Power Failure

by Ben Bova

  “Private space corporations’ efforts in space,” Jackson corrected. “Not NASA’s.”

  “We won’t be competing against NASA!”

  “Of course you will.” Jackson said it softly, almost gently. But he said it.

  Jake objected, “But the money will come from private investors, not the government.”

  Jackson took another swig of ginger beer, then put his bottle on the carpeted floor and asked, “How much do you know about biology?”

  “Biology?”

  With a patient smile, Jackson explained, “If there’s one thing I’ve learned in my years in this industry, it’s that government agencies—and private corporations, too—both behave like living organisms. They struggle to survive, to grow. They eat money and excrete hardware, plus an awful lot of paperwork.

  “NASA was created by the Eisenhower administration for a political purpose: to counter Soviet Russia’s successes in space, to win the Space Race. Actually, to make a race of it. Then Kennedy came along and told NASA to get us to the Moon before the Russians could get there. NASA did that, and for its reward the agency was nearly destroyed by the Nixon administration.”

  “That’s all ancient history,” Jake said.

  “Yes, but it’s part of NASA’s heritage, part of the agency’s DNA. Like a biological organism that strives to live and grow, NASA is very sensitive to threats against its existence.”

  “But we’re not a threat to NASA!” Jake insisted. “We’re on their side.”

  “Not from the way they see it. The agency has been patiently building the Orion spacecraft and the SLS booster, aiming toward crewed missions to Mars and beyond.”

  “And Congress hasn’t authorized the Mars missions.”

  “And now here you come with your ‘Back to the Moon’ plan. You want to set up a base on the Moon and build solar power satellites—”

  “Just a demonstration satellite, to prove that space solar power can work, that we can deliver baseload electrical power from space. Once we’ve done that, private enterprise can build more powersats.”

  Jackson nodded. “I understand. But don’t you see how it looks to NASA? You’re invading their turf.”

  Jake sat there and stared at the man.

  Jackson went on, “Your plan will push NASA into the background, make it easier for Congress to whittle down the agency’s appropriation, push Mars further away from them. And if you move NASA away from their Mars objective, you’ll be leaving Mars to the Mars Habitat League and other private organizations that haven’t the funding or the technical know-how for successful Mars missions. In the end, when these private missions fail, NASA can say that your ‘Back to the Moon’ program killed the people who died trying to reach Mars.”

  Jake sagged back in his chair. “But that’s not true! That’s not what we’re trying to do, not at all.”

  Jackson simply shrugged and reached for the soda bottle at his feet.

  His thoughts whirling, Jake asked the older man, “What can I do to prevent such a mess?”

  A smile crept across Jackson’s face. Leaning toward Jake, he replied, “First, convince NASA’s top brass that you’re not their enemy. Make room in your plan for real NASA involvement.”

  “But how?”

  “Get NASA involved in building your Moon base. Let the agency help with building your demonstration power satellite. God knows they’ve got the expertise. Don’t ignore them, make them part of your plan.”

  Jake realized he was biting his lip. It hurt. “Involve NASA in the plan.”

  “Let them make a major contribution.”

  “A real cooperative effort between the government and the private sector.”

  “Cooperation, not competition,” said Jackson. “That’s the ticket.”

  Iowa

  “I wish you’d come with me,” Tami said.

  Jake replied, “I wish I could.” But he shook his head. “Too much to do here. I’ve got this meeting with NASA’s top management, and a ton of work to get ready for it.”

  They were in their bedroom. Tami was packing her roll-along suitcase for a trip to Iowa, where Senator Tomlinson was making a dozen campaign appearances in three days.

  “I don’t like to leave you alone,” Tami said, as she tucked a zippered bag of toiletries into the suitcase.

  “I’ll be okay,” said Jake, standing by the bedroom doorway, watching her. “You just be careful with those news guys. Don’t let them buy you drinks.”

  Tami stared at him.

  “Well, you’re a damned attractive woman, and you’ll be all alone out there in the Wild West.”

