Black Undertow

CHAPTER ONE

WESTERN SPACE COMMAND

LOMPOC-July 17th, 2191

3:30 P.M.

Senator Barry Levitt was passing the security gate on the South end of the Pacific American Launch Facility on his way to Pad 9 C. The gregarious passenger in his aircar was Vince Miceli, Chairman of the Space Science Council's New Projects Committee. They were arguing the industry's outlook. The former intelligence director was arguing in favor of increasing the budget for the Aristarchus program. The large white monolith of the "Fat Albert" loomed ahead, as they touched down at the aircar-garage flair on the Eastern side of the heavy-lift launch pad. They got out of the car and walked over to the elevator for the boarding tower. Miceli was finding out how hard it was to persuade a pragmatic New Yorker like Levitt, while arguing as a realist. "Look, Barry, "he said, "I can see the captivating vision of three crewed ships, going out to Jupiter and Saturn, as well as you can. But you have to know this project is going to kill a hundred small programs, and bankrupt us with high operating costs."

"Vince, since you're going to be staying here in Lompoc while I'm away, why don't you go to bat for me with the Council and try to educate that ax-wielding Dan Barr---no small feat, I know---about the potential resource-acquisition possibilities out there? I don't mean to rush, Vince, but I've got a flight to catch. Don't let me down." Levitt ducked into the elevator, and added, "You've got the keycard to everything in my office. Try to get over there right away, and do some homework." He smiled, with a rude politeness, as the elevator doors were closing.

"Christ Almighty," Miceli yelled through at him, "could do it to 'em, Barry---I don't know if I can."

He walked slowly back to the aircar, imagining Barry's answer: Surprise yourself, Vince.

Armed with the keys to all the files, Miceli powered up the aircar and headed back to Barry's suite in the Budget Planning office in downtown Lompoc. Levitt, meanwhile, took a quick ride into orbit on the Fat Albert stage; he was offloaded at the orbiting Launch and Transfer Facility (OTLF) to await lunar transit. He boarded the little Russian-built Lander, set atop a medium-sized upper stage; after preflight inspections, the upper stage boosted the Lander on its way. Levitt had no trouble passing the time on the hour-long flight to lunar orbit: his political schedule had been so compressed recently, taken up with seminars and appearances and stumping for the Aristarchus project, that he had barely gotten comfortable before falling asleep in his chair.

The Slavic voice, coming over the public-address system in the passenger cabin, roused him, announcing that they were now in Lunar orbit, already separated from the upper stage and in de-orbit descent. CenComm's Orientale Hub was growing in the monitor screen! It felt as if he'd only had a short nap. A short time later, he and Graham Jeffers were walking briskly down an access corridor, to the main sunken monitoring room for the Farside Net. Too briskly, for Barry’s tastes. "Dammit, Jeffers, must you always jog so fast through these corridors? Where's the fargin' fire?"

Jeffers laughed amusedly. The Director General had always been a brisk mover through the corridors of moon bases, since the Lunar/Mercury Planning commission was the plain old Lunar Safety Commission and he was just a consultant. "Barry, old boy, you be prepared to keep right up if you're going to be staying on for a spot," he replied, his British tones a nice contrast with Barry’s own American accent. "Perhaps that heavy Earth gravity has got you a bit sluggish. You do look a bit pale, dear fellow. That bloody schedule of yours wouldn't drag you down as much here."