Гарри Гаррисон - Skyfall

“We agreed to that. We didn't agree to sit on our duffs and play pinochle instead of going up to help those people on Prometheus.”

“We're going, aren't we?”

“A little late, that's all. Maybe too late. They'll burn before we get there.”

“You shut up before I spread your Mex nose all over your face.”

“Not before I cut out your gringo heart and make tacos de corazon.”

The racial insults meant nothing; they were too good friends for that. They were just words used to cover up their real emotions, their real knowledge that they had permitted themselves to sit by without doing anything all this time. Until it was possibly too late to help.

GET 28:54

As soon as the President had left the Cabinet room, the Secretary of State leaned over to speak to Dillwater.

“Come on, Simon, I'll buy you a cup of coffee,” he said.

“I've had a good deal already, Dr. Schlocter, thank you.”

“Well a drink then, I don't think I have seen you have anything other than coffee all the time we have been in here.”

“I rarely drink spirits, but, yes, a small sherry perhaps.”

They walked past the table laden with sandwiches and coffee to the small portable bar which had been rolled in a few hours earlier. Bandin had felt in need of a few more large bourbons and had, he thought, covered this up by encouraging the others to drink as well. Schlocter poured out a Tio Pepe with a steady hand, then a vodka on the rocks with a twist of lemon peel for himself. He handed the sherry to Dillwater and raised his own glass.

“To a successful rescue mission,” he said.

“Yes, I will drink to that. But to very little else.”

“The President is a very occupied man, Simon, with more problems than you can perhaps understand.”

“Ever the peacemaker, Dr. Schlocter, are you not? But I am afraid there is little you can accomplish this time. I tendered my resignation to go into effect the instant those people are back on the ground. Or dead. Both the President and General Bannerman knew that the shuttle was available for a rescue mission — yet they did nothing until their hand was forced.”

He looked pointedly at Schlocter. “Did you know about it as well?”

“No, I did not, I am relieved to say. If I had I might have been as divided in mind and as concerned as the President was.”

“You will make me cry in a moment, Dr. Schlocter.”

“I appreciate the reasons for your irony, Simon, and I won't argue with them. But you should remember that the President has the larger job of being leader of this great nation, of guiding its destiny in war and peace. As long as there was even a slim chance that the engines could be started to lift Prometheus out of orbit he did not dare jeopardize our national security by canceling the PEEKABOO operation. The fate of a few sacrificed for the greater need of the many. The cleft stick that many statesmen are forced into.”

Dillwater looked into his empty sherry glass, then put it back onto the bar. The only signs of fatigue he had, after all these hours, were the tightened lines around his eyes. He drew himself up and spoke quietly and quickly so only Schlocter could near him.

“I come from a class and background in America, Dr. Schlocter, that has almost vanished. I was taught early not to use profanity and low language and I have followed that course through life because I found it the most agreeable way. However there are exceptions. What you say about President Bandin is the pure quill well-refined and first grade absolute bullshit. The man is a political opportunist who will sacrifice anything, anyone, to guarantee his re-election. Morally he makes Mr. Nixon look like a choir boy.”

Schlocter nodded seriously, listening to the words as though they were some highly refined argument.

“Yet you took a position in his administration? Knowing what you did about — shall we say — his moral drawbacks?”

“I did. He needed me as a member of what is called the Liberal East Coast Establishment to get him some votes. I felt that NASA was important enough on its own to justify my aid.”

“Then what has changed?” Schlocter drove home the points of his arguments with slow shakes of his forefinger. “The President is the same person you always knew he was. And NASA and the Prometheus Project are even more badly in need of your expertise and aid than they were when you first joined.”

“My mind is made up. I have resigned. I cannot beany part of a government that that man is the head of.”

“Think again, if you please. I have been talking to Moscow and we are agreed that Prometheus must go on, whatever happens now. Too much has been invested, the need for energy is too great — “

“And Bandin needs re-election too badly.”

“Precisely. You are probably the only person who can see the project through to completion.” He raised his hand before Dillwater could speak. “Do not answer now, please. Think about it. I will talk to you again, later. Now, I believe, yes — isn't that your phone that is ringing?”

Dillwater moved swiftly to it and seized it up.

“Simon Dillwater speaking.”

“Flax here. A progress report to date. About an hour to go to takeoff of the Space Shuttle. The countdown going well there. The solar storm it's… getting worse. “

“What does that mean in time?”

“No one seems to know exactly. Solar activity will lift up the top of the atmosphere. How much and how fast is still a guess. But soon. It could be before rendezvous, or just after it.”

“Not very heartening news.” Dillwater realized he was holding the phone so hard that his finger hurt; he forced himself to relax. “You have kept the crew of Prometheus informed, I take it?”

“Yes sir. They know everything we do as soon as we get the information. They are proceeding with the HOOPSNAKE project.”

“What? But I thought…”

“That it had been abandoned? No, sir. They feel that the threat of impact is a real one. And the chances of their being taken off before atmosphere contact only a fair possibility. Therefore they are initiating the HOOPSNAKE program just in case.”

“We should never have asked them,” Dillwater whispered, pounding his fist on the table as he spoke.

“I didn't hear that last---”

“Nothing. Please keep me informed of everything.”

Eighty-five miles high, Prometheus hurtled in its steady course. The great globe of the Earth below moved slowly by. They were over the Panama Canal now, but clouds and storms obscured any clear view. Beyond the blue of Earth the stars shone clearly in great profusion, the moon a clear disc, the sun a burning presence that could not be faced directly. Gregor kept his back to it, looking outward at the incredible vision of space as seen from space. He was the pendant spectator, the godlike eye, the vision apart from the world of his birth. Separated by space was the warmth, the water, the air of the planet, a bit of which he carried with him, just a few centimeters thick, the only barrier between himself and the deadly vacuum of space. Looking at the Earth like this he felt distant, yet so much a part of it, could see it more clearly than he ever could from the ground.

“Feeling rested, Gregor?” Patrick's voice echoed inside his helmet, drawing him back.

“Yes, much better really, just tired and hot there for a moment.”“

“You've done a lot.”

“Not everything.” He turned and looked at the jagged metal at the base of the ship. “The supports have been cut away so I can get close to the orifice. I've cut into the trumpet mounting and managed to fit in the jack so I levered it aside to get access to the thrust chamber. All that's left is to get inside the chamber and knock the light bulb out of the way.”