“You know,” he mused, “maybe, if we can pull this off, this Apollo 13 thing, it will bring us back together, just a little. If we can remember how it feels to have worked like this, today, then maybe we’ll be able to achieve great things again…”

Josephson had been avoiding his eyes; then he confronted Michaels a little more boldly. “Fred, I know you’re upset. But the wheels don’t stop turning. And Dr. Agronski has flown out from Washington to catch you.”

Michaels grunted. Josephson was right, of course. The wheels never stopped turning.

And maybe, just maybe, he could use the mess to his advantage. He felt his mood lighten a little.

“All right, let’s go see him,” he said. “But not in some goddamn bureaucratic office block. Call him over here — ask him to come to the lunar surface back room.” Another thought struck him. “Oh — and, Tim—”

“Sir?”

“Ask Joe Muldoon to join us, would you?”

The back room would have been used as the center of operations for the moonwalks. Its walls were covered with crew checklists, and with Orbiter and Apollo photographs of the landing area — called Fra Mauro, a place in the lunar uplands: the first ambitious, scientifically interesting site they’d planned to land. Just now, however, it was deserted.

When Michaels arrived, Muldoon and Agronski were sitting at a large walnut desk in the center of the room. Agronski, thin to the point of sharpness, was leafing through some notes from his briefcase; Muldoon was hollow-eyed with fatigue, and he had folded his big, powerful hands on the desk top. He glared impatiently at Michaels. Josephson fussed around, pouring coffees.

Michaels pulled out a chair and accepted a coffee. Then Josephson withdrew, leaving the three of them alone.

Michaels introduced Muldoon to Agronski. “Leon, Joe here is on the backup crew for Apollo 14, and then should command his own mission, on 17. Joe, you’re here at my invitation. To help remind us what this damn thing is all about.”

Here is the second American on the Moon, Agronski, you thin-lipped asshole, Michaels thought. Here he is! Large as life, and twice as brave! A living symbol! Show a little respect!

In the dazzle of the room’s strip lights, Michaels couldn’t see Agronski’s eyes behind his narrow-rimmed glasses.

Joe Muldoon was glaring back at Michaels. Muldoon’s look, those blue eyes hard under that balding prow of a skull, said it all; he was thinking that Michaels was a paper-pushing prick who shouldn’t be wasting Muldoon’s time on a day like this. Not when he — Muldoon — could be in Building 5 or the MOCR with the other guys; not when he might be able to come up with something to save the crew out there -

Christ, Michaels thought suddenly. Maybe I’ve miscalculated. If Muldoon blows his stack here, this could turn into a hundred-kilowatt disaster. He shot an imploring look at Muldoon.