Still, the S-NB seemed to be functioning well, so much so that Hans Udet — the most senior of Marshall’s Germans on the project — had felt able to take time out to be there with the Executives tonight. Michaels could see him, glad-handing a brace of congressmen with all the Prussian charisma and charm at his disposal. Udet looks confident enough. Why the hell shouldn’t I be?

That was when the phone calls started coming in.

Afterward, Michaels would never be sure who had gotten the first call.

He saw the president of Rockwell in excited conversation with another man. Then all the Rockwell executives left the club’s main room and returned a few minutes later, visibly distressed. They began to go through the room, seeking out others; Michaels could see the news — whatever it was — spreading through the Executives Group like a contagion of dismay.

Then Michaels himself was paged to take a call from Tim Josephson, who was still at NASA Headquarters a few blocks away.

“Fred, the crew has lost the NERVA. The technical parameters got out of their nominal boundaries. Ah — in fact, the thing might have exploded.”

“Jesus Christ. And the crew?” Michaels snapped. “What about the damn crew, Josephson?”

Josephson’s voice was even, analytical. “It’s hard to say from here, Fred. The updates are patchy. I’d say we’re looking at a potential crew loss situation.”

A waiter paged Michaels with another urgent call. This time it was Bert Seger from Houston. Seger, his voice high and clipped, gave him more details: some kind of runaway in the NERVA reactor, extensive damage to the Service Module, damage unknown to the Command Module -

Michaels cut him short. No American astronauts had been killed in space before. No previous Administrator had lost a crew. “Bring them home, Bert.”

Michaels felt someone grabbing at his arm. It was Udet; the tall German was smiling, a little flushed with the drink. Udet wanted to introduce Michaels to a portly senator.

Michaels drew Udet to one side, and told him the news.

Udet’s smile evaporated. He seemed to withdraw into himself; he held himself straight and erect, his face a mask. With precision, he put his glass down on a waiter’s tray.

“What must we do?”

“Hans, I want you to call the White House and tell them what’s happened. Tell them I’ll be in contact as soon as I can. And then I want you to get the hell out of here and back to Marshall.”

The German nodded his head and walked stiffly from the room. Michaels watched him go.