JUNE 1968
Even if everybody said it was monumentally unlikely that Seth Springer would ever leave the ground, the preparations for Apollo-Icarus 6, scheduled for launch on June 14, had to go ahead. As not one of the early shots would even have reached its target before June, let alone deflected Icarus, nobody would know if the plan had worked or not. And the manned-fallback Apollo had to be made ready, just in case.
So as early as mid-May, NASA’s bureaucracy ground into action. A Flight Readiness Board formally approved the launch. Seth was assigned his own backup now, and it was poor Charlie Duke’s turn to be locked in the simulator, frantically trying to bone up on the mission plan.
As Sheridan had promised, Seth and his family were moved into NASA’s crew quarters on Merritt Island, at the Cape. Here he would live from now on, endure the final training and medical checks, be kept insulated from the bugs carried by the mass of mankind he would be trying to save—and be protected from the press attention that began to seem overwhelming.
Seth was glad to have the family here with him. The boys knew nothing of the truth of his mission, and Seth and Pat were determined to keep it that way as long as possible. Their quarters were like a decent hotel crossed with a liberal monastery, with maids and a dedicated cook who proved a dab hand at putting together hamburgers and fries. But the boys predictably got stir crazy being stuck indoors all day, and Pat was allowed, under a heavy marine guard, to let them play outside, even take them to the Florida beaches.
The pressure of preparation and training didn’t let up. Seth even had to approve a mission patch for his flight-that-would-never-be. The least foolish design was a fragile blue Earth cradled in cupped human hands.
He did have some social life, aside from Pat and the boys. There were visits from other family, including his parents and kid sister, and buddies from school days through the Air Force and NASA. Everybody smiled the whole time and insisted it was so long, not goodbye. Seth felt like a patient stricken with some terminal disease.
In the end, as he soaked up all the pressure, he seemed to enter a new stage of consciousness, drifting above it all, as if he’d relinquished control. “My life has become one long checklist,” he said to Pat.
“It’s more like our wedding day,” she replied, tired herself, trying to smile. “Even this isn’t as stressful as that was. In the end you just—”
“Float.”
But this interval of floating had to come to an end.
Icarus was due to strike Earth on Wednesday June 19. On the evening of Wednesday, June 12, one week ahead, George Sheridan showed up with a bottle of bourbon.
* * * *
“The medics won’t approve,” Seth said, as he was poured a healthy measure.
“Screw them,” Sheridan said. “I’m their boss. Mud in your eye. So. You been following the news, while they’ve been pampering you in this health club?”
“Saw that Humphrey got shot on the campaign trail.” Hubert Humphrey was LBJ’s vice president.
“Hell of a note, and just what we needed.”
“And I saw the images of Icarus taken from Palomar, in the papers.”
“Needless to say, that started the panic buying and everybody driving for the Appalachians. Not that everybody’s running. Bermuda’s the nearest significant land mass to the impact point, and they’re holding some kind of rock concert there. Hippies and flower power. Ought to cut their damn hair, by law.”
“That would make all the difference when Icarus falls, sir.”
Sheridan eyed him. “Well, we got the results in. You know, all three nukes that arrived so far were delivered with total precision, the detonations went off like a dream, and the Monitors saw it all, flying through the debris cloud, and the nukes pushed that rock. But, damn it, just not hard enough. Now the astronomers are saying maybe the rock isn’t a rock at all; maybe it’s a bunch of little rocks all jammed up together, like a rubble pile, and the bombs are just kind of compressing the mass—”
“George, what about Pat and the boys?”
Sheridan looked into his eyes. “RFK himself is going to take care of it. Right after the launch he’ll take your family to Hickory Hill—the house he has in McLean, Virginia. Bought it from his big brother, in fact. And on Icarus day, when LBJ will be in Air Force One, RFK will personally take your family with him to NORAD in Colorado, and wait it out under a damn mountain, where they’ll be no more than fifty feet from Kennedy’s own family until it’s over.”
“The boys will be terrified.”
“We can’t help that. But they’ll be safe, right?” Sheridan eyed him. “You know, I can’t order you to do this thing, son, even now. How are you feeling?”
“Scared.”
“Of what?”
“Of screwing up with the whole world watching. Jesus. You saving that bourbon for another occasion, George . . . ?”
* * * *
On the Thursday they let Seth and Pat and the boys out of the cage, and, under a heavy but discreet guard, the family spent the day on the beach. Seth concentrated on nothing but the vivid sensations of that summer day, the sun, the sand, the crisp briny tang of the water—the laughter of the boys, for whom this was a day like any other, in a long chain of happy days with Mom and Dad.
Back in the crew quarters that night, they ate, played a little, watched TV in their pyjamas. Then the two of them put the boys to bed. There were no goodbyes, just a day ending.
Pat couldn’t bear to stay the night with Seth.
Somewhat to his own surprise, Seth slept pretty well that night. Maybe it was all the sea air.
And when Charlie Duke’s discreet knock on the door woke him up, at six a.m., it was Friday, June 14.
Launch day.