by Allen Steele
“Yes, sir. I…”
Diaz’s eyes flitted toward me; he didn’t say anything, but his expression told me that I wasn’t to speak until given permission to do so. I shut up, and his attention returned to his screen. “You remained her press secretary for eight years, following her as she went from the House to the Senate, and left in…yes, I see, 2060.” He was quiet for a moment. “That was the year she was involved in that scandal, wasn’t it? The one about payoffs to key House and Senate members?”
“Yes, sir.”
His eyes turned toward me again, and this time they didn’t move away. “Were you still working for her when she was indicted?”
“Yes, sir, I was.” This wasn’t something I’d told my boss during the job interview. Until now, no one at ConSpace knew about this chapter of my career. Alberto was pretty swift, picking up on something I’d tried to keep hidden.
“Uh-huh.” He slowly nodded. “When did you quit?”
“About three weeks before she resigned.”
“Why?” When I hesitated, a knowing smile crept across his face. “Don’t worry. You’re not going to lose your job. I just want to know why you decided to stop being press secretary for one of the most influential senators in Washington.”
I let out my breath. “I got tired of lying for her, that’s all.” He seemed to be waiting, so I went on. “She was guilty, and she and I both knew it, but still I had to go out there every day and tell the press things that I knew to be untrue. After awhile, I realized that I was about to be dragged down with her, so I quit.”
“I see.” Again, Diaz slowly nodded. “So you know how to lie.”
“Yes, I do. But it doesn’t mean I like—”
“Tell me a lie.”
“What?”
“Tell me a lie. Tell me something that isn’t true.”
“I…I don’t know what you…”
“How’s your wife?”
Diaz’s eyes glittered when he said that. I decided then and there that I didn’t like him. Nonetheless, I gave him an answer. “She’s fine. We’re doing great. Happy as a pair of clams.”
He didn’t even glance at the desk screen. “She divorced you three months ago. Court papers say she got full custody of your daughter. That was about five months after you went to work for us, isn’t that right?”
“I said we’re happy. I didn’t say we’re still married. And you didn’t ask about our daughter.”
He stared at me for a moment, then laughed out loud. “Oh, well done! Outstanding! A lie and the truth at the same time!” He was genuinely amused; I forced a smile and waited for him to go on. “So…an experienced journalist and former Capitol Hill press secretary, now a staff writer for our public relations department. What brings you here?”
I didn’t know whether or not he wanted another lie, so I played it safe and told him the truth. “I’ve always been interested in space, and I was sick and tired of politics, so when I left Washington I looked for a job in the industry. ConSpace seemed to be the natural place to go. An old Mizzou classmate who used to work here gave me a referral, so…well, here I am.”
“And here you are.” Diaz rocked back in his chair. The smile remained on his face as he regarded me for a few seconds. “Sort of a waste of your talents, isn’t it?” he said at last. “First a Times reporter, then a senior staff member for a U.S. Senator…and now you’re churning out press releases. I’d think it would be a bit of a come-down.”
“I think this job offers plenty of opportunity for career advancement.” An automatic response, the very same thing I’d said during my interview.
Diaz shook his head. “No…no, it doesn’t. Oh, your salary may go up a little, and if you play your cards right you may even get your boss’s job when he retires. But that’s as far as you’ll ever go. Ten years from now, twenty years, thirty, you’ll still be doing the same thing…writing press releases and handling media conferences.”
Had he been anyone else, I might have argued with him. One look at Alberto Diaz’s beefy face, though, and I knew that he was telling the truth. My job at ConSpace was a dead-end. I was destined to become nothing more than a flack, a corporate stooge doomed to a boring eight-to-five task, day after day, until someone came along and told me that the time had come for me to clean out my desk. Not the life I’d imagined for myself.
