Whole lot of fuss over nothing, Cardenas said.
Well I sure as hell don’t like the idea of some secret Commie machine buzzin me fifteen goddamn times a day, Pancho said.
I don’t like it either, Grace said.
Wait til the X-15 rolls out, end of June, Ridley said. It’s been designed to fly at two hundred and eighty thousand feet—that’s fifty miles up—beyond where the atmosphere ends and space begins. Scotty’s already in training to fly it. Jim here, a few other fellas—an maybe a coupla boys from the NACA—will follow. Forget satellites, they’ll be the first men in space.
Grace stared at her husband. He shrugged his shoulders.
You fellas got your sights set on space? Pancho said.
We been goin higher an faster the last ten years, Ridley said. Next logical step for the X-series.
Sounds like a whole heap of pie in the sky, Pancho said.
North American’s already working on the follow-up, Harrison said. Two pilots will fly it into orbit, take a few little turns around the Earth, land on that glorious ol lakebed out there.
Hold on, Cardenas said, binoculars pressed against his eyes. I think I see it.
They watched the white grain glide across the silent dark sky as the country slumbered below.
Feels strange, Grace said. Creepy. Like we’ve invaded the heavens or something.
Harrison looked at her and frowned.
What I mean is, she said, no one’s been up there—out there—before, ever; now here we are.
We’re not, the Reds are, Cardenas said.
Makes you wonder what else they got up their sleeves, don’t it? Pancho said.
You don’t feel it? Grace said to Jim.
Feel what?
Like something’s shifted.
No one’s going to remember this in a year’s time, Harrison said.
Hey, Ridley said. I can see it without the bins.
On the radio, the announcer said, listen now for the sound that forevermore separates the old from the new.
That next morning, Grace went to Rosamond and bought as many newspapers as she could carry. When she got home, she spread them out on the kitchen table in front of Jim.
SOVIETS FIRE EARTH SATELLITE INTO SPACE
RUSSIAN MOON CIRCLING THE EARTH
SPACE AGE IS HERE!
COMMUNISTS WIN RACE INTO OUTER SPACE
TRACK RED MOON BY RADIO
He put down his coffee.
What the hell? he said and started to read.
You think the press is going to give a damn about the X-15? she said.
The Sputnik in its flight across the world may be a courier of such dire portent to national security that considerations of partisan politics have no place in the discussion of how this happened and what to do about it, he read.
He looked up at Grace, who was reading the Washington Post.
Says here that Johnson has opened a subcommittee of the Senate Armed Services to look at American defense and space programs in light of the Sputnik crisis, she said.
What crisis?
Listen to this, she said. The Roman Empire controlled the world because it could build roads. Later, when men moved to sea, the British Empire was dominant because it had ships. Now the Communists have established a foothold in outer space.
That Johnson? he said.
Yup.
Johnson is an asshole.
I’m just telling you what they’re saying, she said. The Soviets are masters of the universe, according to Bill Kreagor at the New York Times. Christ, Soapy Williams has written a poem about it.
Why’s he written a poem?
Oh little Sputnik flying high
With made-in-Moscow beep,
You tell the world it’s a Commie sky
And Uncle Sam’s asleep.
How the hell are we asleep? he said. We flew a rocket faster than Mach one ten years ago! The rocket program at Edwards is the most advanced in the world! Ike’s the only one talking sense.
He sounds old-fashioned.
He sounds measured.
He’s out of touch.
Because he’s not hysterical?
Because he doesn’t get that everyone’s terrified! Terrified that the Soviets can and probably will drop atom bombs on any American city they want, whenever they want, with no warning.
You really worried? he said.
I’m concerned; sure I am. When the New York Times says we’re in a race for survival and the Senate majority leader says the Reds will soon be dropping bombs on us from space like kids dropping rocks onto cars from freeway overpasses then, yeah, I get a little jittery.
This country’s gone nuts, he said.
Grace stopped reminiscing; she was nearly home. Milo’s tongue lolled from his mouth, head stuck out the open window. Armageddon felt far away. She had enough to worry about. When she got in, Harrison was upstairs, packing a bag.
Honey? he said.
Hey, she said, walking into the bedroom.
Where you been? he said.
Out, she said. Shopping.
Shopping?
Milo needed food. What’s going on?
I’ve got to go away for a few days.
Away?
I’m real sorry, hon.
What? Why?
Sealed orders. Top secret. I’ve got to report to Washington, D.C. for a classified briefing first thing tomorrow.