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Authors: Ben Bova

BOOK: Powersat (The Grand Tour)
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T
he Senate dining room was quiet; only a few tables were occupied this late in the afternoon. The strong aroma of freshly brewed coffee wafted in from the kitchen as Senator Quill toyed with a fruit salad, waiting for Jane Thornton to show up.
Robert Quill was a man with an embarrassment of riches. Like most of his fellow senators, he had been born to considerable wealth: His forbears had made the family’s original fortune in railroads and steel, and sent their sons to the Wharton School of Business to learn how to preserve the family’s money and add to it. They invested in aluminum and aircraft, later in titanium and electronics. Each generation sent one of their sons to the United States Senate; protecting the fortune was as important as increasing it.
Bob Quill was known as a liberal senator. He fought for civil liberties and equal rights, as long as they didn’t seriously endanger his family’s interests. To his credit, he bent corporate managers and directors (including his own siblings) toward better treatment of minorities, including Native Americans.
His biggest political problem was the thick seams of coal deposits that underlay Montana’s Great Plains region. For years Quill had earnestly tried to convince his fellow senators, and even a president or two, that this coal represented an untapped reserve of energy as large as all the oil in the Middle East. But nobody wanted Montana’s coal. The environmentalists pointed out that coal, especially the highsulfur-content coal in Montana, was an ecological nightmare. Mining it would devastate croplands and pastures;
burning it would pollute the air unconscionably. The oil interests didn’t want Montana’s coal competing against them. And the automotive industry pointed out that although coal could be converted into liquid fuel for transportation purposes, the cost of doing so was so high that only a national emergency (and plenty of federal funds) could possibly justify it.
Quill was brooding on these matters when Jane Thornton finally arrived at his table.
“I’m sorry to be late, Bob,” she said softly. People tended to speak in whispers when the dining room was almost empty. “The subcommittee chairman wouldn’t let go of us until five minutes ago.”
Quill got to his feet and helped her into a chair. He was a small man, slight and light-boned, almost like a dancer. Despite his Western origins, he dressed like a Philadelphia banker in a dark gray three-piece suit. With his trim moustache and sleekly coifed silver hair, news reporters almost always described him as dapper.
A waiter immediately brought a menu but Jane waved him off. “I had lunch in my office,” she explained to Quill.
He smiled at her. Senator Thornton had been his protégé since she’d first arrived on Capitol Hill. They had fought battles against the radicals of both the right and the left, and won more times than anyone had a right to expect. The occasional rumors about their being lovers buoyed Quill’s ego, even though there was no truth to them.
“I’ve only got a few minutes, Jane,” he said apologetically. “I’ve got to talk on the floor. C-SPAN’s covering it.”
Jane understood. It was common practice to give a speech late in the day to a nearly empty Senate chamber. The voters back home would see their senator on C-SPAN, holding forth on some issue that was important to them.
“Energy?” she asked.
He shook his head. “Farm price supports.”
“Oh. Good luck.”
Quill pushed his half-finished fruit salad away. “So, what do you want to tell me?”
“I want to ask you something, Bob.”
He cocked his head slightly to one side. “Go ahead and ask.”
“I want your support for Morgan Scanwell.”
He smiled. “I thought so.”
“He can win it, Bob,” she said earnestly. “With the proper support he can win the nomination.”
Quill glanced at his wristwatch. Knowing he could trust Jane Thornton, he said, “Let’s cut to the chase. What can Scanwell do for me?”
“He’s thinking about making energy independence a major plank in his platform.”
“Western coal?”
“And the high-tech systems that will allow us to use Western coal without ruining the environment.”
Quill fell silent for all of five seconds. Then, “I’ll have to meet him. Talk to him. Size him up.”
“You can trust him, Bob.”
“I’ll still need to press the flesh.”
“Yes, of course. I’ll tell his people to contact your people.”
“Quietly,” Quill added. “I don’t want anything leaked before I’m ready to make a public statement.”
“Quiet as a mouse,” Jane said, smiling.
“Quieter,” said Senator Quill, completely serious.
 
 
H
ours after sunset, Senator Thornton was still in her office, talking intently with one of Governor Scanwell’s aides in Austin. On her desktop screen, the aide looked no more than a teenager, young and earnest and full of energy. She had a big Texas cheerleader’s toothy smile and golden blonde hair. It might even be naturally blonde, Jane thought.
The door from the outer office opened and Denny O’Brien shambled in, looking as if he had rolled all the way from Bethesda, as usual. Jane suppressed a frown and reminded herself that Denny’s brain was sharp even if his outward appearance wasn’t, and it was his brain that she depended on.
