Tara Bingham, the World Conservancy Alliance lobbyist, had long dark hair and an athletic body, judging from the toned arms exposed by her sleeveless dress. I was certainly attracted to her at the meeting with the CRFS delegation, but didn’t give her much thought until I ran into her the next day outside the Natural Resources Committee Hearing room. She seemed as glad to see me as I was to see her again. We joked a little about the size of the group that packed into Mr. Grant’s office and Bill Hogan’s overly impassioned appeal.
“I’m glad I ran into you. The Alliance just decided to invite your boss to speak at our global climate change conference in Tucson next month. It would be a great chance for him to share his views on how to best ensure the long-term health of the environment. That sort of thing.” Though global climate change was a minor policy issue at the time, Mr. Grant was already a strong supporter of more research into the veracity of global warming trends data, as well as the long-term implications.
I told her it sounded like a great opportunity, and explained our office policy that all speaking invitations needed to be in writing. She agreed to get something over to me in a day or so.
In those few minutes, I became completely taken with her. I knew it was mostly physical. The clean lines of her face and body were easy to look at. But, it was the humor mixed with an intensity of purpose I found even more attractive. Seizing the moment, I found myself sputtering an invitation to lunch. “Say, how about, uh, I mean, do you have any plans for lunch? I thought maybe if you weren’t…”
“Lunch? Sure. Why don’t we meet in the Rayburn Cafeteria in at 12:30?” She gave me a smile and slipped back into the hearing room.
We picked up some sandwiches in the cafeteria in the Rayburn Building, and decided to picnic on a bench in the small park across ‘C’ Street adjacent to the south side of the building. She got a crab cake sandwich and I had turkey and tomato on a roll. I would have been satisfied to sit in the cafeteria, but Tara insisted we get outside. It was a beautiful spring day.
“Everything is really blooming now,” she said. I looked around at the manicured park space, with a stone fountain at the center. It was quiet oasis from the chaos on the Hill. Though I had passed that park many times, I had never stopped to take it in. I was feeling at ease with Tara. She identified for me the trees and flowers that were close by. I was perfectly content to listen to the sound of her voice as she lectured on the park’s botany. The sun danced in her hair, as it swayed with her expressive movements. Her lips frequently stretched to expose her irresistible smile.
“How did you get stuck working on the NASA budget anyway?” She asked the question playfully as the conversation ambled back to issues of the Hill. “NASA is not the hot issue at the moment.”
“Yeah, I suppose you’re right. Being the new guy on staff I didn’t have much to say about it. Still, I have to admit, I’m finding the topic fascinating.” I didn’t tell her that it was the chance to work on space policy that attracted me to the job.
“Don’t tell me you’re one of those space geeks,” she poked.
“Hey, if you play your cards right, I might let you see my Spock ears,” I replied, as I turned my head to one side striking a pose, which got her to let out a delicious laugh.
Swallowing another bite of her sandwich, Tara said, more seriously, “I have to say, though, I never cease to be amazed at the amount of money we’re spending on the space program? It’s something like $13 billion a year.”
“$14.2 billion, actually. And that’s not counting how much DOD spends on space projects.”
“You see!” She jabbed me in the arm. “That’s a lot of money that could do so much good in other areas. All the Weinstein amendment is asking for is to transfer just a couple billion from that budget.”
“I hear you, but it’s not my call. The Coalition has a good argument. The space station could wait until other priorities are met. Or perhaps we should encourage the private sector to invest in a space station and run it for profit. Then NASA could just pay for the space services it needs.” I stopped short of saying that I agreed with that logic. “But, of course, it’s Mr. Grant’s decision. I have to support whatever he decides.”
She reached over and put her hand on my arm. “You probably have more influence than you think. But sure, you wouldn’t want to do anything to compromise your integrity. I completely respect that. I just feel a sense of obligation to those in need and to future generations, and that maybe a space station is a luxury we can’t afford right now.”
“Yes, of course. It is an obligation,” I repeated. The strange conversations I had with Mr. Grant about the plaque came back to me, and his cryptic response about the plaque’s meaning. Did I need to know its meaning, as he asked? Of course, I didn’t need to know. That was a nonsense question.
“Hey, are you still with me?” I had lingered on the thought a little too long and Tara noticed.
