pseudoscientific and philosophical hyperbole and lock in on the ugly stuff-the politics. Like torture masters rubbing acid in Sexton's wounds, the newscasters were stating and restating the obvious.
"Hours ago, Sexton's campaign was soaring," one analyst said. "Now, with NASA's discovery, the senator's campaign has crashed back to earth."
Sexton winced, reaching for the Courvoisier and taking a hit right out of the bottle. Tonight, he knew, would be the longest and loneliest night of his life. He despised Marjorie Tench for setting him up. He despised Gabrielle Ashe for ever mentioning NASA in the first place. He despised the President for being so goddamned lucky. And he despised the world for laughing at him.
"Obviously, this is devastating for the senator," the analyst was saying. "The President and NASA have claimed an incalculable triumph with this discovery. News like this would revitalize the President's campaign regardless of Sexton's position on NASA, but with Sexton's admission today that he would go so far as to abolish NASA funding outright if need be... well, this presidential announcement is a one-two punch from which the senator will not recover."
I was tricked, Sexton said. The White House fucking set me up.
The analyst was smiling now. "All of the credibility NASA has lost with Americans recently has just been restored in spades. There's a real feeling of national pride out there on the streets right now."
"As there should be. They love Zach Herney, and they were losing faith. You've got to admit, the President was lying down and took some pretty big hits recently, but he's come out of it smelling like a rose."
Sexton thought of the CNN debate that afternoon and hung his head, thinking he might be sick to his stomach. All of the NASA inertia he had so carefully built up over the last months had not only come to a screeching halt, but it had become an anchor around his neck. He looked like a fool. He'd been brazenly played by the White House. He was already dreading all the cartoons in tomorrow's paper. His name would be the punch line to every joke in the country. Obviously, there would be no more quiet SFF campaign funding. Everything had changed. All of the men who had been in his apartment had just seen their dreams go down the toilet. The privatization of space had just struck a brick wall.
Taking another hit of cognac, the senator stood up and walked unevenly to his desk. He gazed down at the unhooked phone receiver. Knowing it was an act of masochistic self-flagellation, he slowly replaced the phone receiver in its cradle and began counting the seconds.
One... two... The phone rang. He let the machine pick up.
"Senator Sexton, Judy Oliver from CNN. I'd like to give you an opportunity to react to the NASA discovery this evening. Please call me." She hung up.
Sexton started counting again. One... The phone started ringing. He ignored it, letting the machine get it. Another reporter.
Holding his bottle of Courvoisier, Sexton wandered toward the sliding door of his balcony. He pulled it aside and stepped out into the cool air. Leaning against the railing, he gazed out across town to the illuminated facade of the White House in the distance. The lights seemed to twinkle gleefully in the wind.
Bastards, he thought. For centuries we've been looking for proof of life in the heavens. Now we find it in the same fucking year as my election? This wasn't propitious, this was goddamned clairvoyant. Every apartment window for as far as Sexton could see had a television on. Sexton wondered where Gabrielle Ashe was tonight. This was all her fault. She'd fed him NASA failure after NASA failure.
He raised the bottle to take another swig.
Goddamned Gabrielle... she's the reason I'm in this so deep.
Across town, standing amid the chaos of the ABC production room, Gabrielle Ashe felt numb. The President's announcement had come out of left field, leaving her suspended in a semicatatonic haze. She stood, lock-kneed in the center of the production room floor, staring up at one of the television monitors while pandemonium raged around her.
The initial seconds of the announcement had brought dead silence to the newsroom floor. It had lasted only moments before the place erupted into a deafening carnival of scrambling reporters. These people were professionals. They had no time for personal reflection. There would be time for that after the work was done. At the moment, the world wanted to know more, and ABC had to provide it.