The Tranquillity Alternative Read Online Free PDF Page B

, although the last time he had gone up was for a short visit to the Wheel in connection with his duties as the Flight Director of the American half of Project Ares. That had been back in ’74; three months later he had resigned from active flight status, and in the twenty-one years since, he had reported to work at an office which wasn’t inside a pressure compartment. Sometimes he had actually relished the fact that he didn’t have to subconsciously worry about the source of every breath he took, or that the food on his plate was what he wanted to eat today and not part of a rigorous menu, or that he could take a shower every morning or flush a commode as often as he wanted without having to fret about water conservation.
    Sometimes … but not always. Walking along the beach, shells crunching beneath the soles of his moccasins, cold ocean surf occasionally washing up around his ankles, he looked up to study the familiar winter constellations—Virgo rising from the east, Leo almost directly overhead, a thin ring around the Moon which almost touched Mars, hinting at rain showers later tonight—and yet his gaze kept returning to the distant rocket.
    It had been a long time. Maybe just a little too long.
    “Penny for your thoughts?” Judy asked.
    He shrugged. “A nickel will buy you my life story.”
    “Heard it already. Been around for most of it.” They had been silent since they left the Beach House, walking side by side along the dark shore. “Scared about tomorrow?”
    “Uh-uh. Not about tomorrow.” Nor was there any reason for him to be scared. The Constellation was a reliable old workhorse; it had made at least three or four dozen orbital missions in its lifetime, and Atlas-C’s dated back to 1967. It wasn’t like the Atlas-B’s, whose third-stage nuclear engines had frightened the piss out of everyone who had ever ridden in them, until they were finally decommissioned in ’65 following not-unjustified protests by Barry Commoner and Common Cause. And it sure as hell wasn’t the Discovery , but then again the Discovery had been permanently grounded by White House directive after her sister-ship, the Challenger , had exploded shortly after liftoff. That was back in ’86; since then no one had even suggested using solid-rocket boosters for man-rated spacecraft.
    The Atlas-C ferries, though, had been built to last. Although they were now somewhat obsolete, no one had ever been killed riding one of them. Better safe than sorry: so went the general consensus. On the other hand, the Atlas-C represented the last time anyone within NASA had seriously proposed trying anything new at all….
    “Not worried about tomorrow, huh? Well, I suppose that’s good.” Judy took a deep breath as she folded her arms across her chest. “Got a letter from Gene Jr. yesterday. He says he broke up with his old girlfriend but now has a new one.”
    “Uh-huh,” Parnell said. He was still gazing at the distant launch pad. “What’s her name?”
    “Her name’s Spike,” Judith said calmly. “She’s the lead singer with an L.A. band called The Doggy Position. Gene says she’s got some interesting tattoos … oh, and he says he wants to quit his job and open a porn shop in Hollywood. Isn’t that nice?”
    “Well, yeah, I guess he … what?”
    Judy punched him in the arm. “Sucker!”
    “Jesus, honey …” He rubbed at his biceps where she smacked him. Their younger child had been a constant source of worry to them since the age of fifteen, but after being expelled from two private schools, dropping out of one college, being busted for selling marijuana at another, hitchhiking across the country behind a Moby Grape concert tour as a self-proclaimed Grape Nut, and finally cleaning up his act to settle down in Los Angeles and manage a retro-sixties boutique, there was little the kid could do anymore that would surprise Gene. Except maybe this … “You’re not serious, are you?”
    “No, I’m not serious. He’s