Lucifer's Hammer - Larry Niven [22]
"Not really, but you just told me it's important." Jellison was silent for a moment. "Sorry. I really am, but there's no chance. Not one chance. Anyway, we couldn't put up an Apollo if we had the budget—"
"Yes we can. I just checked with Rockwell. Higher-risk mission than NASA likes, but we could do it. We've got the hardware—"
"Doesn't matter. I can't get you a budget for that."
Sharps frowned at the phone. The sick excitement rose in his stomach. Arthur Jellison was an old friend, and Charlie Sharps did not like blackmail. But … "Not even if the Russkis are putting up a Soyuz?"
"What? But they're not—"
"Oh, yes, they are," Sharps said. And it's not a lie, not really. Just an anticipation—
"You can prove that?"
"In a few days. Rely on it, they're going up to look at Hamner-Brown."
"I will be dipped in shit."
"I beg your pardon, Senator?"
"I will be dipped in shit."
"Oh."
"You're playing games with me, aren't you, Charlie?" Jellison demanded.
"Not really. Look, Art, it's important. And we need another manned mission anyway, just to keep up interest in space. You've been after a manned flight—"
"Yeah, but I had no chance of getting one." There was more silence. Then Jellison said, more to himself than Sharps, "So the Russkis are going. And no doubt they'll make a big deal of it."
"I'm sure they will."
Another silence. Charlie Sharps almost held his breath "Okay," Jellison said. "I'll nose around the Hill and see what kind of reactions I get. But you better be giving it to me straight."
"Senator, in a week you'll have unmistakable evidence."
"All right. I'll give it a try. Anything else?"
"Not just now."
"Okay. Thanks for the tip, Charlie." The phone went dead.
Abrupt he is, Sharps thought. He smiled thinly to himself, then punched the intercom button again. "Larry, I want Dr. Sergei Fadayev in Moscow, and yes, I know what time it is over there. Just get him on for me."
The legend of Gilgamesh was a handful of unconnected tales spreading through the Earth's Fertile Crescent in Asia … and the comet was nearly unchanged. It was still far outside the maelstrom. The orbit of the runaway moon called Pluto would have looked like a quarter held nearly on edge, at arm's length. The Sun, an uncomfortably bright pin point, still poured far less heat across the comet's crust than had the black giant at its worst. The crust was mostly water ice now; it reflected most of the heat back to the stars.
Yet time passed.
Mars swallowed its water in another turn of its long, vicious weather cycle. Men spread across the Earth, laughing and scratching. And the comet continued to fall. A breath of the solar wind, high-velocity protons, flayed its crust. Much of the hydrogen and helium in its tissues had seeped away. The maelstrom came near.
March: One
And the Lord hung a rainbow as a sign,
Won't be water but fire next time.
Traditional spiritual
Mark Czescu looked up at the house and whistled. It was California Tudor, off-white stucco with massive wood beams inset at angles. They'd be real wood. Some places, like Glendale, had the same style of house with plywood strips to fake it, but not Bel Air.
The house was large on a large lot. Mark rang the front door bell. Presently it was opened by a young man with long hair and pencil-thin mustache. He looked at Mark's Roughrider trousers and boots and at the large brown cases Mark had set on the porch. "We don't need any," he said.
"I'm not selling any. I'm Mark Czescu, from NBS."
"Oh. Sorry. You'd be surprised how many peddlers we get. Come on in. My name's George, I'm the houseboy." He lifted one of the cases. "Heavy."
"Yeah." Mark was busy looking around. Paintings. A telescope. Globes of Earth, Mars and the Moon. Glass statuary. Steuben crystal. Trip toys. The front room had been set up as for