  “While you’ll be on your own in the nation’s capital with a million single women.”

  “I’ll be too busy working to notice any of them.”

  “Same here,” she said.

  Almost whispering, Jake said, “I love you, Tami.”

  She melted into his arms. “I’ll phone you every night.”

  “I’ll be here,” he said. Then he added, “Or at the office.”

  * * *

  The first evening Tami was away, Jake sat in their living room eating half a pizza and watching Tomlinson on the TV news while he waited for his wife to phone.

  The senator attracted a good deal of media attention on his whirlwind tour through the state. He spoke at a county fair, a tractor factory that was about to close up, and on the campus of the university at Ames.

  Outdoors under the summer sun, in his shirtsleeves, bareheaded, Tomlinson told a surprisingly large crowd of mostly students:

  “Six years ago, when our energy plan went into effect, I wasn’t very popular in these parts.” A few scattered laughs from the audience. “The farming industry didn’t like our plan’s de-emphasis on ethanol additives to gasoline.

  “But today, energy costs are lower, our nation’s carbon footprint has been reduced by more than 10 percent, and American farmers are feeding the world once again.”

  Cheers from the crowd.

  “Today we face a new challenge and a new opportunity,” Tomlinson went on. “It’s time we used our space technology to create new industries, create millions of new jobs for Americans, and lead the human race back on the path to the stars.”

  The predominantly young audience roared its approval.

  “It’s time to unleash the energy, the creativity, the skills of the American people to develop a new frontier in space.

  “It’s time to go back to the Moon. And this time we’ll be going back to stay.”

  Wild cheers. Tomlinson stood on the podium, handsome, smiling, youthful, vigorous.

  Jake glanced at the clock on the wall next to the TV: a little past seven thirty and Tami hasn’t called yet. She must be pretty busy. Besides, it’s an hour earlier out there.

  The TV had switched to a pair of news analysts discussing Tomlinson’s speech: both males, both middle-aged, both wearing dark suits, plenty of makeup and—Jake guessed—beautifully coiffed toupees.

  “Senator Tomlinson appeared to win over his audiences,” said the first analyst.

  “Especially the college students,” agreed the other.

  “His stand on farm subsidies went over well.”

  With a wry smile, “Well, he is in Iowa, after all.”

  “He didn’t spend much time on national defense, did he?”

  “No, but he worked up the crowd about his ‘Back to the Moon’ plan.”

  “You wouldn’t expect that in Iowa.”

  “No, that was something of a surprise.”

  “Well, his audience was mostly college students.”

  “That’s true enough. He’ll have a tougher time selling the Moon in New Hampshire.”

  Jake’s phone rang. He grabbed for it with one hand and muted the TV with the other.

  “Hello, Jake.” It wasn’t Tami’s voice.

  “Amy?”

  “Right the first time.”

  “Why aren’t you in Iowa with Frank?”

  “I’m going to h
ave to traipse across the country for the next year and more,” Amy Tomlinson replied. “I decided to stay home for this first one. You did too, huh?”

  “Yeah.” Jake’s mind was racing. Frank’s wife should be with him on the campaign trail. She shouldn’t have stayed home. It looks bad.

  “I thought maybe we two hermits could have dinner together. Nothing fancy, just here at the house.”

  Jake said, “I’m already halfway through a pizza, Amy.”

  “Hah. The bachelor’s dinner.”

  “Nature’s perfect food,” he joked. It sounded lame.

  “Want to come over for dessert?” she asked. It sounded almost suggestive. Jake immediately tossed that idea out of his mind. Don’t be an idiot! he commanded himself.

  “Uh, Amy, I’ve got a lot of work to do…”

  “Really?”

  “And I’m expecting a call from Tami any minute.”

  “Oh. Of course.”

  “Thanks for asking, though.”

  Amy sounded mildly amused as she said, “Okay. But tomorrow night, eight o’clock at the house. No sense the two of us sitting around staring at four walls.”

  Jake didn’t know what to say.

  “I won’t take no for an answer, Jake,” she said sternly.

