Malenfant was here. He looked crisp, calm, confident, composed, his bald pate gleaming like a piece of a weapons system.
Emma looked into his eyes. He looked as innocent and sincere as if he’d just been minted.
Malenfant took the stand, and Emma and Maura took seats side-by-side at the back of the room. Two representatives took the lead: Harris Rutter, the former lawyer, and Mary Howell of Pennsylvania, once a chemical engineer. Both of them were Republicans.
The purpose of the hearing was for Malenfant to justify, once more, why he shouldn’t be shut down. Rutter questioned Malenfant hard about the dubious legality of his operations, particularly his first launch.
Malenfant’s answers were smooth. He allowed himself to sound irritated at the maze of conflicting legislation Bootstrap had had to tiptoe through, and he launched into a rehearsed speech about his manned space program to come: how he had four astronaut candidates already in training, chosen to be representative of the U.S. demographic mix. “It wasn’t hard to find volunteers, sir, even though we emphasized the dangers to them — not of the space mission, but of being grounded without making the flight.” A little sympathetic laughter.
“In this country we have a huge reservoir of expertise in launching space missions, reserves of people laid off by the space and defense industries, people champing at the bit to be let to work again. In my view it’s a crime to waste such a skilled resource.” Then he went on to how the mission was being assembled mainly from components supplied, not by the usual aerospace cartels, but by smaller — sometimes struggling — companies right across the United States. Malenfant was able to outline a glowing future in which the benefits of the new, expansive space program would flow back from the Mojave in terms of profits and jobs to districts right across the country, not least to Illinois and Pennsylvania, home states of his inquisitors.
Emma whispered to Maura, “Laying it on thick, isn’t he?”
Maura leaned closer. “You have to see the big picture, Emma.
Most big pork-barrel projects gain broad support in their early stages, when there are a lot of representatives who can still hope for a slice of the ultimate pie. If Malenfant can promise to bring wealth to as many districts as possible, all for a modest or even zero government outlay, then he’s convincing people at least to give him the benefit of the doubt.”
Malenfant seemed to have survived Rutter’s grilling. But now — to Emma’s surprise — into the attack came Howell, the engineer from Pennsylvania. She was a tough, stockily built woman of about fifty, her defiantly gray hair tied back in a bun. She looked sharp, vigorous, and spoiling for a fight.
“Colonel Malenfant. Bootstrap is about more than engineering, isn’t it?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
Howell held up a copy of the Washington Post, with a splash headline about the Feynman radio at Fermilab, an animated picture beneath of Cornelius Taine repeating some Carter-catastrophe sound bite. She quoted, “ ‘Exclusive statements from an Eschatology spokesperson… Fermilab managers furious at the misuse of their facilities.’ “
“That news release was nothing to do with me.”
“Come, Colonel Malenfant. I’ve absolutely no doubt that news management like this goes on only with your tacit approval. So the question is why you feel this kind of message from-the-future mumbo jumbo helps your cause. Now, you have a background in engineering, don’t you, Colonel? As I do.” She eyed him. “I daresay we’re about the same age. So we’ve both witnessed the same changes in our society.”
“Changes?”
“The distrust of technology. The loss of faith in scientists, engineers — in fact, a kind of rejection of the scientific method itself, and of the scientific explanation of the world. Do you agree that we’ve seen a flight to the irrational?”
“Yes. Yes, I agree with that. But I don’t necessarily agree with
your implication, that the irrational is all bad.”
“Oh, you don’t.”
“There are many mysteries science has not dealt with, perhaps never will. What is consciousness? Why does anything exist, rather than nothing? Why am I alive here and now, and not a century ago, or a thousand years from now? We all have to confront such questions in the quiet of our souls, every minute of our lives. And if the irrational is the only place to look for answers, well, that’s where we look.”
Representative Howell rubbed her temples. “But, Colonel Malenfant, you must agree that it is our brains, our science, that have made the world around us. It is science that has given the planet the capacity to carry many billions of people. ‘It is only the intelligent management of the future that can get us through the next decades, assure us of a long-term future.’ I know you agree with that, because it’s a direct quote, from your own company report last year. Now. Let’s not hear any more bullshit philosophizing.”
Maura leaned over to Emma. “Representatives get to edit the Congressional Record. Witnesses don’t, unfortunately.”
“Do you really believe it is responsible to try to gain public support for your highly dubious activities by whipping up hys teria over nonsense about the end of the world and messages from the future?”
But now Rutter from Illinois was leaning forward. “Will thlady yield on that? If you’ll yield for a moment I have something to ask.”
Howell glared at him, realizing her attack was being dissipated.
Rutter was a corpulent, sweating man with an anachronistic bow tie. To Emma he looked as if he hadn’t been out of Washington in twenty years. “I was interested in what you had to say, Colonel Malenfant,” he said. “Most of us don’t see any ethical problems in your links with organizations like Eschatology. Somebody has to think about the future constructively, after all. I think it’s refreshing to have a proposal like yours in which there is a subtext, as you might call it, beyond the practical. If you can go to the stars, bring home a profit and something… well, something spiritual, I think that’s to be applauded.”
“Thank you, Representative,”
“Tell me this, Colonel. Do you think your mission to Cruithne, if successful, will help us find God?”
Malenfant took a deep breath. “Mr. Rutter, if we find everything we hope to find on Cruithne, then yes, I believe we will come closer to God.”
Emma turned to Maura Della, and rolled her eyes. Good grief,
Malenfant.
There were follow-up questions from Howell, among others. But that, as far as Emma could tell, was that.
Maura was grinning. “He had them eating out of his hand.”
“All but Representative Howell.”
“The question he planted with Rutter put a stop to her.”
Emma goggled. “Replanted it?”
“Oh, of course he did. Come on, Emma; it was too obvious, if anything.”
Emma shook her head. “You know, I shouldn’t be shocked any more by anything Malenfant does. But I have to tell you he is not a Christian, and he does not believe in God.”
Maura pursed her lips. “Lies told to Congress, shock. Look, Emma, this is America. Every so often you have to push the God button.”
“So he won.”
“I think so. For now, anyhow.”
Representative Howell, the engineer from Pennsylvania who had argued for rationalism, pushed between them with a muttered apology. Howell looked distressed, frustrated, confused.
Malenfant, when he emerged, was disgustingly smug. “To