23

Ten minutes into the CNN debate, Senator Sexton wondered how he could have been worried at all. Marjorie Tench was grossly overestimated as an opponent. Despite the senior adviser's reputation for ruthless sagacity, she was turning out to be more of a sacrificial lamb than a worthy opponent.

Granted, early in the conversation Tench had grabbed the upper hand by hammering the senator's prolife platform as biased against women, but then, just as it seemed Tench was tightening her grip, she'd made a careless mistake. While questioning how the senator expected to fund educational improvements without raising taxes, Tench made a snide allusion to Sexton's constant scapegoating of NASA.

Although NASA was a topic Sexton definitely intended to address toward the end of the discussion, Marjorie Tench had opened the door early. Idiot!

"Speaking of NASA," Sexton segued casually. "Can you comment on the rumors I keep hearing that NASA has suffered another recent failure?"

Marjorie Tench did not flinch. "I'm afraid I have not heard that rumor." Her cigarette voice was like sandpaper.

"So, no comment?"

"I'm afraid not."

Sexton gloated. In the world of media sound bites, "no comment" translated loosely to "guilty as charged."

"I see," Sexton said. "And how about the rumors of a secret, emergency meeting between the President and the administrator of NASA?"

This time Tench looked surprised. "I'm not sure what meeting you're referring to. The President takes many meetings."

"Of course, he does." Sexton decided to go straight at her. "Ms. Tench, you are a great supporter of the space agency, is that right?"

Tench sighed, sounding tired of Sexton's pet issue. "I believe in the importance of preserving America's technological edge-be that military, industry, intelligence, telecommunications. NASA is certainly part of that vision. Yes."

In the production booth, Sexton could see Gabrielle's eyes telling him to back off, but Sexton could taste blood. "I'm curious, ma'am, is it your influence behind the President's continued support of this obviously ailing agency?"

Tench shook her head. "No. The President is also a staunch believer in NASA. He makes his own decisions."

Sexton could not believe his ears. He had just given Marjorie Tench a chance to partially exonerate the President by personally accepting some of the blame for NASA funding. Instead, Tench had thrown it right back at the President. The President makes his own decisions. It seemed Tench was already trying to distance herself from a campaign in trouble. No big surprise. After all, when the dust settled, Marjorie Tench would be looking for a job.

Over the next few minutes, Sexton and Tench parried. Tench made some weak attempts to change the subject, while Sexton kept pressing her on the NASA budget.

"Senator," Tench argued, "you want to cut NASA's budget, but do you have any idea how many high-tech jobs will be lost?"

Sexton almost laughed in the woman's face. This gal is considered the smartest mind in Washington? Tench obviously had something to learn about the demographics of this country. High-tech jobs were inconsequential in comparison to the huge numbers of hardworking blue-collar Americans.

Sexton pounced. "We're talking about billions in savings here, Marjorie, and if the result is that a bunch of NASA scientists have to get in their BMWs and take their marketable skills elsewhere, then so be it. I'm committed to being tough on spending."

Marjorie Tench fell silent, as if reeling from that last punch.

The CNN host prompted, "Ms. Tench? A reaction?"

The woman finally cleared her throat and spoke. "I guess I'm just surprised to hear that Mr. Sexton is willing to establish himself as so staunchly anti-NASA."

Sexton's eyes narrowed. Nice try, lady. "I am not anti-NASA, and I resent the accusation. I am simply saying that NASA's budget is indicative of the kind of runaway spending that your President endorses. NASA said they could build the shuttle for five billion; it cost twelve billion. They said they could build the space station for eight billion; now it's one hundred billion."

"Americans are leaders," Tench countered, "because we set lofty goals and stick to them through the tough times."

"That national pride speech doesn't work on me, Marge. NASA has overspent its allowance three times in the past two years and crawled back to the President with its tail between its legs and asked for more money to fix its mistakes. Is that national pride? If you want to talk about national pride, talk about strong schools. Talk about universal health care. Talk about smart kids growing up in a country of opportunity. That's national pride!"

Tench glared. "May I ask you a direct question, senator?"

Sexton did not respond. He simply waited.

The woman's words came out deliberately, with a sudden infusion of grit. "Senator, if I told you that we could not explore space for less than NASA is currently spending, would you act to abolish the space agency altogether?"

