Moonfall by Jack McDevitt Page B

to maintain the pretense, but it was getting harder. The disease was sucking his life away. He’d have kept the story quiet if he could, but there’d been no way to do that. Still, as long as people didn’t see it happening, he could continue to function. He’d become almost a tragic figure, perceived as a kind of saint, a man confronting eternity, with no motive to do anything other than what was right for the nation. Everyone treated him with deference, more or less as though the entire nation were attending a bedside vigil. It was a situation unique in American history. Other presidents had received the country’s adulation in retrospect. Henry enjoyed it while in office. In the United States of 2024, it was not considered sporting or decent to attack the president. On the other hand, he was the ultimate lame duck.
    “Mr. President,” Kerr said, “unless you have a preliminary comment, we’re ready to go remote.”
    “Do it.”
    Split-screen images, a man and a woman, flickered onto a wall display. Henry had seen the man’s face before, but he couldn’t put a name to it.
    He had caught a second breath since his meeting withJuarez, and his basic philosophy, that everything turns out okay if people just don’t panic, had taken hold. One of the TV images, the man, wore a graveyard demeanor. We don’t want that dumb son of a bitch talking to the media , Henry thought. Who brought him in? But Henry thought his cabinet members and advisors also looked gloomy.
    “Before we go any farther,” said Henry, “let me caution everyone that we need to be careful what we say outside this room. The Moon story’s already out, but the public reaction is going to depend to a far degree on what comes out of this meeting.” That wasn’t so, of course. Henry knew that the media would be the ultimate influence and they would decide how to play the story. But he needed his people to do their part. And he particularly wanted to impress the outsiders that they should be careful what they say. “When we get out of here and talk for the record, let’s try to think about the impact our words will have. Things are going to be difficult enough over the next few days. We don’t want panic on our hands if we can avoid it.” He saw his secretary of state frame the word panic on his thin lips as if the thought had not occurred to him. Henry pushed back in his chair and removed a gold pen from an inside pocket. “Now, Al, why don’t you introduce our guests.”
    Kerr nodded. “Professor Alice Finizio from the Jet Propulsion Lab.” An African-American, she wore bifocals attached to her lapel by a silver chain. Her orange blazer seemed a bit loud to the president, who believe that the inner self, and not one’s clothing, should be the source of attention. She was a slim woman, with silver hair, probably close to seventy. She reminded him quite forcibly of his late grandmother. Kerr described her as an astronomer.
    “And Professor Wesley Feinberg of the AstroLab.” That explained why the face had seemed familiar. Feinberg was a leading scientist, had won at least one Nobel prize, and hadbeen on the cover of Time or Newsweek recently. He’d even been a guest at a White House dinner, although Henry couldn’t recall speaking with him.
    Feinberg was then, short, bleary-eyed, with a crop of gray hair pushed back on a balding skull. His expression suggested he had more important things to do.
    “I’d like to welcome you both,” the president said, “and we thank you for taking time to be with us today. I’m sure you were introduced earlier to the people at the table.” He knew that wasn’t so, but it didn’t matter. “Mercedes,” he said “where are we?”
    “We are now projecting a ninety-seven percent probability that Tomiko will strike the Moon.”
    “Any conflicting views?” This was aimed at the faces on the wallscreen.
    Finizio’s eyes were slits. “I’d it’s more like ninety-nine six. There’s no question