  “Well … okay, I guess.”

  “Such enthusiasm!”

  “I’m, uh, just kind of surprised, that’s all.”

  Amy laughed lightly. “Jake, two old friends can have a dinner together without the blogs going viral over it.”

  “Yeah. I know. I’ll see you tomorrow, eight o’clock sharp.”

  “Good.” The line clicked dead.

  Two old friends, Jake thought as he hung up the phone. We were a lot more than that. Remembering their nights in bed together, he repeated, A lot more than that.

  When Tami finally called, Jake didn’t say a word about Amy. He felt rotten about it, but he didn’t say a word.

  Dinner with Amy

  At 7:58 p.m. Jake parked his silver Dart convertible well up the driveway of the Tomlinson residence, where the azalea bushes screened it from the street. Feeling slightly nervous, he went to the front door and rang the bell.

  Amy herself opened the door. Surprised, Jake gaped at her. She was wearing a light blue V-necked blouse and darker mid-thigh skirt that nicely complemented her shoulder-length honey-blonde hair.

  With an impish smile she said, “Butler’s night off.” And she gestured Jake across the threshold.

  Feeling as if he were stepping into a minefield, Jake entered the house. She led him to the library, with its makeshift bar set up on the rolling cart.

  “I’m drinking vodka and tonic,” Amy said. “What about you?”

  “Um … white wine, please.”

  Amy looked amused as she poured a Chablis and handed the long-stemmed glass to Jake.

  “Cheers,” he said, with a mechanical smile.

  They sat side by side on the room’s big sofa. Jake took a sip of the wine, then asked, “How’s Frank?”

  “Oh, he’s busy being admired,” Amy replied. “Or maybe the proper word is adored.”

  “Pat Lovett is with him, isn’t he?”

  Nodding, “Pat and a phalanx of flunkies. He’s well protected, don’t worry.”

  Jake blurted, “Are you worried?”

  “About Frank?” She almost laughed. “No, Frank’s a straight arrow. He’s trustworthy.”

  Jake wanted to ask, Are you? But he kept his suspicions to himself.

  As if she could read his mind, Amy said, “Oh, you’re thinking about that redheaded secretary of his, Francine. I got rid of her. Purely precautionary. Frank is straight-arrow all right, but he’s human. Seeing her every day … well, I decided to get rid of her.”

  “And he let you?”

  “Sure. He’d do anything for me. Oh, he might look, but he wouldn’t touch.”

  Jake didn’t know what to say.

  Amy did. “Not like me.”

  Jake felt his eyebrows climb toward his scalp.

  “Come on, Jake,” Amy said, “we had some good times together, didn’t we?”

  “Until you decided to marry Frank.” Jake was surprised at the bitterness in his tone.

  Amy blinked her innocent blue eyes. “I know I hurt you, Jake. I’m sorry. I’m willing to make up for it.”

  “I’m a married man, Amy,” he heard himself say.

  She shrugged. “So what? I’m a married woman. Your wife and my husband are a thousand miles away. Who knows what they’re up to?”

  Very carefully, Jake placed his wineglass on the coffee table and rose to his feet. “I think I’d better go home.”

  Amy stood up beside him, up to his shoulder. “And leave me all alone?”

  He nodded, unable to trust himself to speak.

  “What about dinner?”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “That’s a shame.”

  He started for the library door.

  Walking beside him, Amy asked, in a little-girl voice, “You’re not going to mention any of this to Frank, are you?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Of course not,” she mimicked. She stopped at the door. “I’m sorry if I shocked you, Jake. But think it over. We can still take up where we left off.” Then, with a sardonic grin, she added. “Well, almost.”

  Amy turned and headed back to the bar. Jake pushed through the library door and marched down the corridor, toward his car.

  Sleepless and Alone

  Jake drove home, rode the elevator from the basement garage to his top-floor unit, entered his apartment, and stood just inside his front door, trying to arrange his thoughts.

  Should I tell Tami about this? he asked himself. Should I tell Frank?

