Dan Simmons - Phases of Gravity

The huge Vehicle Assembly Building was visible even before they turned onto the NASA Causeway.

'Does it all look the same?' asked Baedecker. Scott had been a fanatic about visiting the Cape. He had worn the same blue KSC T-shirt through all of his sixth and seventh summers. Joan used to have to wash it at night to get it away from the boy.

'I guess so,' said Scott.

Baedecker pointed to the gigantic structure to the northeast. 'Remember when I brought you out here to watch the VAB being constructed?' Scott frowned. 'Not really. When was that?'

'Mmm. 1965,' said Baedecker. 'I was already working for NASA, but it was the summer before I was chosen for flight status with the Fifth Group of astronauts. Remember?' Scott looked at his father and grinned. 'Dad, I was one year old.' Baedecker smiled at himself. 'Come to think of it, I do remember you on my shoulders for most of that tour.'

They were stopped at two checkpoints before they reached the KSC industrial area. The spaceport, usually wide open to tour groups and the curious, had been closed up tight for the imminent Department of Defense launch. Baedecker showed the IDs and passes Tucker Wilson had provided, and they were quickly waved through.

They drove slowly past the sprawling Headquarters Building and turned off the parkway into the lot of the Manned Spacecraft Operations Building. The huge, three-story complex looked as ugly and functional as it had during Baedecker's stay there during the training and prelaunch phases of his Apollo mission. Ribbons of glass on the west side caught the last gleam of the sunset as they parked the car.

'This is sort of a big deal, isn't it?' said Scott as they walked toward the main entrance. 'Thanksgiving dinner with the astronauts and all.'

'It's not really Thanksgiving dinner,' said Baedecker. 'The members of the crew had dinner with their families earlier. This is just coffee and pie . . . sort of a traditional gathering the night before a flight.'

'Isn't it unusual for NASA to fly on a holiday like this?' asked Scott.

'Not really,' said Baedecker as they stopped to show their identification to a guard just inside the door. An Air Force aide led the way up a narrow staircase. ' Apollo 8 flew around the moon over Christmas,' Baedecker continued. 'Besides, the DoD set the date for this launch because of the satellite deployment windows.'

'And besides that,' said Scott, 'Thanksgiving is today and the launch is tomorrow.'

'Right,' said Baedecker. There were two more checkpoints before they were shown into a small waiting room outside of the crew dining quarters. Baedecker looked around at the green sofa, uncomfortable chairs, and low coffee table covered with magazines, and was pleased for some reason that the private quarters area had maintained the same late-sixties feel to it that he had known two decades earlier.

The door opened and a group of businessmen emerged from the dining room. They were guided by a young Air Force major. One of the men wearing a dark suit and carrying an attaché case stopped when he saw Baedecker. 'Dick,' he said, 'goddammit, it's true then that Rockwell got you.' Baedecker stood up and shook hands. 'Not true, Cole,' he said. 'Just stopping by for a social call. Cole, I don't know if you've met my son. Scott, this is Cole Prescott, my boss back in St. Louis.'

'We met years ago,' said Prescott as he shook hands with Scott. 'At the company picnic right after Dick started working for the company. You were about eleven, I think.'

'I remember the three-legged race,' said Scott. 'Nice to see you again, Mr. Prescott.' Prescott turned to Baedecker. 'So what have you been up to, Dick? We haven't heard from you in . . . what? Six months?'

'Seven,' said Baedecker. 'Scott and I spent last spring and summer fixing up an old cabin in Arkansas.'

'Arkansas?' said Prescott and winked at Scott. 'What the hell is in Arkansas?'

'Not much,' said Baedecker.

'Hey,' said Prescott. 'I heard tell that you were out talking to people at North American. ¿Es verdad? '

'Just talking.'

'Yeah, that's what they all say,' said Prescott. 'But look, Dick, if you haven't signed with anybody . . .' He paused and looked around. The others had left. Through the slightly opened door to the dining room came laughter and the clink of dishes. 'Cavenaugh's retiring this January, Dick.'

'Yes?'

'Yes.' Prescott leaned over as if about to whisper. 'I'll be filling his chair when he goes. That leaves room on the second level, Dick. If you had any thoughts about coming back in, now'd be the time.'

'Thanks, Cole,' said Baedecker, 'but I have a job right now. Well, not exactly a job, but a project that will be keeping me pretty busy for the next few months.'

'What's that?'

'I'm finishing work on a book that David Muldorff began a couple of years ago,' said Baedecker. 'The part remaining involves quite a bit of traveling and interviewing. In fact, I have to fly to Austin on Monday to start work on it.'

'A book,' said Prescott. 'Got an advance on it yet?'

'A modest one,' said Baedecker. 'Most of the royalties will go to Dave's wife Diane and their little boy, but we're using the advance to cover some of the expenses.' Prescott nodded and glanced at his watch. 'Okay,' he said, 'but keep in mind what I said. It was nice seeing you again. Dick, Scott.'

'You too,' said Baedecker.

Prescott paused by the door. 'It was a damn shame about Muldorff.'

'Yes,' said Baedecker. 'It was.' Prescott departed just as a NASA PR man in shirtsleeves and a black tie came to the open door of the dining room. 'Colonel Baedecker?'

'Yes.'

'The crew's just about ready for dessert. Would you and your son like to come in now?'

There were five astronauts and seven other men at the long table. Tucker Wilson made the introductions. Besides Tucker, Baedecker knew Fred Hagen, the copilot on this mission, and Donald Gilroth, one of the NASA administrators present. Gilroth had put on considerable weight and corporate status since Baedecker had last seen him.

The three other astronauts, two mission specialists and a payload specialist, were also Air Force. Tucker was the only full-time NASA pilot involved in this mission, and despite recent efforts to include women and minorities in the space effort, this all-military flight was a step back to the WASP-male tradition. Conners and Miller, the mission specialists, were quiet and serious but the youngest crewmember, a blond youngster named Holmquist, had a high, infectious laugh that made Baedecker like him immediately.

There were a few minutes of obligatory discussion of the old Apollo days as the pie and coffee arrived, and then Baedecker turned the conversation to the upcoming mission. 'Fred, you've been waiting quite a while for this, haven't you?' Hagen nodded. He was a few years younger than Baedecker, but his crew cut had gone completely gray so that he looked a bit like Archibald Cox. Baedecker realized with a start that most of the shuttle pilots were approaching his age. Space, once a frontier so frightening that the experts had worried that the youngest, boldest, and strongest of the nation's test pilots might not withstand its rigors, had now become the property of men with bifocals and prostate worries.

'I've been waiting since the MOL folded,' Hagen said. 'With a little luck, I'll help to fly up its successor as part of the space station.'

'What was the MOL?' asked Scott.

'Manned Orbiting Laboratory,' said Holmquist. The blond mission specialist was only two or three years older than Scott. 'It was one of the Air Force's pet projects, like the X-20 Dyna Soar, that never got off the ground. Before our time, Scott.'

'Yeah,' said Tucker and lobbed a wadded-up napkin at the younger astronaut, 'back in pretransistor days.'