Scotch? Bourbon? Rye? At a distance of almost half a lifetime, he had no idea. All he remembered was, it was fiery and nasty. This stuff seemed no great improvement.

“I’d say more for me, only I think we’re going through all of it.” Steve sighed.

“If it were beer, now…” Jerry said.

The older man made as if to push him away. “Philistine!” They had a good time sassing each other through dinner. Arguing about favorite tipples, they didn’t have to take it seriously. Jerry knew, and knew Steve knew, it might not be like that once Clementine grabbed hold of the starship.

Another distant storm, this one tagged Harriet, roiled the Pacific. The people in charge of the claw had other difficulties, too. They didn’t go into detail, not where Jerry could hear, but Dave ordered Clementine hauled up into the moon pool so the technicians could work on it more conveniently. The Glomar Explorer had held its place above the Midlothian object for almost two weeks now, but the claw was as far away as it had ever been.

A mimeographed newsletter circulated every day or two, reporting news picked up on the ship’s radio. The latest edition told Jerry that the Senate Watergate Committee had released its final report. That didn’t say whether Nixon should be impeached, which was the House’s responsibility. It did note that at least thirteen companies had illegally contributed almost $800,000 to the president’s reelection campaign. Senator Weicker of Connecticut also noted that some witnesses had probably perjured themselves when they testified before the Senate committee.

What else do they need? Jerry thought. Stuff like this keeps coming out. Impeach him, convict him, and remove him, for God’s sake.

Then he saw one of the pipe wranglers crumpling up a newsletter. “Wish this paper wasn’t so pointy and scratchy,” the man told his buddy. “I’d sure as hell wipe my ass with it.”

“You an’ me both, Ray,” the other fellow agreed. “It’s all a bunch of bullshit, every goddamn bit of it.”

How could you avoid seeing what was right in front of your nose? Too many people seemed to have no trouble at all.

What would the roughnecks think when, instead of the K-129, Clementine brought up the Midlothian object? What would Richard Nixon think, if he was still president then? If Nixon wasn’t president anymore, what would Gerald Ford think? How about the Democrats? Fear and Midlothian on the campaign trail ran through Jerry’s mind. He feared he was the only person on the Hughes Glomar Explorer who read Hunter Thompson.