* * *
ANDREW Y. MCGRUDER—Big Andy to his constituents—was appropriately named. He was about six-five, and, on Union, had probably shed 260 pounds. His black hair was turning gray around the temples and thinning on top. He wore khaki slacks and a white pullover sweater. Priscilla had seen him often enough on HV to know he was not the usual sort of politician, who would tell voters anything to keep them happy. He was capable of learning and had shown it by reversing himself on some issues, like the general-purpose tax. And he seemed perfectly willing to admit he’d made mistakes. Not qualities she expected to see in a politician. He’d paid a price for it. His opponents routinely accused him of being a flip-flopper. Nevertheless, she didn’t like the guy. And it wasn’t just his stand on space exploration. There was something in his eyes that told her he couldn’t be trusted.
He was standing by one of the portals, surrounded by about forty people, half of them techs. The Sydney Thompson was docked outside, its prow visible to the reporters, who were taking his picture and asking questions. “It’s good to be here,” he said. “Don’t misunderstand me. These people have performed some incredible feats. I mean, you look out there and think about what we’ve accomplished and—” He shook his head. “It makes me proud.”
“Then why,” asked one of the reporters, “are you trying to close them down?”
“I’m not.” He shook his head adamantly. “I’m trying to save the program. But you know as well as I do that the country can’t sustain the current costs. Nor can the other members of the WSA. As it’s now constituted, the space effort is a drag on everybody.
“I know the argument: Kosmik and Celestial and the Stellar Express and the other private corporations are doing pretty well. But it’s happening on the backs of the taxpayers. If the corporations want space travel, that’s fine. But they should be paying for it.
“Look, we haven’t really learned how to do this yet. We lose people, and we lose resources. We had that pilot killed a few weeks ago. We don’t like to admit it, but we have to face reality. We can stagger ahead a few more steps. But if we do, it’s all coming down. And I assure you, if the WSA collapses, if we have to close down the Wheel, it will be the end. We will not be coming back. At least not in the lifetime of anybody here. So I say let’s use some sense. Let’s draw down now. We can wait, give it some time, and eventually”—he raised both arms to encompass the docks, the Thompson, the operations area, the Wheel itself—“eventually, maybe we can restore and reinvigorate all of this.”
Patricia McCoy stood off to one side, watching. Frank headed directly for her. “How’s it been going?” he asked, in a whisper.
“Could be worse.” She looked at Priscilla. “You okay?”
“I’m good, Patricia.”
“All right. Be careful what you say.” She led her over to a guy who was obviously part of the governor’s team. “Here she is, Claude.”
Claude was an elderly African-American. He glanced at Priscilla, apparently appraising her, and signaled approval. Their eyes never met. He held up his left arm in McGruder’s line of sight and signaled this was the one.
McGruder didn’t react. He finished what he was saying, something about how the resources we save now will grow and ultimately rescue the space effort down the line. Then he broke off. “There’s a young lady who just came in that I’d like you all to meet. Priscilla Hutchins, would you come up and say hello, please?” He delivered a smile that had become, because of its charm, a significant factor in the campaign. The guy, she thought, would get a considerable slice of the women’s vote. The reporters backed away and made room for her. Claude gave her a gentle push.
“I’m sure everybody here,” said the governor, “knows Priscilla Hutchins. She’s the young lady who brought the students home safely last month after the loss of the Gremlin.” He held out a hand for her. “Hello, Priscilla. It’s good of you to come by, and it’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“Thank you, Governor. The pleasure’s mine.”
“It’s always nice to share some time with a bona fide hero.”
“I’m not a hero. I just happened to be there when the heroes showed up.”
“And you also happened to ride home with those kids. We’re all grateful for that.” He grinned and looked out at the reporters, then at the Thompson. “I’m glad they didn’t need me up there to bring one of those things home.”
Priscilla didn’t know what to say, so she simply stood looking at the crowd and feeling foolish.
McGruder’s eyes narrowed. “You look tired, Priscilla.”
“I’m fine,” she said.
He turned again to the audience: “Look at her. She has all she can do to keep her eyes open.” He sighed. “It’s the effect I always have on beautiful women.”
Everybody laughed. Priscilla smiled defensively. “I doubt,” she said, “you’d put anybody to sleep, Governor.”
“That’s very kind of you.” He looked absolutely in charge. A guy who loved having an audience. “I’d hoped to meet you today, Priscilla, because it’s through people like you that we’ve been able to reach out, literally, to the stars. And I understand fully why you might be inclined to resist my proposals that we cut back on our investment in space. If I were in your place, I would probably feel the same way.” He was looking directly into her eyes now. “The reality, though, is that the government is deeply in debt, the economies of India, China, Russia, Germany, Britain, all the nations who have contributed so much to make this effort a success, all their economies are stressed. We have serious problems with overpopulation, climate disruption, fresh water, species going extinct, and all kinds of other things. If we are eventually to become a starfaring world, which I know is what we all want, we are going to have to pause now and catch our breath. We need to back off, not only from our space program, but in other areas as well. If we fail to do that, if we keep pushing mindlessly ahead, running up the national debt, it’s my conviction that we will lose everything.” He looked genuinely in pain. “Wouldn’t you concede, Priscilla, at least that I might have a point?”
“I understand what you’re saying, Governor,” she said. “But we have a tendency, once we shut something down, to leave it that way.”
“You’re right. That’s why we need to act now. I’m not proposing we abandon the WSA. What we need is to trim it back. Keep it active, keep it in place, but don’t put it in a position where it’s draining our resources so much that we have to, as you say, Priscilla, shut it down.” He glanced again at the Thompson. “Let’s hope we can arrange things so that, one day, I’ll be able to ride that ship out to Alpha Centauri as part of an ongoing interstellar program. And when that day comes, I hope you’ll be my pilot.” He shook her hand and thanked her.
Priscilla stepped away from him as another voice was raised. “Governor, if you will—” A female reporter. “When you talk about a payoff for the investment in spaceflight, you always talk about money. What about the level of cooperation we’ve seen among member countries since we started the World Space Authority? It’s been eighty years now. We’ve had no wars among the founding nations. And sure, they’re still competitive, but you could argue that they don’t try to undermine one another anymore.”
“Ms.—?”
“Michelle Worth.”
“Is there a question in there somewhere?”
“Aren’t you missing the most important benefits we get from all this?” She looked around at the portals, the Thompson and the launch area, framed pictures along the bulkheads of nebulae and planets and space vehicles. “Isn’t the human race, largely because of the space effort, finally showing signs of drawing together?”