“But it’s clear to me that we can’t let the problems on this one development stop the whole goddamn program. You know that since 1972 Rockwell has been carrying through a parallel chemical-technology development, based on an S-II enhancement. Fred Michaels is thinking of going to Congress to ask for funding to be switched away from NERVA to that development stream…”

Hans Udet shook his head; his blond-gray hair shone in the fluorescents. “No. You must understand—”

Josephson leaned forward. “No. Today, you must listen, and understand, Hans. This isn’t a game we’re playing, here. It takes a hell of a lot of effort to build and sustain a political coalition behind a program like ours. Jim Webb did it for NASA in the 1960s; we’re lucky to have Fred Michaels in the same role now. But he can’t work miracles…”

It was the first time Conlig had met Josephson in the flesh. The assistant administrator gave off the aura of sleek, bureaucratic competence, which came over on TV. Every inch the organization man. In his early forties, and with that small face perched on a long neck, that prematurely high forehead, the thick spectacles, and those rapid, decisive movements, Josephson was like some tall, flightless bird.

But his dry words connected with Conlig; suddenly it was an intense, electric moment for him. My God. He’s serious. We’re in real trouble here, it’s genuinely possible that these bastards could close us down. And you can bet your life that if they do, none of us working on NERVA would be allowed within a thousand miles of whatever new program they turn to. Conlig’s whole career — everything, all his self-belief — funneled through that one moment in time, that decision point. If I say the wrong thing now, my professional life will be over. Because there will never be another NERVA project; not for me.

“Now.” Josephson had finished his preamble. He swiveled his head and stared at each of them. “Sum up. I want you to tell me where you are, and what your prospects for success are. I want the truth as you see it; this isn’t the moment for false pride. The whole program depends on us making the right decision.” He glared at Udet. “How about you first, Hans?”

The old German sat up straight in his chair. “The truth, Tim? The truth, as you can tell from the reports, is that NERVA, at this stage of its development, is in trouble. We haven’t been able to sustain a single worthwhile burn yet…” In his clipped, accented, slightly imprecise English, with its bizarre overlay of Alabama drawl, Udet began to go through NERVA’s myriad problems — pump stresses, nozzle hot spots — and the steps the teams were taking to resolve them.