displays advertising, we are prohibited from launching it!'
'That's right,' Senator Sexton said. 'And if elected, I will work to abolish that antisponsorship legislation. That is a promise. Space should be open for advertising the way every square inch of earth is open to advertising.'
Sexton gazed out now at his audience, his eyes locking in, his voice growing solemn. 'We all need to be aware, however, that the biggest obstacle to privatization of NASA is not laws, but rather, it is public perception. Most Americans still hold a romanticized view of the American space program. They still believe NASA is a necessary government agency.'
'It's those goddamned Hollywood movies!' one man said. 'How many NASA-saves-the-world-from-a- killer-asteroid movies can Hollywood make, for Christ's sake? It's propaganda!'
The plethora of NASA movies coming out of Hollywood, Sexton knew, was simply a matter of economics. Following the wildly popular movie Top Gun-a Tom Cruise jet pilot blockbuster that played like a two-hour advertisement for the U.S. Navy-NASA realized the true potential of Hollywood as a public relations powerhouse. NASA quietly began offering film companies free filming access to all of NASA's dramatic facilities-launchpads, mission control, training facilities. Producers, who were accustomed to paying enormous on-site licensing fees when they filmed anywhere else, jumped at the opportunity to save millions in budget costs by making NASA thrillers on 'free' sets. Of course, Hollywood only got access if NASA approved the script.
'Public brainwashing,' a Hispanic grunted. 'The movies aren't half as bad as the publicity stunts. Sending a senior citizen into space? And now NASA is planning an all-female shuttle crew? All for publicity!'
Sexton sighed, his tone turning tragic. 'True, and I know I don't have to remind you what happened back in the eighties when the Department of Education was bankrupt and cited NASA as wasting millions that could be spent on education. NASA devised a PR stunt to prove NASA was education-friendly. They sent a public school teacher into space.' Sexton paused. 'You all remember Christa McAuliffe.'
The room fell silent.
'Gentlemen,' Sexton said, stopping dramatically in front of the fire. 'I believe it is time Americans understood the truth, for the good of all of our futures. It's time Americans understand that NASA is not leading us skyward, but rather is stifling space exploration. Space is no different than any other industry, and keeping the private sector grounded verges on a criminal act. Consider the computer industry, in which we see such an explosion of progress that we can barely keep up from week to week! Why? Because the computer industry is a free-market system: It rewards efficiency and vision with profits. Imagine if the computer industry were government-run? We would still be in the dark ages. We're stagnating in space. We should put space exploration into the hands of the private sector where it belongs. Americans would be stunned by the growth, jobs, and realized dreams. I believe we should let the free-market system spur us to new heights in space. If elected, I will make it my personal mission to unlock the doors to the final frontier and let them swing wide open.'
Sexton lifted his snifter of cognac.
'My friends, you came here tonight to decide if I am someone worthy of your trust. I hope I am on the way to earning it. In the same way it takes investors to build a company, it takes investors to build a presidency. In the same way corporate stockholders expect returns, you as political investors expect returns. My message to you tonight is simple: Invest in me, and I will never forget you. Ever. Our missions are one and the same.'
Sexton extended his glass toward them in a toast.
'With your help, my friends, soon I will be in the White House… and you will all be launching your dreams.'
Only fifteen feet away, Gabrielle Ashe stood in the shadows, rigid. From the den came the harmonious clink of crystal snifters and the crackle of the fire.
58
In a panic, the young NASA technician dashed through the habisphere. Something terrible has happened! He found Administrator Ekstrom alone near the press area.
'Sir,' the technician gasped, running up. 'There's been an accident!'
Ekstrom turned, looking distant, as if his thoughts were already deeply troubled with other matters. 'What did you say? An accident? Where?'
'In the extraction pit. A body just floated up. Dr. Wailee Ming.'
Ekstrom's face was blank. 'Dr. Ming? But… '
'We pulled him out, but it was too late. He's dead.'
'For Christ's sake. How long has he been in there?'
'We think about an hour. It looks like he fell in, sank to the bottom, but when his body bloated, he floated up again.'
Ekstrom's reddish skin turned crimson. 'Goddamn it! Who else knows about this?'
'Nobody, sir. Only two of us. We fished him out, but we thought we better tell you before-'
'You did the right thing.' Ekstrom exhaled a weighty sigh. 'Stow Dr. Ming's body immediately. Say nothing.'
The technician felt perplexed. 'But, sir, I-'
Ekstrom put a large hand on the man's shoulder. 'Listen to me carefully. This is a tragic accident, one I deeply regret. Of course I will deal with it appropriately when the time comes. Now, however, is not the time.'
'You want me to hide his body?'
Ekstrom's cold Nordic eyes bore down. 'Think about it. We could tell everyone, but what would that accomplish? We're about an hour off from this press conference. Announcing that we've had a fatal accident would overshadow the discovery and have a devastating effect on morale. Dr. Ming made a careless mistake; I have no intention of making NASA pay for it. These civilian scientists have taken enough of the spotlight without my letting one of their slipshod errors cast a shadow over our public moment of glory. Dr. Ming's accident remains a secret until after the press conference. Do you understand?'
The man nodded, pale. 'I'll stow his body.'
59
Michael Tolland had been at sea enough times to know the ocean took victims without remorse or hesitation. As he lay in exhaustion on the expansive sheet of ice, he could just make out the ghostly outline of the towering Milne Ice Shelf receding in the distance. He knew the powerful Arctic current flowing off the Elizabethan Islands spiraled in an enormous loop around the polar ice cap and would eventually skirt land in northern Russia. Not that it mattered. That would be months from now.
We've got maybe thirty minutes… forty-five at the most.
Without the protective insulation of their gel-filled suits, Tolland knew they would be dead already. Thankfully, the Mark IXs had kept them dry-the most critical aspect of surviving cold weather. The thermal gel around their bodies had not only cushioned their fall, but it was now helping their bodies retain what little heat they had left.
Soon hypothermia would set in. It would start with a vague numbness in limbs as the blood retreated to the body's core to protect the critical internal organs. Delirious hallucinations would come next, as the pulse and respiration slowed, cheating the brain of oxygen. Then, the body would make a final effort to conserve its remaining heat by shutting down all operations except the heart and respiration. Unconsciousness would follow. In the end, heart and respiration centers in the brain would stop functioning altogether.
Tolland turned his gaze toward Rachel, wishing he could do something to save her.
The numbness spreading through Rachel Sexton's body was less painful than she would have imagined.
