This newspaper is appalled at the incredible complacency of NASA engineers. Even a high-school physics student would have known not to allow a nuclear core with instability built into its very design onto an operational space mission.

It seems likely that this nation will continue on to Mars, and beyond; successes in space travel have become essential to the image of the United States as the world’s leading power in science and technology: an image projected to the Soviet Union, our allies around the world, the uncommitted nations of the Third World, and — perhaps most importantly — to our own citizenry. And we should not forget the cold, cynical political calculation that a cancellation of the space program would immediately cause a drastic oversupply in the aerospace industry, and inevitable job losses and shutdowns in that area.

But as we put Apollo-N behind us and strive to move forward, we should never forget how the dry technical prose of the Presidential Commission report convicts those in charge of NASA of gross incompetence and negligence…

Friday, February 27, 1981

NASA HEADQUARTERS, WASHINGTON, DC

Joe Muldoon called on Fred Michaels in his office in Washington. He arrived a little after seven, having flown out from Houston.

Without getting up, Michaels waved Muldoon to a chair. “Sit down, Joe. It’s good to see you. You want a drink?”

“Sure.” Muldoon sat uncertainly, studying Michaels.

There were glasses and a decanter in a corner of Michaels’s desk; Michaels poured Muldoon a careless couple of fingers and passed it over. It was good Kentucky bourbon. The place was darkened, somber, with the lights dimmed; the brightest source of light was the small TV set in one corner of the room, which was showing a news program, with the sound off.

Michaels rocked back in his chair, with his boots on the corner of his wide desk; his gold-braided vest hung open, and the dim light emphasized the deep grooves in his face as — in typical Michaels style — he waited for Muldoon to say what he wanted to say.

Muldoon began to tell the Administrator about the progress he was making in his new role as head of the Program Office. “The NERVA contractors were running a fucking country club, Fred. And those bastards at Marshall have been letting them get away with it.”

Michaels, with one eye on the TV, shrugged. “That’s maybe a little harsh, Joe. We’ve been putting them all under a hell of a lot of schedule pressure. Maybe too much.”