The convention center literally rocked from the thunderous applause of the delegates. All of them, from all fifty states and the various territories, women and men, whites, blacks, browns, were on their feet pounding their hands together and yelling, whistling, cheering as Tomlinson and Sebastian stood on the podium, clasped hands raised high in the air, beaming smiles at the roaring auditorium.
The noise hurt Jake’s ears, even though he was on his feet, too, yelling as loud as he could.
The ovation seemed to go on for an hour. At last the convention chairman, his bald head beaded with perspiration, started rapping his gavel, calling for order. It took a while, but ultimately the delegates quieted down and retook their seats.
The chairman bellowed into the microphones arrayed on the lectern in front of him, “I move that we nominate the Sebastian-Tomlinson ticket by acclamation!”
The crowd exploded again into cheers and applause.
It’s done, Jake said to himself. Sebastian for president, Tomlinson for vice president.
The crowd settled down again and Sebastian stepped forward to give his acceptance speech. It was dignified, optimistic, and ended with, “And we will win in November, never doubt it!”
Turning from the microphones, Sebastian reached out smilingly to shake Tomlinson’s hand, then stepped back to allow him to accept his nomination.
His brilliant smile back in place, Tomlinson looked over the rows and rows of expectant delegates. The huge auditorium fell absolutely silent.
Then he began, “This is the beginning of a new era. The American dream—alive, vital, glowing with promise—is expanding beyond the confines of Earth. We will lead the way into space, to the Moon and beyond. The dream will become reality, and a new generation of Americans will lead the way for all the peoples of Earth to reach new heights of freedom, and prosperity.”
And Jake realized that B. Franklin Tomlinson had at last broken free of his father’s hold on him. He’s going beyond anything the old man could envision. He’s his own man at last.
* * *
The next few days were a blur to Jake. He hardly saw Tami, except when the two of them tumbled exhausted into bed. Everybody wanted to interview Sebastian and Tomlinson. And Jake, as well. He talked until his throat felt raw, explaining the space plan, how it will generate new jobs, whole new industries.
Jake followed Tomlinson across the country, filling in eager news reporters and self-important commentators about the space plan. Tami—once again a member of Earl Reynolds’s public relations team—set up interviews and background discussions.
Jake was surprised that so many politicians’ aides wanted to learn the details of the space plan. But then he realized that the aides would feed their politicians as much information as they could handle, and carry the load from there. The politicians were the people who faced the public; the aides were the ones who did the work.
It was at the launch of another Astra Super rocket, at New Mexico’s Spaceport USA, that Jake bumped into Billy Trueblood again. In the middle of the pre-launch party, in the Spaceport’s capacious headquarters building, the young Zuni came up to Jake.
“Hello, Dr. Ross.” He was wearing a faded denim jacket over a checkered shirt and blue jeans, with a band of rough turquoise stones around his neck.
“Billy, how are you?” Jake had to practically yell to be heard over the noise of the buzzing, chattering crowd.
A rare smile split the young Zuni’s normally somber face. “I’m okay, sir,” Trueblood answered. “I’m fine.”
“Good.”
“For the first time in my life I’m doing what I want to do. I’m my own man now.”
Jake didn’t know what to say. Trueblood’s come a long way in a couple of weeks, he thought.
“I’ve been appointed the Zuni representative of the Young Astronauts program,” Billy said proudly.
Honestly delighted, Jake said, “That’s great! Did Nick set that up for you?”
“Mr. Piazza had nothing to do with it!” Trueblood snapped. “I worked through the tribal council. By myself, and for myself. I’ll be working with Isaiah Knowles, the ex-astronaut.”
“That’s wonderful, Billy. I’m proud of you.”
“I’ll be traveling to DC a lot, especially in the beginning. There’s a lot I have to learn.”
Draping an arm across the young man’s broad shoulders, Jake promised, “Tami and I will show you around. There’s lots of very good restaurants in Washington.”
With a laugh, Trueblood said, “You’ll be my friendly native guides, huh?”
“Damned right,” said Jake.
* * *
Still chuckling, Trueblood disappeared into the crowd. Jake turned around and saw Tami coming down the stairs from the balcony where the news media people had been stationed. He pushed his way toward her.
She rushed into his arms. “Jake! I just got a call from Earl Reynolds, back in DC. He’s got me an interview with Margarita Viera at WETA!”
“The Washington PBS station,” Jake said. “I worked there myself for a few weeks.”
“She’s offering the weekend anchor slot, Earl told me,” Tami bubbled. “And I’ll do specials, interviews … it’s a dream!”
Overjoyed, Jake said, “You’ve earned it, Tami.”
“This is your doing, isn’t it?”
Still clinging to her, Jake replied, “I asked Frank to help, yes.”
Tami kissed him. And Jake kissed her back, there in the middle of the crowd who had come to witness the launch.
“FIVE MINUTES AND COUNTING,” the overhead speakers announced. “COUNTDOWN PROCEEDING ON SCHEDULE.”
Arm in arm, Jake and Tami headed for the grandstand outside the Spaceport America building.
The grandstand was filling up with people streaming out of the headquarters building. The sun was just touching the western hills, turning the sky red and violet. The wind was calm, but Jake felt tremendously keyed up.
“WETA-TV,” Tami kept repeating. “I’ll host on national broadcasts, specials, and whatnot.”
“Can’t keep a good woman down,” Jake said, with an ear-to-ear grin.
“ONE MINUTE AND COUNTING,” the loudspeakers blared. “COUNTDOWN PROCEEDING ON SCHEDULE.”
Two miles away, the Astra Super rocket stood straight and tall on its launchpad. This was an unmanned launch, designed to land construction equipment safely on the lunar surface; later crewed missions would use the equipment to start building a permanent base on the Moon.
Jake saw roostertails of dust scurrying away from the launchpad as the last of the technicians hurried to safety.
“THIRTY SECONDS AND COUNTING.”
Jake felt his guts clenching inside him. The crowd climbing up into the grandstand started counting down in synchrony with the loudspeakers: “TWENTY … NINETEEN … EIGHTEEN…”
Jake saw the umbilical cords drop away from the Astra Super. Now the rocket stood alone against the red-streaked twilight sky.
“… TEN … NINE … EIGHT…”
At T minus five seconds a cloud of steam billowed around the rocket’s base. Then flame lit the cloud from within and the rocket booster began to rise, slowly, majestically, leaving the Earth.
Higher it rose, higher and faster. The sound reached across the distance to the grandstand, wave after wave of roaring thunder, shaking every nerve in Jake’s body. He clung to Tami, their faces uplifted as the Astra Super climbed across the sky, free of the bounds of Earth, heading toward the Moon.
Heading into the future.