The question felt like a boulder landing in Sexton's lap. Maybe Tench wasn't so stupid after all. She had just blindsided Sexton with a "fence-buster"-a carefully crafted yes/no question designed to force a fence-straddling opponent to choose clear sides and clarify his position once and for all.

Instinctively Sexton tried sidestepping. "I have no doubt that with proper management NASA can explore space for a lot less than we are currently-"

"Senator Sexton, answer the question. Exploring space is a dangerous and costly business. It's much like building a passenger jet. We should either do it right-or not at all. The risks are too great. My question remains: If you become president, and you are faced with the decision to continue NASA funding at its current level or entirely scrap the U.S. space program, which would you choose?"

Shit. Sexton glanced up at Gabrielle through the glass. Her expression echoed what Sexton already knew. You're committed. Be direct. No waffling. Sexton held his chin high. "Yes. I would transfer NASA's current budget directly into our school systems if faced with that decision. I would vote for our children over space."

The look on Marjorie Tench's face was one of absolute shock. "I'm stunned. Did I hear you correctly? As president, you would act to abolish this nation's space program?"

Sexton felt an anger simmering. Now Tench was putting words in his mouth. He tried to counter, but Tench was already talking.

"So you're saying, senator, for the record, that you would do away with the agency that put men on the moon?"

"I am saying that the space race is over! Times have changed. NASA no longer plays a critical role in the lives of everyday Americans and yet we continue to fund them as though they do."

"So you don't think space is the future?"

"Obviously space is the future, but NASA is a dinosaur! Let the private sector explore space. American taxpayers shouldn't have to open their wallets every time some Washington engineer wants to take a billion-dollar photograph of Jupiter. Americans are tired of selling out their children's future to fund an outdated agency that provides so little in return for its gargantuan costs!"

Tench sighed dramatically. "So little in return? With the exception perhaps of the SETI program, NASA has had enormous returns."

Sexton was shocked that the mention of SETI had even escaped Tench's lips. Major blunder. Thanks for reminding me. The Search for Extraterrestrial Intelligence was NASA's most abysmal money pit ever. Although NASA had tried to give the project a facelift by renaming it "Origins" and shuffling some of its objectives, it was still the same losing gamble.

"Marjorie," Sexton said, taking his opening, "I'll address SETI only because you mention it."

Oddly, Tench looked almost eager to hear this.

Sexton cleared his throat. "Most people are not aware that NASA has been looking for ET for thirty-five years now. And it's a pricey treasure hunt-satellite dish arrays, huge transceivers, millions in salaries to scientists who sit in the dark and listen to blank tape. It's an embarrassing waste of resources."

"You're saying there's nothing up there?"

"I'm saying that if any other government agency had spent forty-five million over thirty-five years and had not produced one single result, they would have been axed a long time ago." Sexton paused to let the gravity of the statement settle in. "After thirty-five years, I think it's pretty obvious we're not going to find extraterrestrial life."

"And if you're wrong?"

Sexton rolled his eyes. "Oh, for heavens sake, Ms. Tench, if I'm wrong I'll eat my hat."

Marjorie Tench locked her jaundiced eyes on Senator Sexton. "I'll remember you said that, senator." She smiled for the first time. "I think we all will."

Six miles away, inside the Oval Office, President Zach Herney turned off the television and poured himself a drink. As Marjorie Tench had promised, Senator Sexton had taken the bait-hook, line, and sinker.

24

Michael Tolland felt himself beaming empathetically as Rachel Sexton gaped in silence at the fossilized meteorite in her hand. The refined beauty of the woman's face now seemed to dissolve into the expression of innocent wonder-a young girl who had just seen Santa Claus for the first time.

I know just how you feel, he thought.

Tolland had been struck the same way only forty-eight hours ago. He too had been stunned into silence. Even now, the scientific and philosophical implications of the meteorite astounded him, forcing him to rethink everything he had ever believed about nature.

Tolland's oceanographic discoveries included several previously unknown deepwater species, and yet this "space bug" was another level of breakthrough altogether. Despite Hollywood's propensity for casting extraterrestrials as little green men, astrobiologists and science buffs all agreed that given the sheer numbers and adaptability of earth's insects, extraterrestrial life would in all probability be buglike if it were ever discovered.