I was looking at a distant flower bed, feeling very relaxed. “Sure, never left.”
She laughed. “Funny, you look like …Have you ever meditated before?”
This pulled me back to the moment, “Uh, no. Why?”
“It’s just the way you look… It’s that look people get when they are in a meditative state.”
“Don’t know what to say to that. I don’t think I would go for saying ‘Om’ if that’s what you mean.”
“Well, you could meditate that way if you want. But…here, let me show you a really simple way to do it.” Without waiting for my agreement, she began to instruct me. “Just sit in a relaxed position.”
“Don’t I have to sit cross legged or something?” She assured me it wasn’t necessary. If the park hadn't been nearly empty, I'm sure I would have been more reluctant to follow her lead.
“Now close your eyes. Take a deep breath.” Her voice became soft as she guided me. “Put your attention on your breath. Be aware of each in-breath. Now the out-breath. That’s it… Now imagine you are lying on a beach and there is an ocean of relaxation, and the tide is coming in. First it washes over your feet. Your feet feel deeply relaxed. Feel the relaxation. Now it washes over your ankles.” As I followed Tara’s visualization instruction, my body responded with wave after wave of relaxation until the imagined ocean reached the top of my head. I had never felt so relaxed.
She went silent, and the space she drew me into felt expansive. For a few moments there was deep comfort and tranquility. Then, in the absence of Tara's soothing voice, my own thoughts began to intrude and dissect the experience, dissipating the sense of wholeness. After a few minutes, she said, “Okay, when you’re ready, you can open your eyes.”
When I fluttered my eyes open, the scene in the park looked a little more vibrant than it had earlier. I turned my head to Tara, who was laughing at me. She seemed to glow as well, looking more beautiful. I laughed along with her, and felt a little embarrassed.
“Man, you’re an easy one. You sure you never did this before?”
"What did I do?"
That short meditation made me feel a bit lighter and more comfortable with Tara. And somehow, the response to Mr. Grant’s challenge seemed quite obvious.
***
“You’ll need to write a floor speech for the Weinstein amendment,” Mr. Grant announced after summoning me to his office.
“Then you’ll be supporting the amendment?” He hadn’t previously given me a clear indication either way on the issue, but had dropped hints that he would likely give in to pressure to vote in favor of the measure to cancel the space station.
“What? Support the amendment? Of course not.” The irritation in his voice sent my adrenaline flowing. “We have too many allies in California and around the country who are counting on my ‘No’ vote. There may not be much NASA money spent in my district, but overall twenty-five percent of all NASA’s budget is spent in California, so we need to be supportive of our state delegation. You should know that.” My face went red with this reprimand.
“And, you never know,” he added impishly, “the space station just might turn out to be a worthwhile investment.” We shared a smile, which put me at ease again.
“We need a balanced message,” he continued, “that won’t set me apart from the intentions of the CRFS members. I want to express my deep support for their respective programs. At the same time, we must outline the three main reasons why keeping the space station program going is so important to the country and the world. Got that?”
“Yes. But, so I’m clear. Just what are the three main reasons to keep the space station going...in your opinion?”
“Well, John... that’s your job, isn’t it?” His mouth curled in a mischievous smile. “I’m sure you’ll come up with a very compelling argument.”
That would have been the end of the meeting had the plaque not caught my eye.
I stood to leave, but turned back to Mr. Grant. “And regarding the plaque, my answer is yes. I mean… I do need to know.”
I had wanted to be casual. But the awkwardness left Mr. Grant momentarily confused. I stammered a fuller explanation. When he realized what I was getting at, he frowned and leaned back in his chair.
“Ah, yes. The plaque!” He sounded slightly annoyed that I had bothered him again with the topic. He turned his body toward the object, and then looked at me with a worried expression on his face. My anxiety heightened.
“Few people even notice it. Most people who do don’t give it a second thought. But every once in a while, it gets its hooks into someone.” He paused to look at the plaque again for a long few moments.
