Starburst

10

THE THIRD WORST THING IN DIETER VON KNEFHAUSEN'S LIFE was that conditions in Washington had continued to worsen. There were ominous rumblings of tank treads at night, and now and then a flight of low-flying jets overhead that made one ask whom they might belong to. Knefhausen slept now on a cot in the little office next to his own; some days even his secretary could not make it in to the office, though one would expect she was protected by the badge of her skin color. And the food he had to eat! Such food the Army even turned up its nose at, desiccated hash and gummy fruit bars that defied recognition.

The second worst thing was that the President had put him in the doghouse again. Back in the isolation ward, where there were no armored helicopters and no favors offered. He could not ask the President for any, even, be-cause the President was "traveling." Traveling where? One could not be told, because of security. Perhaps he was orbiting in Air Force One, out of the range of any possible heat- seeking missiles in the hands of black insurrectionists or campus rowdies. Perhaps in the rabbit warrens under Camp David. Perhaps, most likely of all, simply cowering in the White House and refusing to be seen.

But it was almost better that the President did not see him and he could go nowhere; because there was the worst thing of all. From the Constitution, nothing! No telemetry. No regular reports. Not even one word, not even a bad one! There had been ample time for his scolding order to reach them and a response to return. No response. One could not even say that they were angered by the curtness of his tone, because they must have stopped transmitting long before that was received.

So, then, what? Some terrible accident? A collision with some misplaced asteroid or comet body in the Oort cloud?

It would almost be better if that were the case, Knef­hausen grieved. The alternative was worse. The alternative was that, no matter what assurances he had given the President, the ruse had been discovered, heaven could only guess how. And so the experiment was out of control; and worse than that, his participation in it was at an end.

So much had been risked! So much already lost! But that was not important to Knefhausen; he would wager more than that and accept a losing roll of the dice—gladly!—if only he could see the end of his work.

So he pored over the old reports, and dispatched messages — wheedling, pleading, begging—that might never reach the spacecraft, much less be answered. And if he had known how to pray he would have prayed for a message, any message at ail! Anything would be better than this!

Or so he thought until, at last, a message came.