Insects were members of the phylum arthropoda-creatures having hard outer skeletons and jointed legs. With over 1.25 million known species and an estimated five hundred thousand still to be classified, earth's "bugs" outnumbered all of the other animals combined. They made up 95 percent of all the planet's species and an astounding 40 percent of the planet's biomass.

It was not so much the bugs' abundance that impressed as it was their resilience. From the Antarctic ice beetle to Death Valley's sun scorpion, bugs happily inhabited deadly ranges in temperature, dryness, and even pressure. They also had mastered exposure to the most deadly force known in the universe-radiation. Following a nuclear test in 1945, air force officers had donned radiation suits and examined ground zero, only to discover cockroaches and ants happily carrying on as if nothing had happened. Astronomers realized that an arthropod's protective exoskeleton made it a perfectly viable candidate to inhabit the countless radiation-saturated planets where nothing else could live.

It appeared the astrobiologists had been right, Tolland thought. ET is a bug.

Rachel's legs felt weak beneath her. "I can't... believe it," she said, turning the fossil in her hands. "I never thought... "

"Give it some time to sink in," Tolland said, grinning. "Took me twenty-four hours to get my feet back under me."

"I see we have a newcomer," said an uncharacteristically tall Asian man, walking over to join them.

Corky and Tolland seemed to deflate instantly with the man's arrival. Apparently the moment of magic had been shattered.

"Dr. Wailee Ming," the man said, introducing himself. "Chairman of paleontology at UCLA."

The man carried himself with the pompous rigidity of renaissance aristocracy, continuously stroking the out-of-place bow tie that he wore beneath his knee-length camel-hair coat. Wailee Ming was apparently not one to let a remote setting come in the way of his prim appearance.

"I'm Rachel Sexton." Her hand was still trembling as she shook Ming's smooth palm. Ming was obviously another of the President's civilian recruits.

"It would be my pleasure, Ms. Sexton," the paleontologist said, "to tell you anything you want to know about these fossils."

"And plenty you don't want to know," Corky grumbled.

Ming fingered his bow tie. "My paleontologic specialty is extinct Arthropoda and Mygalomorphae. Obviously the most impressive characteristic of this organism is-"

"-is that it's from another friggin' planet!" Corky interjected.

Ming scowled and cleared his throat. "The most impressive characteristic of this organism is that it fits perfectly into our Darwinian system of terrestrial taxonomy and classification."

Rachel glanced up. They can classify this thing? "You mean kingdom, phylum, species, that sort of thing?"

"Exactly," Ming said. "This species, if found on earth, would be classified as the order Isopoda and would fall into a class with about two thousand species of lice."

"Lice?" she said. "But it's huge."

"Taxonomy is not size specific. House cats and tigers are related. Classification is about physiology. This species is clearly a louse: It has a flattened body, seven pairs of legs, and a reproductive pouch identical in structure to wood lice, pill bugs, beach hoppers, sow bugs, and gribbles. The other fossils clearly reveal more specialized-"

"Other fossils?"

Ming glanced at Corky and Tolland. "She doesn't know?"

Tolland shook his head.

Ming's face brightened instantly. "Ms. Sexton, you haven't heard the good part yet."

"There are more fossils," Corky interjected, clearly trying to steal Ming's thunder. "Lots more." Corky scurried over to a large manila envelope and retrieved a folded sheet of oversized paper. He spread it out on the desk in front of Rachel. "After we drilled some cores, we dropped an x-ray camera down. This is a graphic rendering of the cross section."

Rachel looked at the x-ray printout on the table, and immediately had to sit down. The three-dimensional cross section of the meteorite was packed with dozens of these bugs.

"Paleolithic records," Ming said, "are usually found in heavy concentrations. Often times, mud slides trap organisms en masse, covering nests or entire communities."

Corky grinned. "We think the collection in the meteorite represents a nest." He pointed to one of the bugs on the printout. "And there's mommy."

Rachel looked at the specimen in question, and her jaw dropped. The bug looked to be about two feet long.

"Big-ass louse, eh?" Corky said.

Rachel nodded, dumbstruck, as she pictured lice the size of bread loaves wandering around on some distant planet.