“Very well, then,” she said to the smiling aide on the desktop screen. “I’ll leave it to you to contact Senator Quill’s office.”
“Oh, yes, ma’am, Senator Thornton. I’ll get on the horn right away!” gushed the aide.
“Good. Thank you.” Jane cut the connection and turned to O’Brien, who was rummaging through the refrigerator set into the wall below the bookshelves.
“Don’t you have a home to go to?” she asked goodnaturedly.
“Nope. I sleep in the streets. Keeps me closer to the real people.” O’Brien pulled a bottle of carbonated water from the refrigerator and came over toward the desk, struggling with the cap.
“You look as if you sleep in the streets,” Jane said as he slumped into one of the leather chairs facing her desk.
“Speaking of sleeping,” O’Brien said, finally getting the cap open, “are you sleeping with the governor of Texas?”
Jane had expected him to ask sooner or later. But the question still caught her unprepared. For several moments the only sound in the office was the fizz of O’Brien’s drink.
O’Brien broke the silence. “I mean, he flies
alone
to your ranch? Not even a state trooper or a bodyguard? And stays overnight?”
“You stayed overnight, too, Denny.”
“Yeah, but I didn’t tiptoe into your bedroom. I think maybe he did.”
“It’s none of your business, Denny.”
“The hell it isn’t! If the news media find out that you’re sleeping with Scanwell, you can kiss his candidacy good-bye.”
Jane bristled. “I don’t see why. Neither of us is attached to anyone else. We’re both adults.”
O’Brien wagged his head back and forth, making his fleshy cheeks waddle. “Senator, the public goes apeshit over politicians with hidden love affairs.”
“It didn’t hurt Clinton.”
“Except to get him impeached. Except to get all his programs and ideas torn to shreds. He didn’t accomplish diddly-squat after the Monica thing went public.”
She fell silent again, thinking, My god, he’s making me feel like a guilty little kid.
Hunching forward in the chair so far that Jane feared he would spill the bottle onto the carpeting, O’Brien said, “Look, Senator, it would damage your credibility and his if you two are screwing around.”
“We’re not
screwing around!”
Jane snapped.
“Excuse me. Having an affair.”
“Not that, either.”
“Well, for god’s sake, don’t give the appearance of having an affair,” O’Brien insisted. “Once the media latches onto the slightest hint, the tiniest little whiff, they’ll be all over the both of you. Any hopes you have for him and the White House will go right down the toilet.”
“We’re not having an affair,” Jane said, knowing that while it was true, it was not the whole truth.
I
t was the Fourth of July, and the day was clean and warm and dry as Dan drove Jane Thornton in the rented convertible down Route 101 after a morning of wine tasting in the Napa Valley vineyards. She was Senator Thornton now; during the fourteen months he’d been away in Japan, Jane had been appointed to the U.S. Senate. Yet she was just as beautiful and desirable as the day he’d left, and she appeared to love him as much as he loved her.
Dan’s gray eyes sparkled happily; his nose hadn’t yet been broken. As they sped along the highway, the warm wind ruffled her auburn hair while the brilliant sunshine made the waters of the bay shimmer. Over the rush of the wind Dan rattled away about the work he’d been doing in Japan.
“It’s only a demonstration satellite,” he said, his voice raised to be heard above the wind, “but we’ve got it working, actually sending energy to the ground.”
Jane nodded and smiled and said nothing.
When they passed Sausalito, Dan pulled off onto Bunker Road.
“We’re not going back to the city?” Jane asked, shouting.
“I want to show you the prettiest site in the country,” he yelled back. “Point Bonita.”
When he finally pulled into a parking area, Jane saw that he’d been right. They were high above the ocean; the Pacific glittered before them, and, on their left, the bridge arched gracefully across the Golden Gate, glowing like molten gold in the late afternoon sun.
“Point Bonita,” Jane said, as they walked slowly along the grassy height. “The name fits.”
“Sure does.”
She looked at him. “So you’re going back to Japan.”
Nodding: “And when I finish my contract with Yamagata I’m coming back here and start to build a
real
power satellite. Full scale. Deliver twenty gigawatts to the ground. Maybe fifty.”
“For Yamagata?”
“For me. For the U.S. of A. For anybody who’s smart enough to invest in the project.”
“That’ll take some doing,” she said.
“I can do it, Jane. I know I can. I can do this. It’s important, and I can make it work.”
Jane smiled at him.
“Don’t give me that condescending smile,” he said, grinning back at her. “We can generate energy from space. Lots of energy.”
“If anyone can, it would be you,” she conceded.
