a mission to a near-field asteroid, drag it closer to earth, and mine it for precious minerals. I actually had to remind this guy that dragging asteroids into near earth orbit posed potential risks of global catastrophe! Ms. Ashe, I can assure you, if this bill passes, the throngs of entrepreneurs rushing into space will not be rocket scientists. They will be entrepreneurs with deep pockets and shallow minds."
"Persuasive arguments," Gabrielle said, "and I'm sure the senator would weigh those issues carefully if he ever found himself in a position to vote on the bill. Might I ask what any of this has to do with me?"
Tench's gaze narrowed over her cigarette. "A lot of people stand to make a lot of money in space, and the political lobby is mounting to remove all restrictions and open the floodgates. The veto power of the office of the President is the only remaining barrier against privatization... against complete anarchy in space."
"Then I commend Zach Herney for vetoing the bill."
"My fear is that your candidate would not be so prudent if elected."
"Again, I assume the senator would carefully weigh all the issues if he were ever in a position to pass judgment on the bill."
Tench did not look entirely convinced. "Do you know how much Senator Sexton spends on media advertising?"
The question came out of left field. "Those figures are public domain."
"More than three million a month."
Gabrielle shrugged. "If you say so." The figure was close.
"That's a lot of money to spend."
"He's got a lot of money to spend."
"Yes, he planned well. Or rather, married well." Tench paused to blow smoke. "It's sad about his wife, Katherine. Her death hit him hard." A tragic sigh followed, clearly feigned. "Her death was not all that long ago, was it?"
"Come to your point, or I'm leaving."
Tench let out a lung-shaking cough and reached for the burgeoning manila folder. She pulled out a small stack of stapled papers and handed them to Gabrielle. "Sexton's financial records."
Gabrielle studied the documents in astonishment. The records went back several years. Although Gabrielle was not privy to the internal workings of Sexton's finances, she sensed this data was authentic-banking accounts, credit card accounts, loans, stock assets, real estate assets, debts, capital gains and losses. "This is private data. Where did you get this?"
"My source is not your concern. But if you spend some time studying these figures, you will clearly see that Senator Sexton does not have the kind of money he is currently spending. After Katherine died, he squandered the vast majority of her legacy on bad investments, personal comforts, and buying himself what appears to be certain victory in the primaries. As of six months ago, your candidate was broke."
Gabrielle sensed this had to be a bluff. If Sexton were broke, he sure wasn't acting it. He was buying advertising time in bigger and bigger blocks every week.
"Your candidate," Tench continued, "is currently outspending the President four to one. And he has no personal money."
"We get a lot of donations."
"Yes, some of them legal."
Gabrielle's head shot up. "I beg your pardon?"
Tench leaned across the desk, and Gabrielle could smell her nicotine breath. "Gabrielle Ashe, I am going to ask you a question, and I suggest you think very carefully before you answer. It could affect whether you spend the next few years in jail or not. Are you aware that Senator Sexton is accepting enormous illegal campaign bribes from aerospace companies who have billions to gain from the privatization of NASA?"
Gabrielle stared. "That's an absurd allegation!"
"Are you saying you are unaware of this activity?"
"I think I would know if the senator were accepting bribes of the magnitude you are suggesting."
Tench smiled coldly. "Gabrielle, I understand that Senator Sexton has shared a lot of himself with you, but I assure you there is plenty you do not know about the man."
Gabrielle stood up. "This meeting is over."
"On the contrary," Tench said, removing the remaining contents of the folder and spreading it on the desk. "This meeting is just beginning."
Chapter 44-48
44
Inside the habisphere's "staging room," Rachel Sexton felt like an astronaut as she slid into one of NASA's Mark IX microclimate survival suits. The black, one-piece, hooded jumpsuit resembled an inflatable scuba suit. Its two-ply, memory-foam fabric was fitted with hollow channels through which a dense gel was pumped to help the wearer regulate body temperature in both hot and cold environments.
Now, as Rachel pulled the tight-fitting hood over her head, her eyes fell on the NASA administrator.