Finally, with melancholy in his voice, he continued, “For thousands of years men have been captivated by the idea of space travel. Today, we squabble like idiots over whether or not to build a space station, when we should stand in awe that we are even capable of such a feat. For millennia, before Apollo and Vostok, humankind wondered what secrets the heavens held for us. In the twentieth century some folks began to view space as not only an intriguing place to travel, but also as a place where humanity might start new civilizations.” There was a low intensity in his voice that disarmed me in a similar way Tara had done on the park bench. Mr. Grant smiled at me and continued, “I think a lot about our world. How the Apollo astronauts took the first pictures of the whole planet in one frame, showing how very small the Earth is in the vast ocean of space. In the last hundred years we’ve pulled back the veil on the solar system, replacing a mystery with an amazing reality. We’ve calculated the physical composition of the solar system and the resources that it holds. With that information, the idea that we could use those resources to develop large bases and eventually colonies on the moon and Mars and other places became a reasonable goal…and, well, it has become a fascination of mine.”
I was taken by the grand attributes he assigned the words on the plaque and how intrigued he was by the idea of space colonization. But, there was still something I didn’t understand.
“Wow… I see the possibilities too. I’ve always wondered where we would be today if we didn’t cancel the Apollo program… Still, I keep coming back to the part of the plaque that says that space colonies will be the fulfillment of an Obligation. I still don’t get just what that means.”
He had a smile on his face. “Well, that’s the whole point of this conversation, isn’t it? That’s the essence of the meaning that you’ve decided that you need to know. Unfortunately getting to that understanding is a much longer process, and you’ll have to be clear with me that you are willing to put in the effort to make that discovery.”
I was confused. I was looking for a short answer, or perhaps a book title I could go get from the library. What real effort could there be? Mr. Grant seemed to recognize my bafflement and stared at me again for a long time. He must have seen the doubt on my face because he finally concluded, “No, John. My recommendation is that you leave it alone. It’s best to think about space colonization, if you think of it at all, as just a really cool thing that humankind will one day achieve. Enjoy the sci-fi novels and movies about space travel for now, and leave it at that.”
Something boiled up in me in response to Mr. Grant’s dismissal. It was part anger at some judgment he seemed to be making about my character or sincerity. It was also a feeling that something very important was slipping through my fingers that if I didn’t grasp for it firmly right then and there I might lose it forever.
“I’m willing to put in the effort, Mr. Grant. Whatever is required. I don’t understand what that will involve, but if you want a commitment from me to put in some effort in order to understand the meaning of the plaque, I’m willing to do what it takes.” This all came out in a desperate rush that took both Mr. Grant and me by surprise.
“And why is that?” he demanded in a low tone.
“I…I…I’ve heard those words before. In my dreams. Many times. At least I’m pretty sure I have. Even before I came to work here.”
He studied me again, wide eyed. “I see. All right then. I suppose we have no choice then. The choiceless choice is always the best kind. You have no idea what you’re getting yourself in for, but let’s give it a try. There is a lot of information you must absorb. In order for it to make sense, you must be completely open and receptive to whatever is presented to you. Can you do that?” I nodded my agreement to the condition.
“Whatever is required is strictly between you and me. No one else needs to know. And, of course, you must not let your regular work here suffer in any way. Is that understood?” Again, I eagerly assured him it was, even as a sharp twinge of apprehension twisted in my gut.
“Now, let’s see,” he asked himself aloud. After searching a corner of the room for an idea, his eyebrows went up as he came to a decision, “Chip Johnson. That’s it. That’s who you should see first.”
“Chip Johnson? The astronaut?”
He shifted in his chair and leaned toward me, “If you are interested in knowing the full meaning of the plaque and the Obligation, you’ll have to first understand why some people are so passionate about space travel. Talk to Chip and ask him about the source of his passion for spaceflight, and listen carefully to his reply. But—and this is important—do not ask him about the plaque. That will come later. After you speak to Chip, let me know and we can talk more at greater length. Does that sound okay to you?”
Bewildered, I nodded in agreement.
“Good!” And just as abruptly, he said no more on the subject and waved me out of his office.
I sat at my desk for a long while not quite sure what I had just committed myself to.
***
I woke in the dim predawn hour in my room. Tara’s form lay next to me motionless in a deep sleep. It was four AM, and the street lamps cast just enough light to illuminate Tara's tranquil features. The simple but attractive lines of her face reflected her inner strength. Her straight black hair swept across her chin. The sheet carelessly covered her naked body from the waist down, allowing me to admire once more the wonderfully taut curves of her torso. She twitched, adjusted herself and became motionless again.