Feeling uncertainty rising inside him, Dan tried to explain. “Jane, this is important to me. To the whole world. I wasn’t born rich, like you. I had to scratch my way through college. Yamagata hired me because I
believed
in what he’s doing. Now I want to get out on my own, I want to
be
somebody. This is my chance, Jane, my chance to accomplish something nobody else has been able to do.”
“Except Yamagata,” she pointed out.
“Pah! His little demo satellite isn’t enough. Nowhere near it. I’m going to build the big one, the prototype for all the powersats to come.”
“If you can get the financial backing.”
“I’ll get it,” he said fervently. “You just watch me.”
Jane smiled again, but this time it was more admiring. “I believe you, Dan. I believe you will. You won’t let anything stand in your way, will you?”
“Not a damned thing,” he said. Then he pulled her into his arms and kissed her. “But I need you with me, Jane. This past year has been miserable without you.”
“I’ve missed you, too, Dan.”
“Will you marry me?”
Her eyes went wide. “Marry you?”
“I love you, Jane Thornton. I love you madly,” he said. “And sanely.”
She leaned her head against his shoulder. “You’re sure?”
He grinned down at her. “From the first time you flashed those gorgeous green eyes at me I was a goner.”
“That’s very flattering.”
“I mean it. Of course, I didn’t know you were going to become a senator. And you
were
the first person I’d seen in that convention hall who wasn’t smoking a cigar.”
Jane laughed. “I love you, too.”
“Really?”
“Of course. What woman wouldn’t? You can charm a snake out of its skin-when you want to.”
“Now
that
’
s
flattery!”
“You can be awfully stubborn, too.”
“I’m not stubborn. I’m a man of principle. Other people are stubborn, not me.”
Jane laughed. But then, “Seriously, Dan. Marriage is a serious step. Are you prepared to be Mr. Senator Thornton?”
Now he blinked with surprise. “But I thought you’d come back to Japan with me.”
“And resign my seat in the Senate?”
“Well … maybe when your term is finished, then.”
She fell silent. They walked along the crest of the height, their arms entwined about each other’s waists.
Dan took a breath. “Jane, you’re the most fantastic person I’ve ever met. You’re smart, strong, beautiful, wealthy—but most of all, you’re honest. Straight up-and-down honest. You never play games with anyone. You say what you mean and you mean what you say. So what’s your answer? And don’t tell me you weren’t expecting this.”
“Frankly, I wasn’t.”
“I told you not to tell me that,” he joked.
“I didn’t realize you were the marrying kind, Dan. I thought you were in love with your power satellite.”
“I am,” he admitted. “But I love you more. I need you. I don’t want to go back to Japan without you.”
Her face grew serious, almost sad. “I’ve got to make a decision about running for reelection.”
“Reelection? But I thought—”
“I was wondering, Dan,” she asked, almost wistfully, “how would you feel about being a senator’s husband?”
“Move to Washington? Quit Yamagata?”
“It wouldn’t be easy for you, I know. But you could start your own company in Washington, couldn’t you? I could help you; I know a lot of very influential people.”
“I’ve got to finish my contract with Yamagata,” he said. “I can’t run out on him. Bad enough I’m going to go into competition with him afterward.”
“You don’t really have to go back to Japan, do you?”
“You’ve definitely decided to run for reelection?”
She hesitated a heartbeat. Then, “Not set-in-concrete definitely, no.”
Dan squinted at the lowering Sun, then abruptly turned back toward the parking area. “We’d better talk about this over dinner.”
She glanced out toward the ocean. The sun was close to setting. Already the sky was turning flame red. He needs time to think about this, she realized. He’s made a major step
in asking me to marry him. Now I’m asking him to completely scramble his plans.
“Over dinner,” she agreed. Reluctantly.
 
 
I
n the bathroom of the suite they’d taken at the St. Mark’s, Dan was slathering foamy white lather across his face, wearing the fluffy terrycloth robe that the hotel provided. Quit Yamagata’s project and move to Washington, he was thinking. Become Senator Thornton’s husband. He picked up his razor. She’d never come to Japan; it’d be stupid for me to ask her to give up everything she’s achieved just to marry me.
The explosion came like a clap of thunder, sharp and so hard that Dan dropped the razor. Dan not only heard it, he
felt
it. The floor jumped. Earthquake? he wondered. But now he heard a long rumbling growl.
“What the hell was that?” Dan called, his face covered with lather.
“A sonic boom?” Jane answered from the bedroom, where she was dressing for dinner.