"On earth," Ming said, "our bugs stay relatively small because gravity keeps them in check. They can't grow larger than their exoskeletons can support. However, on a planet with diminished gravity, insects could evolve to much greater dimensions."

"Imagine swatting mosquitoes the size of condors," Corky joked, taking the core sample from Rachel and slipping it into his pocket.

Ming scowled. "You had better not be stealing that!"

"Relax," Corky said. "We've got eight tons more where this came from."

Rachel's analytical mind churned through the data before her. "But how can life from space be so similar to life on earth? I mean, you're saying this bug fits in our Darwinian classification?"

"Perfectly," Corky said. "And believe it or not, a lot of astronomers have predicted that extraterrestrial life would be very similar to life on earth."

"But why?" she demanded. "This species came from an entirely different environment."

"Panspermia." Corky smiled broadly.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Panspermia is the theory that life was seeded here from another planet."

Rachel stood up. "You're losing me."

Corky turned to Tolland. "Mike, you're the primordial seas guy."

Tolland looked happy to take over. "Earth was once a lifeless planet, Rachel. Then suddenly, as if overnight, life exploded. Many biologists think the explosion of life was the magical result of an ideal mixture of elements in the primordial seas. But we've never been able to reproduce that in a lab, so religious scholars have seized that failure as proof of God, meaning life could not exist unless God touched the primordial seas and infused them with life."

"But we astronomers," Corky declared, "came up with another explanation for the overnight explosion of life on earth."

"Panspermia," Rachel said, now understanding what they were talking about. She had heard the panspermia theory before but didn't know its name. "The theory that a meteorite splashed into the primordial soup, bringing the first seeds of microbial life to earth."

"Bingo," Corky said. "Where they percolated and sprang to life."

"And if that's true," Rachel said, "then the underlying ancestry of earth's life-forms and extraterrestrial life-forms would be identical."

"Double bingo."

Panspermia, Rachel thought, still barely able to grasp the implications. "So, not only does this fossil confirm that life exists elsewhere in the universe, but it practically proves panspermia... that life on earth was seeded from elsewhere in the universe."

"Triple bingo." Corky flashed her an enthusiastic nod. "Technically, we may all be extraterrestrials." He put his fingers over his head like two antennas, crossed his eyes, and wagged his tongue like some kind of insect.

Tolland looked at Rachel with a pathetic grin. "And this guy's the pinnacle of our evolution."

25

Rachel Sexton felt a dreamlike mist swirling around her as she walked across the habisphere, flanked by Michael Tolland. Corky and Ming followed close behind.

"You okay?" Tolland asked, watching her.

Rachel glanced over, giving a weak smile. "Thanks. It's just... so much."

Her mind reeled back to the infamous 1996 NASA discovery-ALH84001-a Mars meteorite that NASA claimed contained fossil traces of bacterial life. Sadly, only weeks after NASA's triumphant press conference, several civilian scientists stepped forward with proof that the rock's "signs of life" were really nothing more than kerogen produced by terrestrial contamination. NASA's credibility had taken a huge hit over that gaffe. The New York Times took the opportunity to sarcastically redefine the agency's acronym: NASA-NOT ALWAYS SCIENTIFICALLY ACCURATE.

In that same edition, paleobiologist Stephen Jay Gould summed up the problems with ALH84001 by pointing out that the evidence in it was chemical and inferential, rather than "solid," like an unambiguous bone or shell.

Now, however, Rachel realized NASA had found irrefutable proof. No skeptical scientist could possibly step forward and question these fossils. NASA was no longer touting blurry, enlarged photos of alleged microscopic bacteria-they were offering up real meteorite samples where bio-organisms visible to the naked eye had been embedded in the stone. Foot-long lice!

Rachel had to laugh when she realized she'd been a childhood fan of a song by David Bowie that referred to "spiders from Mars." Few would have guessed how close the androgynous British pop star would come to foreseeing astrobiology's greatest moment.

As the distant strains of the song ran through Rachel's mind, Corky hurried up behind her. "Has Mike bragged about his documentary yet?"

Rachel replied, "No, but I'd love to hear about it."

Corky slapped Tolland on the back. "Go for it, big boy. Tell her why the President decided that the most important moment in science history should be handed over to a snorkeling TV star."

Tolland groaned. "Corky, if you don't mind?"

