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We’ll see the benefits of this in our own lifetimes.” Another member of the audience stood, and Gordon felt his blood pressure rise. If there was anyone he despised more than Senator Parish, it was Montana congressman Joe Bellingham, whose Marlboro Man good looks couldn’t disguise the fact he was a scientific moron. During his last campaign, he’d demanded that public schools teach Creationism. Throw out the biology books and open the Bible instead. He probably thinks rockets are powered by angels.
    “What about all that sharing of technology with the Russians and Japanese?” said Bellingham. “I’m concerned that we’re giving away high-tech secrets for free. This international cooperation sounds high-minded and all, but what’s to stop them from turning right around and using the knowledge against us? Why should we trust the Russians?” Fear and paranoia. Ignorance and superstition. There was too much of it in the country, and Gordon grew depressed just listening to Bellingham.
    He turned away in disgust.
    That’s when he noticed a somber-faced Hank Millar step into the auditorium. Millar was head of the Astronaut Office. He looked straight at Gordon, who understood at once that a problem was brewing.
    Quietly Gordon left the stage, and the two men stepped out into the hallway. “What’s going on?”
    “There’s been an accident. It’s Bill Haning’s wife. We hear it doesn’t look good.”
    “Jesus.”
    “Bob Kittredge and Woody Ellis are waiting over in Public Affairs. We all need to talk.” Gordon nodded. He glanced through the auditorium door at Congressman Bellingham, who was still blathering on about the dangers of sharing technology with the Commies. Grimly he followed Hank out the auditorium exit and across the courtyard, to the next building.
    They met in a back office. Kittredge, the shuttle commander for STS 162, was flushed and agitated. Woody Ellis, flight director the International Space Station, appeared far calmer, but then, Gordon had never seen Ellis look upset, even in the midst of crisis.
    “How serious was the accident?” Gordon asked.
    “Mrs. Haning’s car was in a giant pileup on I-45,” said Hank.
    “The ambulance brought her over to Miles Memorial. Jack McCallum saw her in the ER.” Gordon nodded. They all knew Jack well. Although he was no longer in the astronaut corps, Jack was still on NASA’s active surgeon roster. A year ago, he had pulled back from most of his NASA duties, to work as an ER physician in the private sector.
    “Jack’s the one who called our office about Debbie,” said Hank.
    “Did he say anything about her condition?”
    “Severe head injury. She’s in ICU, in a coma.”
    “Prognosis?”
    “He couldn’t answer that question.” There was a silence as they all considered what this tragedy meant to NASA. Hank sighed.
    “We’re going to have to tell Bill. We can’t keep this news from him. The problem is…” He didn’t finish. He didn’t need to, they understood the problem.
    Bill Haning was now in orbit aboard ISS, only a month into his scheduled four-month stay. This news would devastate him. Of all the factors that made prolonged habitation in space difficult, it was the emotional toll that NASA worried about most. A depressed astronaut could wreak havoc on a mission. Years before, on Mir, a similar situation had occurred when Cosmonaut Volodya Dezhurov was informed of his mother’s death. For days, he’d shut himself in one of Mir’s modules and refused to speak to Mission Control in Moscow. His grief had disrupted the work of everyone aboard Mir.
    “They have a very close marriage,” said Hank. “I can tell you now, Bill’s not going to handle this well.”
    “You’re recommending we replace him?” asked Gordon.
    “At the next scheduled shuttle flight. He’ll have a tough enough time being stuck up there for the next two weeks. We can’t ask him to serve out his full four months.” Hank added quietly, “They have