Free Arkwright by Allen Steele Page B

piece from her about the launch, and it had become clear that she disdained the science fiction writers with whom she’d been forced to share a sea cruise. She remained aloof to everyone, deigning to speak only to Norman Mailer, the one other mainstream author aboard. Mailer was here because he’d written Of a Fire on the Moon , but Porter had no interest in space; apparently, someone at Playboy thought it would be cute to send the author of Ship of Fools on this particular assignment. Harry had already decided to skip the article when it came out.
    Apparently, Nat alone, hardy New Englander that he was, had the foresight to bring a heavy sweater and a scarf to Florida; everyone else was trying to keep warm by drinking coffee or bourbon. The only person unfazed by the cold was Robert Heinlein, who wore a dinner jacket and tie as if this were nothing more than a balmy evening in Colorado Springs. Aside from a handful of wives and children who’d given up and gone to bed, though, no one was letting the late hour cause them to miss the launch. They didn’t even want to go into the pool bar where it was warm, as some had done, lest they risk giving up their places on the deck.
    An elite lineup of writers, scientists, and intellectuals … and a disaster. The Statendam had accommodations for six hundred and fifty, but only about a hundred or so had paid to get on the ship. Heinlein and Asimov had both swallowed Dick Hoagland’s line and had invested in the cruise; Nat might have, too, if Maggie hadn’t talked him out of it. As capital ventures went, this one was a bust.
    But, Harry had to admit, it was fun. He’d moseyed through the crowd a few minutes earlier, wandering in and out of conversations. Some of it was shop talk—Ben was trying to persuade Ted to send a story to Analog —and some of it was mildly scandalous—Isaac and Fred had been speculating about the intentions of the young lady in the bikini who’d been flirting with all the writers earlier in the day—and a little bit had been truly head spinning, like the conversation between Clarke, Minsky, and Sagan about the possibility of machine intelligence in the universe. But in the end, he’d found his way back to Nat and George … his closest friends, the Legion of Tomorrow, as they still privately referred to themselves even after all these years.
    â€œYou’re unusually quiet,” George said.
    â€œWhat do you mean ‘unusually’?” Harry gave his old friend a mock-serious glare and then raised a hand to his mouth to pat back a yawn. “You trying to make something of it?”
    â€œNot at all.” George sipped his hot chocolate. “It’s just that, by this time, you and Nat are usually going at it like a couple of wet cats.”
    â€œJust wish this thing would get a move on. It’s past my bedtime.” Even as he spoke, Harry hated how he sounded, like a cranky, middle-aged man.
    â€œI wouldn’t be in such a hurry if I were you,” Nat said quietly. “This may be the last time we’ll see anyone go to the Moon for quite some time to come.”
    He was still standing at the railing, but now his back was to the Cape, and he’d lifted his eyes to gaze up at the sky. There was a pensive expression on his face, and deck lamps seemed to illuminate a bitterness that had emerged from a person who, Harry had lately realized, had developed a tendency to keep his true feelings buried deep inside.
    â€œNixon cut NASA’s funding for the last two missions,” Nat went on, still staring up into space. “ Apollo 18 and 19 aren’t going to the pad. Isn’t that right, George?”
    â€œI’m afraid so.” George nodded. “The president claims he’s concerned about the federal budget, but the hardware’s already been built, and the infrastructure is almost a decade old. The money the government is saving by scrapping