Gordian had been watching Nordstrum quietly as he spoke. Now he crossed his arms on the desktop and leaned forward over them.

"Alex, it isn't the same with Orion," he said. "The space agency is a different entity these days. More cohesive and goal-oriented. More transparent in its internal operations. Its standards have been restored. I never would've committed UpLink's resources to ISS if that hadn't been demonstrated to me."

Nordstrum looked thoughtful.

"Gord, you may be sold," he said. "But the currency of trust NASA built up with the public during its Mercury and Apollo years is almost depleted. Selling them is going to be a problem."

"You aren't sounding very sanguine."

Norstrum expelled a breath. "The accident creates uncertainty even for those of us who believe in space research. And long before Orion, a great many taxpayers, maybe a majority, considered the program a wasteful frittering away of their money. For its critics, a forty-billion-dollar international space station, with hundreds of millions going to bail out the Russians--who couldn't pay for their end despite Starinov's pledges to the contrary--is emblematic of that waste. They haven't seen any practical value in it and nobody's done an adequate job of making them feel otherwise. And now, with the death of Colonel Rowland ..." He spread his hands. "I wish I could be more optimistic."

Gordian leaned further across the desk.

"Okay," he said. "What do we do?"

Nordstrum sat quietly for several moments before answering.

"I'm not your paid consultant anymore. Not a newspaper columnist. I can only speak to you now as someone who sees the workings of government and big industry as countless other people in this country do, from the outside through shaded windows, and maybe that's a good place to come at this from, maybe it makes it easier to be their voice." He paused. "Convince them, convince me, that the Orion investigation is going to be completely aboveboard. I don't want to hear about its progress from some evasive media spokesman who believes his primary responsibilities are to spin the facts and keep me mollified while those in the know go about their work in secrecy. I'm sick of those types and am going to hit the clicker the instant they show their faces on my TV screen. When something surfaces that hurts, let it hurt. For once, just once, I want the truth straight up. And I want it from someone I can trust."

He fell silent, studying the brawny shoulder of Mount Hamilton through the window.

The silence lasted awhile.

At last Gordian unfolded his arms, lifted them off the desk, and reclined in his chair so slowly Nordstrum could hear every creak of its burnished leather as a separate and distinct sound.

"Anything else?" he asked.

"As a matter of fact, yes." Nordstrum checked his watch. "Don't let another news cycle go by without a statement to the media. There's still time to put one out before the end of the business day. And before the six-thirty network broadcasts."