  He’d spoken to Tami in Iowa just before leaving for the shambles of a dinner with Amy. She was busy, happy, glad to be working on the Tomlinson campaign, fielding requests for interviews, appearances, breakfasts, lunches, and dinners.

  Stepping into the sitting room, Jake saw that it was just past eight thirty. Seven thirty in Iowa, he figured. Tami’s probably up to her ears in work. Or maybe dinner. He phoned her anyway, got her cheerful message: “I can’t pick up the phone right now, but if you’ll leave your name…”

  Jake cut the connection.

  As he rummaged through the refrigerator for something to microwave, Jake wondered anew if he should tell Tomlinson about Amy’s invitation. No, he answered himself firmly. But how will I be able to work with Frank after this?

  Then a new fear struck him. What if Amy tells him? What if she says I came on to her?

  No, he decided. Amy’s not stupid. Or vindictive.

  He hoped.

  Jake stretched out on the recliner in the sitting room, a thick sheaf of reports about NASA, ULA, and the fledgling private space companies spread across the coffee table, next to a half-eaten microwave dinner.

  Senator B. Franklin Tomlinson was on the TV screen, smilingly fielding questions from a trio of interviewers. Jake slipped into a troubled slumber when they started asking the senator questions about his stand on income-tax reform.

  The phone woke him. Muting the TV as he picked up the handset, Jake saw it was past midnight and the TV was showing some old black-and-white movie musical.

  Tami’s voice chirped, “You still awake?”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  “Did you see Frank’s interview? Wasn’t he terrific?”

  “They didn’t talk much about the space plan.”

  “Yes, but he came through solidly on tax reform and farm subsidies, don’t you think? And when they asked about foreign policy he worked in the space plan.”

  “I must have dozed off,” Jake confessed.

  “Poor baby,” Tami mock-consoled him. Then, more seriously, “It must be pretty lonely for you.”

  “Yeah,” Jake said tightly.

  “I’ll be home tomorrow night. We can celebrate.”

  “Yeah,” he repeated.

&nb
sp; * * *

  Jake slept fitfully, his dreams a tangle of memories of his times with Amy and her tossing him away. He’d wake up and tell himself he didn’t want her, he’d found a woman he loved who truly loved him, yet when he fell asleep again there was Amy filling his haunted dreams.

  Finally, as dawn was beginning to faintly brighten his bedroom window, Jake unwound himself from his twisted sheets and stood up to face the new day.

  He was the first one into the office, although Kevin O’Donnell was scant minutes behind him. Jake was filling the office coffee machine when O’Donnell came up to him, grinning.

  “Finally found something useful to do, eh?”

  Jake took it good-naturedly. “I’ve been demoted to my level of competency.”

  As Jake pressed the coffeemaker’s red ON button, O’Donnell said, “Sebastian’s scheduled a hearing on your space plan. Next Monday, bright and early.”

  Jake felt a pang of alarm. “But all he’s got is the preliminary plan! It doesn’t include the expanded role for NASA or—”

  “That’s good, Jake. That’s good. Our man can show Sebastian that we’re covering all the bases. Give him a surprise.”

  “You understand that what we’re after is a cooperative program,” Jake said. “NASA’s a part of it, but they’re not going to be in charge. It’s not NASA handing out contracts to the private companies. It’s more like using NASA as a resource they can call on for technical expertise.”

  O’Donnell’s face darkened. “How’s NASA feel about this?”

  “On the technical, workaday level the staff people are fine. They’re glad to be involved in getting back to the Moon.”

  “But NASA’s management?”

  Jake waggled a hand. “They’re going to need more convincing.”

  “Could be trouble,” O’Donnell said.

  “We’re going to need Frank’s powers of persuasion.”

  “And then some.”

  * * *

  Late that afternoon, Harold Quinton phoned Jake from his Space Tours, Inc., office in New Mexico. The billionaire’s normally bland, unruffled expression looked strained, upset, almost angry.

  Quinton came straight to the point. “My people tell me their contacts in NASA are talking about renegotiating our existing contract with the agency.”