It had been a fine scene, a memorable one, Kennedy thought, as he relived it in his mind once again three weeks after the blast-off. It had been Saturday, December 30, 2044—the final day of the old year, and the final day on Earth for Ted and Marge Kennedy.
Spacefield Seven in New Jersey was bright with snow— the soft, fluffy, sparkling snow of Earth, not the bleak, blue-flecked, forbidding snow of Ganymede. There had been a heavy fall on Christmas Eve, and most of it still remained on the ground in the rural areas. The Bureau of Weather Adjustment had never been too good at averting snow, and Kennedy was glad of it; few things were more beautiful, he thought, than the whiteness of falling snow against the black of a winter night.
The spaceship stood tall and proud in the center of the field. Once it had been a Corporation ship; now it belonged to the United Nations. The crew was a Corporation-trained crew, but they had a new loyalty now. The November trials had finished off the Corporation.
In his mind’s eye, three weeks later, Kennedy recreated the moment. Flaherty was there, and Secretary-General Isaacs, and most of the other United Nations delegates, as well as representatives from every news medium.
Kennedy stood between Flaherty and Isaacs. The Secretary-General was saying, “Your work will be terribly important to us all, Mr. Kennedy. And the peoples of the world may believe this—every word that comes to us from you will go out to humanity exactly as it is received.”
The pilots had signaled. The ship was ready. Kennedy made a neat little farewell speech and walked across the snow-bright field toward the waiting ship.
Flash bulbs went off. Cameras ground.
Now he thought back over those last minutes of his on Earth. They had waved to him, and he had waved back, and he had climbed aboard the ship. The crewmen showed him to his hammock with deference.
They supplied Marge and Kennedy with gravanol pills. He grinned, remembering his last experience with one, and swallowed it.
Tomorrow on Earth was going to be a day without a name, a day without a date—the Year-End World Holiday, a day of wild and frenzied joy. As he waited for blast-off, Kennedy’s mind went back six months to the Leap Year World Holiday—that day of black despair, half-forgotten now.
The day after tomorrow would see a new year on Earth. And for him, a new life.
Resident Administrator of the United Nations Commission to Ganymede. It was a big title, and an even bigger responsibility. In his hands would be the task of convincing the Ganymedeans that the people of Earth would treat them as brothers. That the Corporation was not representative of all Earth.
He would have to win the respect and the admiration of the Gannys. They remembered him as the man who had been different from the others; he hoped they would continue to trust him. He had asked for and received the job of teaching the Ganymedeans to forget their first bitter experiences with the invaders from Earth. Kennedy did not doubt he would succeed; the Gannys were wise, and would listen to him. There would be an exchange of knowledge —Ganny culture for Terran technology. Kennedy would help to bring all this about.
On Earth, now, he thought as blast-off began, they were celebrating the coming of the new year, the birth of 2045 from the dead husk of 2044. It was something of a rebirth for him too, he thought; out of the Executive Third-Level of six months before, out of the mad world of public relations, had come a different man, one who had a real and valuable job to do and who was going to do it.
There were other worlds in space; perhaps someday man would meet a second intelligent race, and a third. The Ganymede experience would guide them in their future encounters.
The trip had been a smooth one. Now it was nearly over. Earth was just a hazy memory behind him. Ahead lay Ganymede, waiting.
The ship’s medic appeared. “Sir?”
“What is it, Johnson?”
“We’ll be entering deceleration orbit in twelve minutes, sir. I’ve brought gravanol pills for you and your wife.”
Marge took hers, grinned, and popped the pill into her mouth. But Kennedy brushed the medic’s hand away as he offered a pill to him.
“No thanks, Johnson. I want to see the whole thing.”
“Ted!”
“I’ve been through it before, Marge. This time I want to watch.”
He strapped himself in, leaned back, and peered out the port at the whiteness of Ganymede growing nearer outside. The ship began to plunge down toward its destination; Kennedy smiled calmly to himself and waited for the landing.