‘He’s been told. But the practicalities aren’t his problem, they’re ours.’

‘My hands are full,’ Dixon said.

His recent late nights had involved a succession of increasingly bizarre experiments to try to crack the atmospheric barrier problem. Dixon and his team had come at the problem from every angle they could think of. They’d explored the idea of vast ground-based aerials, or high-altitude radio balloons. They’d considered developing re­usable space planes that could take off and land from regular airstrips. They’d even thought about somehow shrinking down the IBM 7090 mainframe computer that was currently being used by the Mercury programme so it could actually be launched into space. Each experiment was approached with fresh optimism, but each one failed. It was tiring.

‘You know, it’s cute how you think you have a choice,’ Murphy said.

Dixon finally finished his cigarette. ‘I thought we were winning, anyway.’

‘Of course we are,’ Murphy answered. ‘America doesn’t lose. But we could be winning faster. Ideally before the next election.’

‘There it is,’ Dixon said.

‘Don’t act so surprised. Everything’s always about votes.’

A dark thought suddenly struck Dixon. ‘He’d use Corona on our own people, wouldn’t he?’

Murphy pulled himself up out of the easy chair. ‘I wouldn’t recommend it, at least not letting the electorate know it was happening. But I can see the logic.’

‘That’s not something I want to help happen,’ Dixon said.

‘It’s been happening for years,’ Murphy replied. ‘Did you know in the thirties the Nazis worked out which US states had the highest numbers of German migrants in them so they could run adverts about the joys of National Socialism in the local papers and swing US public opinion against intervening in Europe? I saw the map they made.’

‘We’re using Nazis as our reference point, now?’

Murphy smiled. ‘I’m just saying this is nothing new. Finding people, working out what they want, and giving it to them. It’s basic advertising.’

‘That’s not what either of the As in NASA stand for,’ Dixon said.

‘You sure?’ The grin on Murphy’s face faded as soon as he finished his joke. ‘This is a mess, Patrick.’

‘That it is, Phinn.’

‘Want another one?’ Murphy asked, offering Dixon his cigarette case.

‘Thanks, but one’s enough for me.’

‘Suit yourself.’ Murphy prepared another cigarette for himself as he made his way to the door. ‘See you tomorrow, if we both still work here by then.’

Chapter 35

Chapter 35