this.” Indeed he did; for the past week Taylor had adamantly opposed any official commerce with Travis Hill and had barred discussion of his proposals. But he risked nothing by assuming that Fassio knew less than he pretended. “Sometimes we get shortsighted, the things we have to deal with day in and day out.”
“An awesome responsibility.”
“But the matter will be vigorously pursued. Starting today.”
“Were it not for a few good men such as yourself…” The senator let the rest of the sentence go, busying himself crushing his cigarette and signaling the waiter for the check.
As Fassio was smearing his signature across the restaurant’s bill, the woman reporter he’d hailed earlier approached their table. “Harriet Richards, Senator. National Public Video.”
“Of course, Harriet hon. You’ve met Taylor Stith? Johnson Space Center?”
“At
a distance…Sir.” She nodded at Taylor, scrutinizing him. “I was wondering if either of you gentlemen would care to comment about rumors of a forthcoming shift in NASA administration.”
“On the record or off?” Fassio asked, conveying possession of the knowledge she sought.
“On, of course. If you can.”
“Can’t say anything about administration. Off the record, I’d say you can expect some exciting changes at NASA in the near future. Wouldn’t you say so, Taylor?”
Taylor jerked his head. Oh yes.
Fassio placed a phone call when he got back to his office. “It’s Jack. Just did a little mud wrasslin’ on behalf of your boy…My pleasure. And Al, it’s damn good to have some support from the western counties for once. Where the hell is Travis anyway? Tried to get him today…Baja? Wrong time to take a vacation…Oh, the observatory. Well, tell him to drag his ass back here when he can. Things are gonna start movin’. Listen, you didn’t send that reporter around there at lunch time, did you? From NPV?…Didn’t think you’d do that to me. We don’t want to push this tall story about Rosie retirin’ too hard. It’s already back to him, d’ya know? He’s apoplectic”—Fassio chuckled—“thinks the president is tryin’ to send him a message!”
Travis wasn’t at the observatory in Baja, although he wouldn’t have been surprised to hear his uncle claim he was. Upon his return to Austin the week before, he’d been unexpectedly called out of town…
With its bare fieldstone walls and white painted woodwork, rough wool hangings and raw clay pots and weathered ranch furniture, the roomy top floor of Travis’s house made for austere, handsome bachelor’s quarters—the decorators his mother had hired had seen to that. Somehow Travis didn’t feel at home there. He didn’t spend much time at home anyway.