“Umm…” It seemed like I was supposed to say something. “Well, I…”
“That doesn’t have to be the way it’s going to be,” Diaz said, rescuing me from whatever ineffectual response I was about to make. “I have a better job for you, one that’s more suitable for someone of your talent and experience.” A smile hovered at the corners of his mouth. “Particularly your ability to be honest and untruthful at the same time. That’s a true gift, my friend, and I have a use for it.”
I didn’t like the way he called me “my friend,” nor the fact that he considered lying to be an enviable gift, but I tried not to show it. “What do you…?”
Again, his eyes hardened, and I took that as a silent cue to shut up. “You’re familiar with our CEO, aren’t you? Jerry Stone?” I nodded and he went on. “Well, Mr. Stone needs a personal media representative…someone who will act as a go-between in his relations with the public at large.”
“Someone to write press releases for him,” I said.
Diaz shook his head. “Oh, no. You may be doing some of that, of course, but the person he needs will do far more than the usual PR. He wants someone who will act as his public persona. Someone to speak for him, taking his statements and giving them a face and a voice acceptable to the outside world.”
“A spokesman, you mean.”
“Yes…but more than that, I think.” Diaz hesitated. “In many ways, Paul, you’ll be closer to him than anyone else. He may say things to you that he won’t share with any of the board members…not even me. Of course, we’ll want you to report such matters to us, but…well, that’s something we’ll have to work out.”
“I see.” I was becoming intrigued. “So…does this mean I’ll be meeting with Mr. Stone on a regular basis?”
“No.” Diaz shook his head. “Not in person, if that’s what you mean. His dealings with you will be…um, a bit distant.” He must have noticed the look on my face, because he leaned forward in his chair. “Mr. Stone will soon be…ah, shall we say, making some lifestyle changes…that are rather unusual. Because of this, he wants someone who will act as an intermediary. As I said, a spokesman, but more than that.”
“I see,” I replied, even though I didn’t. “And when would I begin this job? Next week?”
“No, not for a month or two. For the time being, you’ll continue your present tasks. But if everything goes according to plan, we’ll be asking you to assume your new position in about eight weeks.” Another smile. “Believe me, it will be much more interesting than your current position. You’ll have your job for as long as you want it…unless Jerry says that he wants someone else, of course, at which time we’ll find another position for you in the company. And your pay will be commensurate with your new responsibilities.”
I asked what my new salary would be, and he gave me a figure that made me realize that I would never again worry about the mortgage. Even Sen. Robeson hadn’t taken home that much dough before she got caught with her hand in the cookie jar.
“Well…all right then,” I said. “I’ll take the job.”
“Very good.” Diaz’s smile remained fixed; he made a small, dismissive gesture with his hand, shooing me to the door. “We’ll call you when we need you.”
Diaz eventually made good on his promise. But long before he called—only a couple of days after our conversation, in fact—I heard from someone else.
I had just gotten home from work when the phone buzzed. I was about to touch the VIEW button when I noticed the blinking yellow light telling me that the call was voice-only; the holo was disabled and the display read PRIVATE UNLISTED.
The only person who called me t
hat way was my ex. Expecting another nag about late child support payments, I snatched up the receiver. “Yeah, what is it?”
“Hello?” A young-sounding male voice. “Is this Paul Lauderdale?”
“Yeah, what do you want?” I’m not normally that abrupt, but my former wife had really been getting on my nerves lately. Whoever was calling me, he sounded rattled by the way I’d picked up the phone. Figuring that he was another lawyer, I wanted to keep him that way. The sooner I got rid of him, the sooner I could have a drink and make dinner.
“My apologies for the intrusion. I just wanted to…”
“Who is this?”
“Jerry Stone.”
“Uhh…pardon me?”
“I’d like to, but you’re making it difficult.”
The voice was his; once he identified himself, I recognized him immediately. My mouth opened, closed, opened again. I discovered that it’s possible to remain standing upright after your heart stops beating; it’s not easy, but it can be done. “I…I…I…”
“Yes, Paul? You’d like to say something?” Faint amusement in his tone.
