Гарри Гаррисон - Skyfall

“I see,” Dillwater said, very quietly.

“Well I don't,” Grodzinski broke in.

Dillwater answered him. “It is a secret violation of our agreement with the Soviets not to militarize space. A weapon that will be placed in synchronous orbit covering Moscow. Once again what we have agreed publicly we evade in secret. The CIA keep their stock of poisons despite orders to destroy them, the FBI keeps lists of radicals and says they have been shredded. And General Bannerman and his military associates build a bomb that threatens the peace of the world.” He turned his head. “And you knew about it all the time, did you not, Mr. President?”

“Of course I did — because I put the safety of my nation first. If you liberals had your way there would be a red flag over this building right now.”

“Mr. President, gentlemen, the present contents of the shuttle do not matter,” Schlocter said, using his skills as an international peacemaker closer to home for a change. “The payload can be removed, stored away, forgotten. The shuttle must be prepared at once for a rescue attempt. Nothing else is possible. Too many people now know of its state of readiness. You have no choice, sir, but to issue orders to that effect.”

“Yon don't have to, Mr. President,” Bannerman said, wheeling about to face Bandin. “This thing can be kept quiet, the leaks can be plugged. PEEKABOO cannot be jeopardized. The project has gone too far. Once it is in orbit we're safe, the Soviets won't dare to try anything.”

Bandin was wringing his hands together, looking for an easy way out of this dilemma that did not exist.

“Mission Control and Prometheus are on the line,” Dill-water said, his hand over the mouthpiece. “And I have the networks waiting on another line. What should I tell them?”

Bandin hammered his fist on the table in a mixture of frustration and rage. “Tell the TV people to hold for a new break. Tell the Cape to get the goddamned bomb out of the bird and under wraps at once. Tell Prometheus that we didn't want to tell them for sure until we knew we could have the shuttle ready, that people have been working night and day,on it and it looks like now there is a chance. And not one word of what has been said in this room ever gets out of this room.”

He dropped back, exhausted. Rubber Bandin had snapped through one last time.

GET 26:19

“We are sorry to interrupt this program, ladies and gentlemen, but dramatic new developments have just been reported about the fate of Prometheus.” The reporter clutched the single sheet of paper, fresh from the teletype, and looked briefly into the eye of the TV camera. He knew he was breaking into every one of the network programs across the country, being picked up by radio and sent overseas by short wave. He looked appropriately serious as he spoke.

“It appears that a rescue attempt is now being launched from the Kennedy Space Flight Center. This is the home of the Space Shuttle, the workaday rocket that ferries men and experiments up to Spacelab. No announcement was made earlier, President Bandin reports, because of the possibility that the Shuttle would not be ready in time. But now, with scant hours left in the life of the brave astronauts trapped in that decaying orbit round the Earth, a rescue mission is being launched. There may still be time to reach them before the end. We will bring you up-to-the-minute reports as they develop, and hope to hear from the astronauts themselves if this is possible.”

“No, not now, of course not, Minford,” Flax said, shouting into the phone. “Sure I know how important your PR is and how we have to keep the public image and improve it, particularly after you-know-what in England. But you still can't put Prometheus onto a public broadcast. Those people up there are bushed and they're sick, and they have their own goddamned problems that make yours look like a missed period. And I've got a call for them, out.” He flipped switches quickly before he spoke. “Mission Control here, come in, Prometheus.”

“Flax, the Space Shuttle rescue attempt, is it going ahead?”

“That is a large and positive A-OK, Patrick. I've just been trying to get through to verify the time they need to get on line, but if they say they can do it we have a window for them.”

“When?”

“In just about four hours' time. Your track will bring you across the US then and an East Coast launch will be favorable for your orbit. Match-up will be forty minutes later. I'll give you a more exact ETA as soon as our program people have been through to theirs.”

“And the only reason this announcement was not made earlier was because they were not sure that the Space Shuttle could be readied in time?”

“That's what the official announcement said, Patrick.”

“That's just pure crap, Flax, and you know it.”

“I do. And I agree.”

“The Space Shuttle has a turn-around time of about a week. I'm sure they can shave hours here and there, but they know exactly how long it takes almost to the minute. If they knew this thing was coming on line now why weren't we informed?”

“I don't know the whole story — and we may never know.”

“Let's try. Ask around, Flax, you have the connections. I would like a few answers, if and when we get back.”

“So would I…”

“Out.”

Patrick broke the connection with an angry slap at the switch.

“What was all that about?” Coretta asked.

“I don't know, and I'm afraid to guess,” Patrick said, his hands touching the bandages over his eyes, lightly. He hated the blindness, the handicap it put upon him now. “Something very strange is happening or Flax wouldn't have patched us through to the White House that way. He was forcing someone's hand over something. But we can worry about that some other time. We have more pressing problems.” He touched the bandages again. “Doctor, don't you think we can loosen these, maybe take them off for a quick look? You don't know until you try.”

“We know, Patrick,” Coretta said, working to keep her voice calm and professional. “Whatever the final result is, that shock you and Nadya had to your eyes will render you sightless for a day at least. You gain nothing by removing the bandages — and may even cause more damage. I'm sorry I can't be more specific. But that's the straight of it.”

“It could be permanent then?” Nadya asked quietly.

“Perhaps, though I doubt it strongly. There is a very good chance that the blindness is only a temporary thing.” She spoke flatly and emphatically because she was lying; she had no idea of the extent of the damage. But morale building was more important than truth at this moment.

“All right,” Patrick said. “We'll put that aside for the moment. Gregor, did the entire HOOPSNAKE program come through on the printer?”

“It did. I have cut it into sheets and put them into a binder as you directed,” Gregor said.

“Get it, will you?”

“Why?” Coretta asked, surprised. “If a rescue ship is on the way we surely can forget about blowing Prometheus up.”

“The basic situation has not changed,” Nadya said. She lay, strapped in her couch next to Patrick on his. Just as blind, just as calm.

“That's the truth of it,” Patrick agreed. “There are still too many bugger factors in the equation. Our orbit may hold out the hours needed for rescue. Or end any minute now. The observatory is sending a running report on solar activity. Minor flares, no excess radiation. But the sun is still rotating and we've no idea of what's coming next. One big flare and that's the end.”

“It's terrible!” Coretta cried out.

“It is only the truth,” Gregor said, going to her and holding her. The two pilots could not see them, and even if they could — it would not matter. There were only a few vital things that mattered any more.