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.”Nomura hesitated before replying, “He has his own problems, Mandy.He was fine during training, but then his wife left him.I think that’s hit him a lot harder than he’s willing to admit.”“We ought to stuff him out an airlock,” Amanda growled.“I’ll talk to Bee about it.Maybe he needs some advice from a man.”“I’m sure going to stay as far away from him as I can.”With a wry smile, Taki said, “Aboard this ship? That won’t be very far, will it?”“Not far enough,” said Amanda.June 15, 2035Earth Departure Plus 62 Days03:17 Universal TimeCommunications CenterTed Connover realized he was spending most of his free time in the comm shack, sending messages to his dead wife.He woke up with the vague memory of a dream that had racked his troubled sleep: he’d been back in college, trying to find the classroom where he was supposed to be taking a final exam.He awoke still looking for it.Wearing only his shorts and a sleeveless undershirt, Ted tiptoed through the sleeping area, barely aware of the light snores and mumbles of his crew mates.He slipped into the comm shack, sat in its only chair, and turned on the audio recorder.Keeping his voice low, he began, “Vicki, I miss you.There are so many things I want to tell you about the trip, about how much I love you, how much I miss you, and now I can’t.I don’t even know why I’m recording this.You’ll never hear it and I know I’ll never play it back, but for some reason I’ve got to send you one more message.”He hesitated, thinking, Maybe this is therapy.Maybe this is how I’m trying to work my way through this.Taking in a deep, shuddering breath, he continued.“Did it hurt? God, I hope you didn’t suffer.And Thad.Poor Thad.I so wanted to be there when he graduated from college, when he got married, when he.when he.gave us a grandchild.”He was on the verge of breaking into tears again, he knew.Sucking in a deep breath, Ted fought for self control.At last he resumed: “Did I ever tell you that one of the reasons I accepted this slot, going to Mars I mean, I accepted it not just because I’ve always dreamed of going to Mars but because it was going to be that start of something big.Something bigger than you and me.Bigger even than our country.It’s the start of our species finally growing up and leaving the cradle.And I wanted to be a part of it so I could share it with my wife, my son, dear God, with my grandchildren.And now? What’s the point? What’s the goddamned point?”Forcing back the tears that welled in his eyes, Ted went on, “Enough.Enough of my selfishness.I’m starting to cry because I miss you.I miss you.You’re wherever you are and I’d like to think that a part of you is here with me now.But I don’t think I can believe that.But, Vicki, I want to believe it! I miss you so much!”June 24, 2035Earth Departure Plus 71 Days16:48 Universal TimeThe Capitol, Washington D.C.“What’s this all about, Billy?” asked Senator Martin Yañez.Hiding a pang of distaste at being addressed so familiarly by such a junior member of the subcommittee, Senator William Donaldson replied, “What else? I want your vote.”The two men were alone in the spacious conference room allotted to the Senate Subcommittee on Space.Part of the Senate’s Committee on Science, Commerce and Transportation, the space panel was one of the many subcommittees that included consumer protection, product safety and insurance; communications, technology and the internet; aviation; the Coast Guard; and transportation, merchant marine infrastructure, safety and security.During President Harper’s first term, the Congress had formed a select committee for the Mars mission.But once the mission had been launched, the select committee was dissolved and the Mars mission, as far as the United States Senate was concerned, had to compete for attention and funding against airplanes, ships, consumer protection, scientific research, the internet and a host of other concerns.“My vote?” Senator Yañez asked innocently.“On what?”Unconsciously glancing over his shoulder before he spoke, Donaldson said, “It’s time to shut down the manned space program.”Yañez and Donaldson were sitting at one end of the long, gleaming table.Aside from the two of them, the plush dark leather swivel chairs along the table were empty.So were the slightly less sumptuous chairs along the marble walls.Yet they kept their voices low.They were an odd couple.Donaldson was lean and flinty, a caricature of the New England schoolteacher he had once been.What was left of his once-blond hair had long ago turned dead white.He wore a dark three-piece suit, as always, with his trademark “Don’t Tread on Me” lapel pin.Yañez was stout, almost corpulent, his suit jacket flapping unbuttoned, the front of his shirt straining across his girth.Instead of a tie he wore a silver and onyx bolo.“Kill the manned space program?” he hissed.“Are you crazy? My constituents would hang me in effigy! And not by my neck, either!”Donaldson put on a reassuring smile.“Don’t get yourself in an uproar
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