they would buy into the privatization of NASA with the government managing all launches and facilities, the companies assuming most costs for personnel and R&D. In effect, Lawrence was proposing to boost the space agency's budget nearly threefold without going through Congress. Moreover, government expenses on space would be cut by two billion dollars, money that Lawrence earmarked for crime fighting and education. He also suggested that one third of the new blue-collar work force for NASA be culled from welfare, making for an annual savings of half a billion dollars.
U.S. industry agreed to the plan, and Lawrence's campaign advertisements reminded Americans of the lost glory of the Mercury, Gemini, and Apollo days, of blue-collar and white-collar workers laboring side by side for a common goal, of high employment and low inflation. He tied them all together, and hammered voters with views of existing spinoffs— personal computers and calculators, communications satellites and cellular phones, Teflon and portable video cameras and video games— and with visions of anticipated spinoffs— medicines to cure cancer and AIDS, space-based generators to convert solar energy into electricity to reduce costs and reliance on foreign oil, and even weather control. During the campaign, every time his opponent argued that the money would be better spent on Earth, Lawrence countered that Earth had become a sinkhole, swallowing up jobs and tax dollars, and that his plan would put an end to that? and also end foreign inroads in technological advances that were stealing American jobs.
Lawrence won handily, and as soon as he was elected he met with those same business leaders and the new heads of NASA to get some tangible results, fast, while they worked on getting the space station into orbit before the end of his first term. Leasing the abandoned Russian space station Nevsky, they put medical researchers and engineers in space, and within eighteen months Adrian Crow's press machine was touting the developments: most startling of all were images of a young medic, paralyzed below the waist in Desert Storm, playing zero-gravity basketball with an astronaut. The President had cured the lame, and it was an image people would never forget.
You could be frustrated with the man for his faults and for his frequent heavy-handedness, but you had to admire his vision. And even though his foreign policy faltered badly in the early going, he was smart enough to put together Op-Center to help run things. Burkow had argued that less bureaucracy and not more was what they needed to make things work abroad, but the President had disagreed with him on that— creating the ongoing tension between Hood and the National Security Council.
But that was okay: Paul could live with that. Compared to some of the special interest groups and political correctness monitors he'd had to deal with in Los Angeles, Burkow was a day at the beach.
Hood pulled up to the hospital, parked in the Emergency area, and hurried to the elevator. He had the room number, 834, from phoning earlier and went right up. The door of the private room was open; Sharon was slumped in the chair, eyes shut, and started when he entered. He kissed her on the forehead.
'Dad!'
Hood walked over to the bed. Alexander's voice was muffled by the clear tent, but his eyes and smile were luminous. He was wheezing slowly, his strong little chest righting hard to skim air off the top of each breath. Hood knelt on one knee.
Hood asked, 'Koopa Lord knock you for a loop, Super Mario?'
'It's the Koopa King, Dad.'
'Sorry. You know me and video games. I'm surprised you haven't got your Game Boy in there.'
The boy shrugged a shoulder. 'They wouldn't let me have it. I can't even have a comic book in here. Mom had to read me Supreme and hold up the pictures.'
'We'll have to talk about some of the comics he's been reading,' Sharon said, walking over. 'Ripping off arms and punching out teeth—'
'Mom, it's good for my imagination.'
'Don't get agitated,' Hood said. 'We'll talk about it when you're better.'
'Dad, I love my comics—'
'You'll have them,' Hood said. He touched the tent with the back of his hand, rubbing his son's cheek through it. Just now, medical advances seemed very important. He leaned closer and winked. 'You worry about getting on your feet, and we'll see about convincing your mom later.'
Alexander nodded weakly, and his father rose.
'Thanks for coming,' Sharon said. 'Crisis over?'
'No.' He wasn't sure if that was a dig, but gave her the benefit of the doubt. 'Look, I'm sorry about before, but we're really swimming through it. What are you doing about Harleigh?'
'She's going to my sister's.'
Hood nodded, then kissed Sharon. 'I'll call you later.'
'Paul—'
He looked back.
'I really don't think those comics are good for him. They're very violent.'
'So were the comics when I was a kid, and look how well adjusted I am. Severed heads, zombies, and Uncle Creepy notwithstanding.'
Sharon arched her brows and sighed heavily as Hood kissed her again. Giving Alexander a thumbs-up, he hurried to the elevator, not daring to look at his watch until he was safely inside.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
'What the hell's taking Viens so long?' Matt Stoll asked as he stared at his monitor. 'You program in the time differential, hit Search, and it should go to the start of your bogus satellite imagery.'
Phil Katzen was sitting on a bridge chair beside him, also watching the screen. While the NRO searched back through the morning's photo-file, Stoll and Katzen were running the detailed diagnostics programs on the system. The eleventh and final program was nearly completed.
'Maybe Viens didn't find anything, Matty.'
'Hell, you know that's not possible.'
'I know that. But maybe the computer doesn't.'
Stoll's lips puckered. 'Touche.' He shook his head as the last diagnostics self-exited with an AOK graphic. 'And we know that's not true either!' He resisted the urge to slap the computer. The way his luck was running, the entire system would go down again.
'There's no way the diagnostics could have been corrupted, is there?' Katzen asked.
'None. But that's what I thought about the rest of the software too. I hate to say it, Phil, but I'd give my left nostril to meet the son of a bitch who did this to me.'
'You're taking it personally, huh?'
'You bet. Hurt my software, hurt me. What gets me is not only that he outsmarted me, but he didn't leave any footprints. Not a one.'
'Let's wait and see what the NRO—'
The phone rang and the caller's ID number flashed on the rectangular screen. 'Speak of the devil,' Stoll said as he hit the Speaker button. 'Stoll here.'
'Matty, it's Steve. Sorry it took so long, but the computer showed that there was no problem so I decided to check the photos themselves.'
'My apologies.'
'For what?'
'For bitching to my pal Phil, here, about you taking so long. What'd you find?'
'Just what you said we would. A photo that came in at 7:58.00.8965 this morning? exactly.001 seconds late. And guess what? It's full of rolling thunder that wasn't there.8955 seconds before.'
'This is fucking amazing,' Stoll said. 'Put 'em on my screen, would you? And, Steve— thanks much.'
'You're welcome. Meanwhile, is there anything we can do to purge the system?'
'Can't say until I've looked at the pictures. I'll get back to you ASAP.'
