Jake spent most of the next morning trying to reach William Farthington, NASA’s chief administrator. All he got for his efforts was a succession of aides and assistants who assured him that Farthington would return his call as soon as he possibly could.
While stewing in anticipation, Jake called Isaiah Knowles, at the Space Futures Foundation.
“You free for lunch?” he asked the former astronaut.
Knowles’s usual truculent expression morphed into a guarded smile. “Running out of friends?”
Jake smiled ruefully. “Just about. This NEA thing has me running around in circles.”
With a single curt nod, Knowles said, “I figured. Okay, how about Ebbitt’s Grill, ’round one o’clock?”
“I’ll see you there.”
Shortly before noon, Senator Tomlinson’s executive assistant called Jake. “Can you drop in to the office for a few minutes, Dr. Ross?”
“Sure,” Jake answered, thinking, When the senator rubs his magic lamp, the genie appears. Every time.
Senator Tomlinson was in his shirtsleeves, leaning back in his desk chair. The video screen that dominated one wall of his office showed Connie Zeeman, looking as fresh and energetic as Jake remembered her.
“Hi, Jake!” she called as soon as he came within range of the desk phone’s camera.
“Hello, Connie,” he said as he sat in one of the bottle-green leather chairs in front of the desk.
She looked just the way Jake remembered her: bright, sparkling eyes, sensuous full lips, sandy hair cropped short, like an athlete’s, V-necked sweater showing an enticing bit of cleavage.
Senator Tomlinson seemed at ease as he said, “So we’re trying to do some damage control. Can you get me an appointment to meet with the NEA’s top man?”
“Top woman,” Connie corrected.
“Whoever. I’ve got to patch up this unfortunate misunderstanding—”
Connie’s cheerful expression hardened. “It’s not a misunderstanding, Frank. You said the schools aren’t doing their job.”
“Well, they’re not.”
“Dora Engels doesn’t see that as a misunderstanding. It’s a slap in the face, as far as she’s concerned.”
“You’ve spoken to her about this?”
“She’s spoken to me,” said Connie. “She’s pissed as hell.”
“Great,” Tomlinson moaned.
Jake said, “We’d like to set up a meeting with her, sort of a peace conference.”
“Lots of luck.”
“No, this is serious,” Tomlinson said. “We need to smooth this over. And quickly.”
“Dora won’t have a one-on-one with you, I’m pretty certain,” Connie said.
“How about a conference involving the head of NASA and a few astronauts?” Jake suggested. “Plus Frank, of course.”
“And the purpose of this conference would be?”
“To see how NASA and the space community can help teachers to get their pupils interested in the STEM subjects.”
Connie shook her head negatively. “That’s like the old Young Astronauts program. It didn’t work then and it won’t work now.”
“Why not?”
“Because most teachers won’t participate. How’re they going to squeeze in time for special sessions on space travel when their school hours are already crammed full?”
“That’s what the conference would be about,” Tomlinson said. “Finding the answer to that problem.”
Connie’s expression turned thoughtful. “In other words, you want a conference that’s aimed at helping teachers.”
“And their pupils,” Jake added.
“Maybe that could work.”
“I’m not going to go in sackcloth and ashes,” Tomlinson warned. “I don’t want this to look like I’m begging them for forgiveness.”
Her normal grin returning, Connie said, “But that’s what you’ll be doing, isn’t it?”
“No,” Jake snapped. “We’re trying to help the teachers to get their pupils interested in the STEM subjects by using space as an incentive.”
“Sure you are.”
Tomlinson said, “The main thing is to get the NEA to support me, not work against me.”
“As I said before, fellas, lots of luck.”
* * *
The Old Ebbitt Grill was crowded, as usual, but Jake immediately spotted Isaiah Knowles sitting in a booth next to the window looking out onto the street. He brushed past the harried maître d’ and slid into the booth across the table from the former astronaut.
“Hi, Ike, how are you?”
Knowles’s dark-skinned face broke into a guarded smile. “I’m keepin’ my head above water. How about you?”
Ruefully, Jake answered, “Trying to keep from drowning.”
“This NEA thing?”
“Yeah.”
A rail-thin waiter took their drink orders—ginger beer for Knowles, club soda for Jake—then quickly disappeared into the throng crowding the bar.
“Two big-time boozers we are,” Knowles said.
“Yeah.”
“So what’re you doing to smooth the NEA’s feathers?”
“Trying to arrange a conference with their top people,” Jake replied. “We want to convince them that they can use the kids’ interest in space to get them to study the STEM subjects.”
Knowles shook his head. “But the teachers don’t know the STEM subjects, most of ’em. And they don’t want to take the time to learn them. I know! We tried to convince them when I was in the agency. Hit a stone wall.”
The waiter reappeared with their drinks. “You ready to order lunch?” he asked as he put the glasses on the table.
Both Knowles and Jake ordered hamburgers: medium rare for Jake, medium well for Knowles. The waiter scratched on his order pad and disappeared again.
Hunching over the table slightly, Jake said, “Look, Ike, this meeting doesn’t have to accomplish anything except getting the NEA on Frank’s side. We can’t afford to have them working against us.”
“Guess not.”
“I’m trying to get Farthington to come along with us.”
“Bloviating Billy? Yeah. He could talk ’em deaf, dumb, and blind.”
Jake grinned. Then he said, “Hey, maybe we can get some people from the private space firms: you know, like Harry Quinton and maybe Nick Piazza.”
“Good idea,” said Knowles. “Let the kids see real billionaires.”
“And a few astronauts.”
Knowles’s brows rose a few millimeters. “Lots of retired astronauts out there. You could maybe put together a regular corps of ’em.”
“That’s an idea.”
“I’m one of ’em.”
“I know.”
“I’ve done more space missions than any of ’em, did you know that?”
“Really?”
“And I’m good-looking. And black. I think I ought to head up your astronaut corps.”
“Would you?”
With the brightest smile Jake had ever seen on his usually dour face, Knowles said, “Why not? You don’t need to bother Farthington. There’s enough retired astronauts to do the job.”
“But we can’t just ignore NASA. The agency’s got to be a part of this.”
Knowles acknowledged, “Yeah, I suppose so.”
“This could be terrific,” Jake enthused. “Real astronauts visiting the schools, talking to the kids.”
Knowles raised a cautionary finger. “If the NEA goes for it.”
Nodding vigorously, Jake responded, “Oh, they’ll go for it. How could they refuse?”
“You’d be surprised,” said Isaiah Knowles.