"Fine, I'll explain," Corky said, prying his way in between them. "As you probably know, Ms. Sexton, the President will be giving a press conference tonight to tell the world about the meteorite. Because the vast majority of the world is made up of half-wits, the President asked Mike to come onboard and dumb everything down for them."

"Thanks, Corky," Tolland said. "Very nice." He looked at Rachel. "What Corky's trying to say is that because there's so much scientific data to convey, the President thought a short visual documentary about the meteorite might help make the information more accessible to mainstream America, many of whom, oddly, don't have advanced degrees in astrophysics."

"Did you know," Corky said to Rachel, "that I've just learned our nation's President is a closet fan of Amazing Seas?" He shook his head in mock disgust. "Zach Herney-the ruler of the free world-has his secretary tape Mike's program so he can decompress after a long day."

Tolland shrugged. "The man's got taste, what can I say?"

Rachel was now starting to realize just how masterful the President's plan was. Politics was a media game, and Rachel could already imagine the enthusiasm and scientific credibility the face of Michael Tolland on-screen would bring to the press conference. Zach Herney had recruited the ideal man to endorse his little NASA coup. Skeptics would be hard-pressed to challenge the President's data if it came from the nation's top television science personality as well as several respected civilian scientists.

Corky said, "Mike's already taken video depositions from all of us civilians for his documentary, as well as from most of the top NASA specialists. And I'll bet my National Medal that you're next on his list."

Rachel turned and eyed him. "Me? What are you talking about? I have no credentials. I'm an intelligence liaison."

"Then why did the President send you up here?"

"He hasn't told me yet."

An amused grin crossed Corky's lips. "You're a White House intelligence liaison who deals in clarification and authentication of data, right?"

"Yes, but nothing scientific."

"And you're the daughter of the man who built a campaign around criticizing the money NASA has wasted in space?"

Rachel could hear it coming.

"You have to admit, Ms. Sexton," Ming chimed in, "a deposition from you would give this documentary a whole new dimension of credibility. If the President sent you up here, he must want you to participate somehow."

Rachel again flashed on William Pickering's concern that she was being used.

Tolland checked his watch. "We should probably head over," he said, motioning toward the center of the habisphere. "They should be getting close."

"Close to what?" Rachel asked.

"Extraction time. NASA is bringing the meteorite to the surface. It should be up any time now."

Rachel was stunned. "You guys are actually removing an eight-ton rock from under two hundred feet of solid ice?"

Corky looked gleeful. "You didn't think NASA was going to leave a discovery like this buried in the ice, did you?"

"No, but...," Rachel had seen no signs of large-scale excavation equipment anywhere inside the habisphere. "How the heck is NASA planning on getting the meteorite out?"

Corky puffed up. "No problem. You're in a room full of rocket scientists!"

"Blather," Ming scoffed, looking at Rachel. "Dr. Marlinson enjoys flexing other people's muscles. The truth is that everyone here was stumped about how to get the meteorite out. It was Dr. Mangor who proposed a viable solution."

"I haven't met Dr. Mangor."

"Glaciologist from the University of New Hampshire," Tolland said. "The fourth and final civilian scientist recruited by the President. And Ming here is correct, it was Mangor who figured it out."

"Okay," Rachel said. "So what did this guy propose?"

"Gal," Ming corrected, sounding smitten. "Dr. Mangor is a woman."

"Debatable," Corky grumbled. He looked over at Rachel. "And by the way, Dr. Mangor is going to hate you."

Tolland shot Corky an angry look.

"Well, she will!" Corky defended. "She'll hate the competition."

Rachel felt lost. "I'm sorry? Competition?"

"Ignore him," Tolland said. "Unfortunately, the fact that Corky is a total moron somehow escaped the National Science Committee. You and Dr. Mangor will get along fine. She is a professional. She's considered one of the world's top glaciologists. She actually moved to Antarctica for a few years to study glacial movement."

"Odd," Corky said, "I heard UNH took up a donation and sent her there so they could get some peace and quiet on campus."

"Are you aware," Ming snapped, seeming to have taken the comment personally, "that Dr. Mangor almost died down there! She got lost in a storm and lived on seal blubber for five weeks before anyone found her."

Corky whispered to Rachel, "I heard no one was looking."

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