“Mr. Stone, I’m…I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” I managed to find a seat somewhere besides the floor. “I didn’t know…I mean, I thought you were…”
“Your ex. Either that, or her lawyer.”
Not a question, but a statement of fact. For half a second, I wondered how he would have known this, then I remembered to whom I was speaking. Jerry Stone had information assets that probably matched the world’s best intelligence agencies; he could have probably told me not only the name of my first-grade teacher, but also whom she’d been dating.
“Yes, sir, that’s who I thought you…” I took a deep breath. “Sir, I know that’s not a good excuse. Please pardon me for…”
“No reason to apologize. I called in a manner usually done by your former wife’s attorneys. No wonder you mistook me for one of them.” A brief chuckle. “Actually, I’m impressed. If you’re going to be my personal spokesman, there may be times when I’ll want you to be rude. The press in particular will have questions that you and I can’t or won’t answer, and telling them to go to hell may be our only option. Do you understand?”
This was not something I looked forward to doing, but I wasn’t about to say so. “Yes, sir. I understand.”
“Good.” A short pause. “Anyway, I just wanted to give you a quick call and take a moment to say hello. Alberto believes you’re the perfect person for this job. I’ve looked at your record and I think he’s right.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“I should warn you, if Al didn’t, that this may be a long-term relationship. I’ll be absent for quite some time, and circumstances will have it that you may be my sole means of contact with just about everyone else. So I’m expecting you to remain a ConSpace employee for many years. Do you think you can do this?”
This was not part of the agreement I’d made with Diaz, but I had little doubt that, if Jerry Stone was making this a condition of my employment, ConSpace would probably have me sign legal documents which would assure that I couldn’t suddenly quit and walk away. If I said yes, the contract would be on my desk by tomorrow morning. On the other hand, the money was pretty damn good. And in the present economy, it would give considerable peace of mind to know that my job wasn’t going to disappear any time soon.
“Yes, sir, I can,” I said at last.
“Excellent. I’m pleased to hear this.” A dry laugh. “Well, then, I’ll let you get back to what you were doing.” I waited for him to ask me what I was having for dinner, but apparently that didn’t interest him…or he already knew. “It will be a while before we speak again, so until then…”
“Sir…Mr. Stone?”
“Call me Jerry, please.”
I wasn’t ready to do that. “Could I ask a question, please?” No reply; he was waiting for me to go on. “When you said you were going to be absent for quite some time…what did you mean by that?”
“You’ll find out soon enough. Good night, Paul.” And then he hung up.
I said nothing to anyone about my new job. In fact, the only person who had an inkling that my life had changed was my ex-wife’s lawyer, who called to thank me for sending the child-support payments on time. This discretion wasn’t entirely my choice. As I expected, my promotion had come with a contractual agreement; Page 7, Paragraph 14 was a clause prohibiting me from revealing confidential information about my employer. I had no idea what Jerry was planning, but it would be unwise to make it a topic of water cooler conversation.
However, only a few days after I spoke with Jerry, I had a hint of things to come. That morning, the PR office sent out a press release about an upcoming test program. Since I wrote the release myself, I knew the details better than most people.
Over the past decade, ConSpace had been developing an experimental propulsion system which combined the best features of solar sails and lasers. The hybrid involved a very large solar-cell array, built on the lunar farside near Daedalus Crater, which used laser amplifiers to focus photons through a series of lenses, then fire them as a high-power beam which could aimed almost anywhere. Its target was a spacecraft with a 3,280-foot diameter solar sail and a 1,000-ton payload module tethered at its center. The photon beam would push against the sail, and the beamship would be carried away. Once the vessel arrived at its destination, another beam projector would fire at the sail from the opposite direction, thus braking the ship and allowing it to enter orbit.
