First I’ll introduce you to Walt Williams, head of Flight Operations, who some of you may already know, and Bob Gilruth, director of the Manned Spacecraft Center, who headed up the original Space Task Group for Mercury. They’ll be plenty of missions for you all. We got eleven manned Gemini flights on the schedules, followed by at least four Block I Apollos, which will lead to a number of Block II Apollo missions—one of which will attempt the first lunar landing. You’re no doubt aware, from observing the boys who have already gone up— And those that haven’t, Gilruth chipped in.
Yeah, Deke said, yeah; them too—that you’ll receive a great deal more attention than, uh, you’ve been used to in the flight test business. I know you don’t like it, I know you don’t want it, but I also know by the fact you’re here today that you’re willing to put up with it in order to achieve our goals. Now there’ll be plenty of pressure and temptation, no doubt about that. Be careful about accepting gifts, freebies, that kinda thing, especially from companies competing for contracts. And with regard to gratuities, if you have any doubt, just follow the old test pilot’s creed: anything you can eat, drink or screw within twenty-four hours is perfectly acceptable.
The men laughed and Gilruth shook his head and Williams said, within reason, within reason!
I’m gonna hand you over to Shorty Powers now, our public affairs officer, Deke said. He’s gonna brief you on the press conference later. And you’ll remember from mine how much I hate press conferences. This time we got the University of Houston’s Cullen Auditorium. There’ll be reporters, crews from all the television networks, radio, the wire, plus national and international newspapers and magazines. There’s eighteen hundred seats in that auditorium and every one of em will be taken. The world is waiting to see who America’s new astronauts are. Keep your answers brief, obvious, and impersonal, like good pilots. We already have, he said with a smile, one John Glenn, and God knows that’s enough. You’ll meet Chris Kraft and George Low later but, for now, here’s Shorty.
Deke looked around.
Shorty? he said again.
He’s on his way, Williams said.
Okay, Deke said. Any problems, talk to me. I got your backs. And we’ll need you down at the Cape October third for Wally’s launch, so mark it off in your schedules.
The doors banged and a small balding man appeared in the gloom.
Shorty, Deke said. Jesus Christ. Come on, or we’ll never get to the goddamn moon.
Harrison flew back to Edwards that night. He’d hated every minute of the press conference. So had the others. But they answered the questions, posed for photographs. Then they got the hell out.
He landed on the main runway. He felt good. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt good. After he got changed, he drove home. Grace was asleep on the sofa when he walked through the door. She stirred when she heard him.
Hey, you’re back, she said, half asleep.
He dropped his bag on the floor.
I didn’t mean to wake you, he said.
No, it’s okay, she said. She stretched. I was waiting up. I must have fallen asleep.
She sat up and yawned.
Where’s Milo? he said.
Upstairs, she said. At least, he was. How was it?
He smiled.
What’s the matter? she said.
Nothing. How was your day?
Dull, she said. Cleaned the house all morning, then took Milo to Rosamond for groceries. Hey, I ran into Megan Blackman; she was really odd with me.
What’d she do? he said, walking around the sofa to see her.
Nothing really, Grace said. She was just … she just made a big fuss over me, and said something like, eight years was plenty enough and to give you her best. And she had this weird smile the whole time. How many times have you spoken to her before? Twice? Maybe three times? And Milo was tugging at the damn leash the whole time, she said.
He sat down next to her. Listen, he said. I got some news.
What? she said.
Pack your bags, he said.
What? Why?
We’re moving.
Moving? she said. What? Where to?
Houston, he said.
HOUSTON,
TEXAS
1962
Clear Lake was not a lake. Or clear. It looked murky, but Grace figured Murky Lake didn’t have the same appeal. Still. It looked pretty. From a distance. Lots of green. So much green. Trees, too. Trees and green and the murky clear lake. The air was a different kind of hot. It didn’t dry out the back of your throat. It had weight behind it. Moisture. The Texan sun was more forgiving; a kind aunt instead of a stern mother. And who could argue with the house? After so many years in their tiny timber ranch house, with its clanky, spurting taps and shit-brown water and splitting wooden walls, and the dust, this was like … she didn’t know what it was like. She’d never seen anything like it.