Things had moved much more quickly between us than I had expected. There was certainly a mutual physical attraction. But, the ease we had with each other made all the difference.
I had called her the previous afternoon on a whim to grab a few minutes of small talk. Without expecting much, I asked her to dinner that night and she agreed. I wasn’t really pushing for anything to happen. I was perfectly happy to settle into a leisurely courtship that could eventually, I hoped, lead to something more intimate. I don’t think either of us thought things would progress so quickly on the first date.
We shared a pizza and a pitcher of sangria at Machiavelli’s Restaurant on Pennsylvania Ave, SE, a few blocks from the Hill. It was late. We both had worked past eight PM, and in some unspoken way decided to relieve the stress of our demanding jobs by indulging in pure silliness.
“Open up. Come on, open up.” Holding up a chunk of sangria-soaked apple I coaxed her to open her mouth so I could take a shot. I was proud of my ability to toss bits of food into peoples' mouths at a distance, and wanted to demonstrate. She would only open her mouth into a narrow circle and with her eyes wide she swayed her head back and forth. She was not making it easy for me to make the shot. “Curse you!” I cried in mock frustration. Laughing uncontrollably, I tossed the piece of fruit and bopped her on the left nostril. The rebounding morsel landed onto the pizza at the table next to ours. It hit the edge of the pie and skittered across the mushroom and black olive toppings before coming to rest on the red and white checkered tablecloth between our co-patrons. Tara and I apologized while vainly trying to suppress our laughter. Our fellow diners were not amused and asked to be moved to another table, and demanded a fresh pie. This only made us laugh harder. We were eighth graders in trouble. And it was wonderfully delinquent.
We left the restaurant still amused with ourselves. About three blocks away, on the first quiet street we came to, we embraced for the first time. We kissed and joked and pressed our bodies into one another. Finally, Tara announced that she just had to walk me home to make sure I got there safely, Captain’s orders. I dutifully obeyed.
As much as I liked the playful side of Tara, I was even more taken by the intensity of her passion for what she believed. After love making, we sat up for a long while talking about issues that were important to us. She talked about biodiversity and the destruction of the rain forests and the changing climate. I did my best to hold up my end of these conversations, and she patiently explained aspects of the issues not familiar to me. I was humbled by her depth of knowledge and commitment.
In turn, she wanted to know what I cared about, and what I really thought of the space program. This question brought me back to Mr. Grant’s plaque and odd instructions to speak with an Apollo astronaut.
I sat up and scratched my head, and decided to confide my true feelings on the topic. “I guess space travel has always been a strong interest.”
Her head cocked at my admission. Sleepily, she said “You really are a space geek. I knew it.”
“I’m just old enough to remember the Apollo missions. Even at that age I was captivated. My favorite toy was Billy Blastoff, you know. He was a little guy in a space suit. And the batteries in the backpack powered his different vehicles, like a mini space shuttle, a moon rover and a jet pack.” She listened to me reminisce, snuggling close.
“Even then I was into space infrastructure.” She smiled with eyes fading, and I went on. “I remember when I heard the Apollo program was being canceled. It seemed strange and painful to me. I didn’t understand why everyone wasn’t as disappointed as I was.” Her eyes were closed, but I continued just the same. Her eyelashes tickled the hair on my forearm. “I wanted to be an astronaut. I applied for the Air Force Academy. I didn’t get in. I could have joined Air Force ROTC, but that held less interest for me. Law made more sense. I was better at writing papers than doing physics labs anyway. But, through it all there has always been something about space travel that really interested me.”
She stirred, and looked up. “I want to fly in space. Especially with you!” She grinned. Then her voice took on a serious tone. “Promise me something. Let’s make a deal that we don’t let what you’re doing for NASA and what I’m doing for the environment come between us.” The thought hadn’t even occurred to me that such a divide were possible. Perhaps it should have.
“I can agree with that. But, you had me worried for a second. I thought you were going to ask me to stop wearing my Spock ears. And that I will never agree to.” With that I leaned in for another caress. As I kissed her neck, she chuckled, “Billy Blastoff? For real?”
As I waited for her to awake, I considered again the compact I had made with Mr. Grant. It all seemed harmless enough, but all so strange. What would an Apollo astronaut have to tell me? I wanted to share the story with Tara, but decided to wait and see what actually happened.