ConSpace hoped that, if the test program proved out, beamships would eventually replace the nuclear-powered cycleships that traveled between Earth and Mars, with photon projectors erected on Deimos sending the ships back to Earth as well as decelerating them. The advantage was obvious; since beamships wouldn’t have to carry their own fuel, their payload mass could be used almost entirely for passengers and cargo. It was also calculated that beamships could cut the average travel time between Earth and Mars from five months to one, thus allowing more ships to make the crossing at a fraction of the cost.
Before attempting anything so ambitious, though, the company had to make sure that the system actually worked. So ConSpace decided to send a prototype beamship to a target not quite as far from Earth as Mars, but even harder to reach: asteroid 2010 TK7.
2010 TK7 is an anomaly among near-Earth objects. Only about 1,000 feet in diameter, it occupies a Lagrange point about 60 degrees further along Earth’s heliocentric orbit, making it a tiny companion that precedes Earth as it travels around the Sun. Such Trojan asteroids are also located near Mars, Jupiter, and Neptune, but not until the early 21st Century was it found that Earth had one of its own. Unlike other near-Earth asteroids whose orbits periodically take them behind the sun, though, 2010 TK7 is never totally invisible from Earth. It always remains within sight, although its low albedo made it difficult for astronomers to find in the first place.
Even for a Trojan, 2010 TK7 is unusual. As it revolves around the Sun, the asteroid spirals around its orbital plane, with each oscillation taking a little more than a year to complete. Furthermore, this spiral is inclined about 21 degrees above and below the solar plane of ellipse. Imagine an old-fashioned Slinky toy that’s been stretched out, pulled into a loop, then had its coils tilted sideways, and you get a rough idea of the asteroid’s movement around the Sun.
This weird orbit means that the asteroid’s distance from Earth varies greatly over time. During a 390-year period, 2010 TK7 is between .8 AU and 1.19 AU from Earth. Thus, its delta-v—the factor for its change of velocity—is about 9.4 kilometers per second. For those of us who don’t talk like rocket scientists, this means that a ship would have to use up a lot of fuel to get there. Enough, in fact, to make a round-trip prohibitive.
Since a beamship doesn’t carry its own fuel, though, this wouldn’t be an issue. The photon projector on the Moon would automatically track the asteroid, adjusting its aim so that the ship would remain on course. Once the ship arrived at the a
steroid, its crew would erect an identical projector on its surface, thus allowing the vessel to return home the same way.
There wasn’t much about 2010 TK7 that seemed to make the trip worth the effort. It appeared to be no more than a wad of rock; although there seemed to be ice deposits beneath the surface, spectral analysis hadn’t revealed any metallic traces which would have lured asteroid miners. However, it was an ideal site for ConSpace to test its prototype beam-propulsion system, which was why the company was sending an experimental beamship, the Achilles, out there.
I sent the press release to the usual newsites and scheduled a press conference for the next day. Only three reporters showed up, and they were probably there for the coffee and doughnuts. I couldn’t blame anyone for their lack of interest. An experimental propulsion system was hardly home-page news, no more or less important than anything else the company was doing at the time.
Achilles launched from lunar orbit on November 11, 2063, and arrived at 2010 TK7 about a month later. The beamship furled its sails, then fired descent engines and made a soft landing, firing pitons into the rocky terrain to anchor itself. Its five-member crew sent back a photo of themselves standing on its cinder-black surface, with Earth a small blue-green orb hovering above the close horizon. The shot appeared on a couple of newsites as filler between that day’s man-bites-dog stories. Another landmark in the human exploration of space. Whoopie.
Achilles remained on 2010 TK7 for almost two weeks. I wondered why the expedition stayed so long—someone in the engineering division told me that the beam projector and its solar array were largely preassembled and would only take a few days to erect—but I figured that the science department had some experiments that they wanted the crew to conduct. However, I noticed that the control center where the mission was being monitored was kept closed, with no one but a handful of personnel allowed inside. Not only that, but precious little information about the expedition being sent to the PR department. It was as if the company didn’t want the public to know what was happening on 2010 TK7.