with the eyes of eternity, as your equals on the earth, and you want to live and let live. That’s why so many of us here-”
He stopped in mid-sentence. General Fortney and the Operations Director had walked back to join them again.
Fortney said to Dilman, “Had enough of this?”
Dilman smiled. “I find I like it up here. But I guess it’s time to get down to earth.”
In the elevator he studied General Leo Jaskawich with new interest. During an era already becoming jaded from continuous space exploits and achievements, Jaskawich was a special hero. He was the only astronaut to have been in orbit three times, once alone and then twice in the two-man Gemini capsule for six days. His physical aspect was deceptively average, in no proportion matching his legend. Dilman judged the astronaut to be perhaps five feet ten inches in height, and weighing around 160 pounds. His hair was short-cropped and sunblanched, his eyes quick and kind, his nose the most prominent feature on his swarthy Lithuanian face. He wore his uniform not as a martinet would, but with the confidence of one who had earned it through calculated and accepted risk. Not since Dilman had first met Nat Abrahams, and later The Judge and Tim Flannery, had he so quickly allowed himself to like and trust another being.
After that, for the remainder of their ground tour about the heart of Cape Kennedy, Dilman was entirely attentive to Leo Jaskawich. Especially in Hangar R, where rested the enormous Apollo spacecraft, with its two outer bays for equipment, that would hold three astronauts and bring them within 40,000 feet of the surface of the moon, did Dilman appreciate Jaskawich’s eloquence and become infected by the astronaut’s enthusiasm over the approaching lunar exploration.
The last stop before riding out to the beach was the horseshoe-shaped, one-story dormitory where the new astronauts, twelve in number, now training for the next Apollo flight, were supposed to reside while on the base.
As they examined the neat, furnished rooms, Jaskawich stated, “Ten of them live here, while their families live in Cocoa Beach.”
Some inconsistency joggled inside Dilman’s head. “Ten live here? I thought you said there were twelve in training.”
Before Jaskawich could reply, General Fortney brusquely intervened. “A couple of them preferred to stay in the old barracks. It’s the same as this. They’re doing special work that keeps them up later. Let’s move on.”
As he started away with the directors and public relations officers, Dilman held Jaskawich back. “Those other two, who are they? Why are they living separately?”
For the first time, Jaskawich appeared uneasy. “They are Negroes, sir,” he said.
“But I thought this place was-”
“I know, Mr. President,” Jaskawich said sadly. “When I spoke of a new breed of men that had grown out of this program, I meant the ones who had experienced orbital flight or been thoroughly indoctrinated for it. The new trainees are just groundlings, and while they are superior in some respects, they still carry the infection of groundling education and prejudices. Officially, like all military installations since 1951, this is a desegregated base, entirely so. But if two newcomers are made to feel-well-different, and know they’ll have more peace of mind for concentrating on their training if they can remove themselves from social abrasion, they do so, they volunteer. I don’t think our two colored astronauts give a damn. They’re too devoted to the work. That’s all that counts. Eventually, I promise you, the others will be inviting them back to this building.” He hesitated, and then added, “Even when done on a so-called voluntary basis, I didn’t back this segregation. I’m not running the show, but I stepped out of channels long enough to buck a note up to Fortney at the Pentagon. I never had a reply. Maybe Fortney never saw it.”
“Maybe he did,” said Dilman. “He knows what is going on here.”
“Dammit, I’m sorry, Mr. President.”
“You’ve done your best. Now I’ll do mine. You see that I have a memorandum waiting for me at the White House, reminding me to order that all the astronaut trainees on the Cape henceforth, whatever their wish or anyone else’s, live in the same quarters, receive the same food and teaching, without discrimination or favoritism. You can bet I’ll act on it.”
Jaskawich’s eyes were bright. “You’ll have that memo. Thank you, Mr. President.”
“To everyone else I may be a groundling, but you and I know, General, I’ve been up there and returned.” Dilman started to go, then had an afterthought and stopped. “Tell me, General Jaskawich, are you permanently assigned to Cape Kennedy?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What do you do here?”
“I’m supposed to teach,” he said, and then he grinned. “I don’t really. There are a hundred men who can handle that better than I can. I’m not a teacher, I’m a doer type. I was supposed to direct the Apollo operation, but that was just publicity. I’m really based here to guide eminent visitors around, like congressmen, especially the ones on appropriation committees, or columnists, who can give us the right public image. I’m reduced to the profession of being an animated monument or showpiece. I make commencement addresses, too. Very good ones, I might add.”
“Are you going to be sent up again?”
“I’m afraid not, Mr. President. I’m past my thirty-fourth birthday, and the limit for men going into space is now thirty-five.”
Dilman took out a cigar and busied himself with it, and then remembered to offer Jaskawich an Upmann. “Allowed to smoke?”
“Absolutely,” said Jaskawich. “But no, thanks, that cigar is too much for me. Mind if I have one of my own?”
“Go ahead.”
Jaskawich took out a slender cheroot and his crested lighter, hastily lit the President’s cigar first and then his own cheroot. He inhaled. “Good,” he said.
“Tell me,” Dilman said, “do you like Washington?”
“I like any place where there’s action and challenge, and I guess that describes Washington.”
“It certainly does,” said Dilman. He resumed walking, with Jaskawich keeping in stride beside him. “I was thinking,” Dilman went on, “how much we could use-in the Pentagon, maybe even in the White House-the judgment of a person who has been a little closer to heaven than any of us are ever likely to be.” He cast the astronaut a speculative glance. “Think you’d be interested?”
“Mr. President,” said Jaskawich fervently, “you signal retrofire-and Washington’s where I’ll land.”
“All right,” said Dilman, “you stand by, and when I-”
Dilman came to a jarring halt, teetering for a moment, waiting, as he stared straight ahead. He could see Tim Flannery rushing up the dormitory corridor toward him. At once, discerning the upset expression twisted across the press secretary’s usually pleasant countenance, Dilman’s heart began to hammer. Gone were his cheer and high hopes of the past minutes.
“Mr. President, I wanted to catch you before you went outside,” Flannery said breathlessly. “The reporters and photographers are piling up out there, waiting for you. I had Fortney order guards to hold them in line a few minutes. It’s just happened, Mr. President-goddamit-” The redhead’s freckled face became contorted, and Flannery looked as if he might weep. “The vote in the House, it’s over-” he said brokenly.
Curiously, Dilman suffered no pang of fear, and no hurt. He said quietly, not as a question, as a flat statement of fact, “I’ve been impeached.”
“Yes-goddamit, it’s terrible-I don’t know what-”
Dilman’s hand touched Flannery’s shoulder. “Easy, Tim. Details are unimportant, but-was it close?”
“The vote was 287 for impeachment, 161 against it.”
Dilman nodded. “I see. The voice of the people.”
“The voice of bigotry!” Jaskawich exclaimed fiercely.
Dilman licked his lips, and was embarrassed by his uncontrollable Adam’s apple. “Well,” he said, with a slight shrug. His eyes moved from Jaskawich to Flannery. “What next, Tim?”
“According to the radio, an announcement just came from the Senate Office Building-no wonder they call it SOB-it came from Senator Hankins. He said the Senate will be convened as a High Court, and be ready to try you a
