He was also careful not to neglect press officers. On this occasion Moonbase's media rep would be giving interviews, and Rick wanted to exert some influence over what was said. He therefore made it a point to stop by the public relations office, introduce himself, and feign interest in the operation. Would you like to tour our little corner of Moonbase, Mr. Hailey?

Of course he would. This is the video production department, and that's the VIP coordination group. While they were strolling through the training facility (which was directed by the same person who oversaw the press office), Hailey saw an extraordinarily striking young woman. She had green-flecked gray eyes and blond hair, and she looked at him with the curiosity to which vice presidential confidants become accustomed.

"Who is that?" he asked his escort innocently.

"Oh," the escort replied, "just one of the communications technicians."

He let it drop. It would have been unseemly to push.

Then she was gone, out the door, with a sheaf of papers in one hand.

Richard Daley Hailey enjoyed the electricity and dazzle of politics, where the rabbit was power rather than money. So when an uncle running for alderman had asked Rick's help, he took a leave of absence from his public relations job and directed the campaign. He decided which issues they would put up front (garbage collection and street repair), which aspects of their opponent's corruption they would emphasize (nepotism and paybacks), which voting blocs they would pursue and which concede.

He discovered that he had perfect pitch in these matters, and his uncle won easily. Rick never went back to his old job.

A few years later he saw to the election of Avery Foster, the most thoroughly incompetent mayor Chicago had ever seen. It was the victory that made Rick's reputation. When, during later years, journalists tried to corner him about Foster's corruption and incompetence, Rick took the position that it was not his purpose to find truth in a political campaign. "My job," he once told Fox TV, "is to champion one side or the other. Truth emerges from the clash of ideas, not from one person's advocacy."

He'd won a lot of campaigns since Foster, had never lost, and was pleased now to be working for Charlie Haskell, although riding a good candidate to victory struck him as less of a challenge. Charlie was behind at the moment, but that was only because he lacked Kolladner's support. He was an ideal candidate, honest, reasonably intelligent, with Avery Foster's knack for saying the right thing. He was young, physically imposing at six-four, good-looking, the kind of guy most people wanted their daughter to bring home. And he had a great smile. With American voters, a single aw-shucks smile compensates for four years of invisibility.

Rick wished he'd been able to get the name of the woman with the green-flecked eyes. Skyport Orbital Lab. 1:58 P.M.

Tory glanced at her central display, which provided a live view of boiling Venusian clouds.

The Venus probe of 2016 had contained a Hofleiter 0.8-meter telescope which, after the main package had been injected into that world's atmosphere, had gone into orbit.

The Hofleiter was capable of making ultraviolet, optical, and near-infrared observations over wavelengths from 115 to 1010 nanometers. It carried two spectrographs, a high-speed photometer, a wide-field Advanced Charge-Coupled Device, and a fine guidance sensor. Its primary mission was to map the Venusian atmosphere, to track its turbulence, and thereby to contribute to a better understanding of terrestrial weather patterns.

Now they had permission to retarget. It was a process they did only with reluctance. In planetary atmospheric observations, continuity was everything. Sequence and development mattered. But a second message from Feinberg had forced their hand:

PROBABLE COMET. VERY LARGE HALO.

A comet.

Tory was delighted. It was always exciting to be in on a discovery like this, even if credit would go to Tomiko What's-her-name in St. Louis. But if it was a comet, it would orbit the Sun and go back out the way it had come. Which meant it might not be visible to the naked eye for several months, until Earth had traveled to the other side of its orbit.

But that raised a question: Why had no one noticed it, say, last October, when it was on its way in and Earth was on the far side of the Sun?

"Ready," she told Windy.

"Do it."

She'd already entered the comet's coordinates and had only to activate. This she did with a flourish, and she and her supervisor watched the monitors blank out. The orbiter would need several minutes to shift on its axis, realign, and focus.

"It's probably because it isn't very bright," said Windy. "Happens all the time."

"All the time?"

"Well, occasionally."

Images started to come in. The definition adjusted, and they saw it! "Comet Tomiko," said Tory.

Windy grinned. "Stay with it," he said. "Eventually you'll get one of your own."

She increased magnification. "Not much of a tail." It was gauzy. Barely perceptible.

Windy shook his head. "I wonder if we've seen it before."

Tory called up the register for regularly recurring comets and initiated a search.

"Negative," she said after a time. "We don't know this one."

CHAPTER TWO

Tuesday, April 9

1.

Moonbase, Director's Dining Room. 7:15 A.M.

Charlie heard about the comet at breakfast. He was with a dozen or so other special guests when Slade Elliott mentioned the subject. The comment was offhanded, of no particular significance. To Charlie, as well as to most of the other VIPs, a comet was a light in the sky that one might take a look at if one happened to be on a dark patch of road. But it struck him as appropriate that the information would come from the man who'd made his fortune playing the swashbuckling captain of a fictitious starship.

Evelyn took advantage of the breakfast to introduce Jack Chandler, who would be the first director of Moonbase. Chandler was stocky, intense, reserved. He did not look entirely comfortable shaking hands with the notables, but he radiated an air of quiet competence. He wouldn't have been worth a damn as a politician, but the vice president sensed he'd do all right as an administrator. What he'd need though, Charlie thought, would be a good public affairs advisor. Somebody like Rick. The director of Moonbase was going to become a political animal whether he wanted to or not.

As they were breaking up, Charlie cornered Evelyn. "I'd like a favor," he said.

"Name it."

"I want to go outside."

Sam Anderson lost most of his color and began to shake his head vigorously no. Charlie put on a bemused expression for the senior agent.

"On the surface?" asked Evelyn.

"Of course. On the surface."

She hesitated. "You have any experience with p-suits?"

Sam looked as if he were going to explode.

"Your people can show me," said Charlie.

"Mr. Vice President, we don't allow anyone to go out who isn't thoroughly familiar with the equipment."

"How long does it take to become thoroughly familiar?"

"Usually a few days. We do some training and administer a written test and a practical. And a physical."

Charlie sighed. "I'm not going to be here that long."

Evelyn smiled sympathetically. "What do you think they'd do to me if I lost a vice president?"