The Chief of Staff, together with the Secretary of Defense, had already been working almost non-stop on the report that had come through from Whitehall.
Also present at the Kennedy conference were physicists and space-research men from Professor Danvers-Marshall’s own ground team, the top aeromedic and an assistant, and technical and executive officers from mission control. The aeromedics affirmed that the routine checks showed the men in the capsule to be fit and well, if tired; they had reported feelings of sickness but there had been no vomiting. Everything was going according to schedule and there was no suggestion of even the smallest degree of anoxia, which was one of the biggest worries in the health line. Mission control, too, said there were no problems
from their angle; the flight was proceeding perfectly smoothly. The research men were satisfied with the results they were getting. Naturally, the reports had not yet been fully analysed and it would be a matter of weeks rather than days after the capsule was down before the value of the marathon high orbiting could be properly assessed and all the information duly computerized and evaluated; but meanwhile the performance of the new fuel was known to have been entirely satisfactory.
No decisions were taken, but the possibility that they might have to order a premature splashdown was much on everyone’s minds. When the meeting broke up the NASA chief, Leroy Klaber, was left with the man from Washington and his own Personal Assistant. Klaber, a short, grey man, thickset and with a prematurely lined face that showed his current anxieties, walked across to a wide window, uncurtained now, from which he had a panoramic view of the base, of the gantries and the hangars and the service towers. Tonight he was on edge, his movements were jerky and nervous; he didn’t want to see anyone get hurt and he didn’t want to see a fiasco, by which he meant a panic splashdown, either. Skyprobe IV was breaking new ground and the flight had to go right . . . it just had to. Klaber stood with his hands in his pockets and his shoulders Slumped, drooping so that his chest seemed to slide down into his stomach, looking out and down at the lights and the activity . . . the activity, he thought to himself, that was constant at Kennedy, day and night, night and day, world without end, Amen. . . .
Harry Lutz, his PA, said suddenly, “What was that, Mr. Klaber?” and Klaber realized with a start that he’d said the last few words of his thoughts out aloud. He turned from the window and walked slowly back towards the conference table. He said, “It wasn’t worth repeating, Harry.” He passed a hand across his eyes. “General,” he said to the Air Force officer, “if anything definite comes through —if this really is a threat the British have dug up, and remember there’s been no backing, no follow-up to it yet— no-one will recommend immediate splashdown quicker than I will. You know that. But. . . we’ve just nothing to go on—nothing! Only what this Shaw has picked up.”
The Vice-Chief of Staff lit a cigarette. He blew a stream of smoke. He said quietly, “I told the conference, Mr. Klaber—”
“That Shaw is known to the Pentagon and he has done a job or two for us already—all right, so now I know that!” Klaber’s tone was distinctly touchy; he was a peppery man at any time. “But it does not have to cut any ice with me, General! So far as I am concerned, so far as I can be concerned, he is just an agent who has picked up something so goddam vague it almost does not signify! The sun does not shine out of the top of his head, General. He could be so wrong, you know that?” His face creased up like a monkey’s.
The general nodded. “Sure he could! I hope he is. But can we deliberately, in view of his report, leave three lives at possible risk, to say nothing of all that top secret new equipment aboard the capsule?”
Klaber made a weary gesture. “We’ve
Also present at the Kennedy conference were physicists and space-research men from Professor Danvers-Marshall’s own ground team, the top aeromedic and an assistant, and technical and executive officers from mission control. The aeromedics affirmed that the routine checks showed the men in the capsule to be fit and well, if tired; they had reported feelings of sickness but there had been no vomiting. Everything was going according to schedule and there was no suggestion of even the smallest degree of anoxia, which was one of the biggest worries in the health line. Mission control, too, said there were no problems
from their angle; the flight was proceeding perfectly smoothly. The research men were satisfied with the results they were getting. Naturally, the reports had not yet been fully analysed and it would be a matter of weeks rather than days after the capsule was down before the value of the marathon high orbiting could be properly assessed and all the information duly computerized and evaluated; but meanwhile the performance of the new fuel was known to have been entirely satisfactory.
No decisions were taken, but the possibility that they might have to order a premature splashdown was much on everyone’s minds. When the meeting broke up the NASA chief, Leroy Klaber, was left with the man from Washington and his own Personal Assistant. Klaber, a short, grey man, thickset and with a prematurely lined face that showed his current anxieties, walked across to a wide window, uncurtained now, from which he had a panoramic view of the base, of the gantries and the hangars and the service towers. Tonight he was on edge, his movements were jerky and nervous; he didn’t want to see anyone get hurt and he didn’t want to see a fiasco, by which he meant a panic splashdown, either. Skyprobe IV was breaking new ground and the flight had to go right . . . it just had to. Klaber stood with his hands in his pockets and his shoulders Slumped, drooping so that his chest seemed to slide down into his stomach, looking out and down at the lights and the activity . . . the activity, he thought to himself, that was constant at Kennedy, day and night, night and day, world without end, Amen. . . .
Harry Lutz, his PA, said suddenly, “What was that, Mr. Klaber?” and Klaber realized with a start that he’d said the last few words of his thoughts out aloud. He turned from the window and walked slowly back towards the conference table. He said, “It wasn’t worth repeating, Harry.” He passed a hand across his eyes. “General,” he said to the Air Force officer, “if anything definite comes through —if this really is a threat the British have dug up, and remember there’s been no backing, no follow-up to it yet— no-one will recommend immediate splashdown quicker than I will. You know that. But. . . we’ve just nothing to go on—nothing! Only what this Shaw has picked up.”
The Vice-Chief of Staff lit a cigarette. He blew a stream of smoke. He said quietly, “I told the conference, Mr. Klaber—”
“That Shaw is known to the Pentagon and he has done a job or two for us already—all right, so now I know that!” Klaber’s tone was distinctly touchy; he was a peppery man at any time. “But it does not have to cut any ice with me, General! So far as I am concerned, so far as I can be concerned, he is just an agent who has picked up something so goddam vague it almost does not signify! The sun does not shine out of the top of his head, General. He could be so wrong, you know that?” His face creased up like a monkey’s.
The general nodded. “Sure he could! I hope he is. But can we deliberately, in view of his report, leave three lives at possible risk, to say nothing of all that top secret new equipment aboard the capsule?”
Klaber made a weary gesture. “We’ve
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