Ever!

Predictably, Curtis—the Director of Safety and Mission Assurance—was anything but pleased about being called out to the top of the launch complex. They haven’t gotten along for years, and though Griggs tries to keep the volatile manager’s feathers unruffled and tries to listen to his department’s constant dithering, there are times he has to pull rank, and this is definitely one of them.

Griggs smiles at his memory of their brief conversation.

“Well, why don’t you just come to my office?” Curtis whined.

“Nope. High-level meetings are best held in high places. Gantry, top tier, Pad 39B in twenty minutes. That’s an order, Bub!”

Griggs takes a deep breath. “Where the hell is that insubordinate bastard!” he growls to himself. The delay is wearing thin, even though he’ll never tire of standing beside the monstrous form of the shuttle, especially when it’s mated to the solid rocket boosters and external tank and poised, ready for launch, as it is now.

There’s still a chance they can make the launch window, but with each new delay, that hope becomes more iffy. After a cut cable, a safety stop, two personnel complaints about overtime that spilled all the way up to D.C., and the latest dust-up over the fueling schedule, he’s beginning to detect sabotage in the air, although, given the fact that the rescue involves Richard DiFazio’s company, some forms of sabotage even from the administrator himself would be unsurprising.

Griggs shakes his head, thinking of the Ahab-like determination Geoff Shear has shown to find the fatal flaws in private spaceflight in general. But in the case of DiFazio—perhaps the only man to publicly unmask Shear’s deceptions in front of the Senate and the public—his little company has become the white whale, the Moby Dick Captain Ahab is determined to find and kill.

His thoughts snap back to the gantry and the present, and the presumed interference aided by Curtis, who seems to be rubber-stamping even the most flimsy concerns as genuine safety problems.

The elevator is rising now, and Griggs readjusts his grip and waits, watching the gulls soaring lazily in the mid-day sun.

The elevator cage door opens and disgorges Curtis who appears spoiling for a fight, yet smart enough not to start one.

“Okay, Griggs, I’m here. What?”

“Jerry, see this big old thing we’re standing beside?”

“No, Griggs, I see nothing,” he snaps, the sarcastic tone barely contained. “Must be your vivid imagination. Come on, man, you didn’t call me up here to admire the damn launch vehicle.”

“Well, I called you up here to answer a very simple question.”

“Yeah?”

“You want to launch this thing on time?”

“What? Of course!”

“You understand the go order comes from the President of these here United States, right? And he’s the ultimate boss?”

“What are you saying? That I’m doing something to frustrate this launch? Have you forgotten the basics of system safety?”

“We had a cut cable this morning. How’d it get cut?”

“I don’t know. I’ve got an investigation going. It doesn’t look like anything but a mistake.”

“I’m getting a work-to-rule headache out here, too, with those two clowns filing their complaint last night.”

“It’s handled.”

“Yeah, but why now, Jerry? I checked those two. They’ve never, ever, been upset by the very thing they jumped on this morning. Someone ask them to complain, perhaps?”

“I don’t like your implication, Griggs.”

“Well, I don’t like delays unless they are truly safety-related, and the reason I called you up here is so I could say this to you clearly and without excessive ears around. If you or any of your people—including that little gal from D.C. who’s been lurking around…”

“Dorothy?”

“The same.”

“She’s just doing routine safety audits.”

“Right. And I’ve got beachfront property in Phoenix for sale. If anyone starts using artificial safety reasons to delay this launch, Shear won’t be able to save the culprit from professional oblivion, you included.”

“Are we done here?”

“I hope so. I just want to make sure you understand. A presidential order means a national priority. If it’s really a safety issue, I’m with you. If it’s artificial, I’ll strap your ass on one of these SRBs and launch it myself.”

Jerrod enters the smoky den tentatively, like his invitation might have expired and he doesn’t want to get caught gawking at the animal heads and plaques and other artifacts on what Mike Summers calls his “I Love Me Wall.”

He’s spent most of the day with Julie watching his father’s story and words. Even Sharon was decent to him, and he feels beaten down enough to appreciate that, putting his discomfort around her on hold so as to support his dad with his attention and his remorse.

“Sir?” he asks, pretty sure he sees Mike Summers’s form in a large swivel recliner across the den. Sure enough, the recliner turns and Big Mike spots him, getting to his feet and motioning him over.

“Jerrod. Come over here.”

“You want to talk to me?”

“I sure do. Come sit down. Would you like something to drink?”

“I’ll take a Coke if you have one.”

“Also have stronger stuff, son, if you’d like. As far as I’m concerned, you’re entitled.”

“Maybe a beer, then. Thanks.”

Mike gets a couple of longnecks from a small refrigerator and hands one to Jerrod before motioning him down and returning to his chair. Jerrod twists off the top and settles onto a small couch opposite, and they stare at each other in silence.

“You been watching all day?” Mike asks.

“TV? Yeah.”

“TV, and your dad’s writings?”

Jerrod nods, his eyes now down. He’s noticed the large stack of printed pages by Mike’s chair.

“I ditched going to my office today and pulled up a record of everything he’s said so far… there must be a thousand Web sites keeping track… and I printed it, and read it, and son, I gotta ask you something directly, man to man. All right with you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“It may be harsh.”

“Okay.”

“I’m pretty direct, Jerrod, so I’m just going to say this… as soon as you look at me, that is.”

Jerrod looks up and meets his gaze.

“Okay. Now, just what the hell are you so angry about?”

“I…with all due respect, sir…”

“Can the bullshit, Mister! Just talk to me. Why are you so damned furious at him? For marrying my daughter?”

“No, I mean… no.”

“Another pile of manure! Of course you are.”

“I don’t dislike her.”

“Son, listen. You don’t like her at all. Hell, she’s my daughter and half the time Idon’t like her, either! And I know it’s not because of who she is, but because he brought her in to replace your mom, right?”

He’s nodding. A good sign,Mike figures.

“Okay, and some of that’s natural. And I know my little girl, and I know she’s probably made a mess out of trying to get to know you, and with you not liking anyone female he brought in… I get it. That doesn’t bother me much. But what I want to know from you is, why are you so mad at your old man that you’ve… you’ve stomped his heart flat? Huh? What’d he do to deserve that?”

Tears are welling up now and Jerrod is trying to hide them, as well as hide his anger at being cornered.

“I was wrong, I guess. I should have forgiven him.”

“For what?”

“For… you wouldn’t understand.”

“No, I would, and I want to hear you say it. Why? Not because he found a girl and married her. Not because he asked you to respect her as his wife. Then why? Does it have anything to do with your mom’s fatal accident?”

“I’d rather not…”

“You think he set that up somehow?”

“Of course not.”

“She decided to go driving that day all by herself, didn’t she?”