“Didn’t sound like a sonic boom,” Dan said, reaching for his razor. This was earthquake country, he knew, although nothing seemed to be shaking. Just that one shock. The roll of toilet paper wasn’t even swaying.
From far away he heard the wail of a siren. A fire truck, maybe, or an ambulance. Then another.
“Oh my god.”
He wasn’t certain that he’d heard Jane correctly.
“What did—”
“Dan. Come here.”
“What is it?”
“Come in here! Now!” He’d never heard Jane’s voice sound so urgent. “Now, Dan!”
He grabbed a towel and started wiping the lather off his face as he stepped into the bedroom. More sirens were screaming down on the street outside. Jane had turned on the television. The screen showed the Golden Gate Bridge. The middle of its main span was covered in billowing black
smoke. Where the suspension cables come down from the towers, Dan realized.
The sound was muted. Dan looked for the remote control. Then he saw the central span of the bridge split in two and both sides sagged into the water, slowly peeling away from each other like two limp strips of cardboard and plunging down, cars and trucks and buses sliding along their collapsing lengths, falling, splashing into the cold deep water far below.
“Jesus H. Christ,” Dan gasped.
Jane stood horrified, her fists pressed to her face, her eyes filling with tears.
The remote was on the floor, Dan saw. Jane must have dropped it there. She stood frozen in front of the TV screen, half dressed, unmoving, unspeaking.
Dan sat on the edge of the bed, suddenly feeling very weary, drained, as if all the energy had been sapped out of him. He bent down and retrieved the remote, thumbed on the sound.
“ … no telling how many have been killed,” a voice-over was saying, shocked, hollow. The screen showed the bridge span dangling into the strait, objects still splashing into the water. “Our traffic helicopter was apparently caught in the explosion. We’ve lost contact with it. I guess it’s down there with all the other wreckage.”
Jane sank down onto the edge of the bed beside him, still stunned into silence. The screen was showing people in the streets now, dazed, staring, as billows of dirty gray smoke wafted into the bright blue sky. Police cars were arriving. Fire trucks pulled up, the firefighters looking bewildered, perplexed, with really nothing to do except stare at the shattered bridge in helpless anger.
A frightened-looking young man in his shirtsleeves appeared on the screen, obviously in the television station’s studio. His hands were trembling as he held a flimsy sheet of paper.
“We’ve just received word,” he said, his voice shaking, too, “that the Brooklyn Bridge in New York City has also been blown up. And the Sunshine Skyway Bridge over Tampa Bay in Florida has been attacked, as well.”
“Those sons of bitches,” Dan muttered. “Those murdering sons of bitches.”
For hours Jane and Dan sat there watching the horror. Three bridges destroyed. Thousands killed. Bits and scraps of information were added as the Sun sank into the Pacific, slowly turning their hotel room dark except for the flickering TV screen. A huge supertanker filled with liquefied natural gas had blown up precisely as it passed beneath the Golden Gate Bridge. The same tactic blew up the Sunshine Skyway Bridge across Tampa Bay. In New York, three trucks loaded with chemical fertilizers had stopped precisely in the center of the Brooklyn Bridge and then exploded. The terrorists presumably went up in the blast Three bridges. Thousands killed.
At nine P.M. the president of the United States appeared on television from his home in Florida, where he’d been spending the holiday weekend.
“This is a tragic Fourth of July,” he said, his face ashen, bleak. “The American people will not forget this day. Nor will we stop until the terrorists and their sponsors are rooted out and destroyed. I have ordered the secretary of defense and the Joint Chiefs of Staff to meet with me tonight … .”
Once the president finished his grisly little speech, Dan clicked off the television. The only light in the room came from the window. Down in the streets sirens still wailed like lost demons keening for the dead.
Beside him, Jane stirred. “No. Turn it back on. I want to see—”
“We’ve seen it a couple dozen times, Jane. There’s nothing new to show.”
“We drove over that bridge,”she said, as if just realizing how close they had come to death. “An hour or so later and …”
“We’d be dead, along with the rest of them.”
She nodded.
“But we’re not dead, Jane. We’re alive. And I love you. I’ll protect you. We’ll be all right, I promise.”
She rested her head on his shoulder and he held her tightly. “It’s all right, Jane. We’re safe. Don’t be afraid.”
“I know,” she murmured. “I love you, Dan. I don’t ever want to be separated from you.”
He lifted her chin gently. In the shadows he could see a wisp of terrycloth fiber that clung to her cheek. He brushed it off, then kissed her.
“Let’s get married,” he said. “Right away. Tonight.”
Dabbing at her eyes, Jane made a weak smile. “You want to make an honest woman of me?”

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