Six months earlier, Maddox returned to his piece of the space station after spending three months on Earth. When he returned, he was excited to see Slava again and help oversee the space station construction. But Slava was ordered to join the replaced construction team and return to Earth to begin training sessions for the construction program.

When first told about this program, Maddox was informed that Slava would be one of the main teachers, that his second-in-command would be on Earth for only a few months during the yearlong training. Those initial projections quickly changed, though, especially once the length of the program was cut by a few months.

Maddox had not seen or heard from Slava for the six months but the project leader received numerous updates about progress made by the crewmembers-in-training. While Maddox disliked Slava's absence, he was glad replacement teams would be ready for space-work earlier than expected. Although team changes were made on a monthly basis since Maddox's return, he could still tell his teams grew more exhausted with every shift worked. The progress made on the space station was steady but had slowed significantly the last few months. Maddox knew more construction teams meant the original teams could decrease their length of time in space, as well as increase the amount of time they could rest and recuperate on Earth. This could only provide a boost for the space station in the long run.

Besides, Maddox couldn't wait until new workers arrived so he might actually have something to do. New workers meant inexperienced workers, and inexperienced workers meant Maddox would be required to play a bigger leadership role again. The five current construction teams were so good and had so much knowledge and training with one another that construction ran like clockwork.

At least today would be different. In a few hours, Team Two was scheduled to return to space after a two-month break and relieve Team Four. Maddox's role in the shift changes was minimal, consisting mainly of watching and talking to the teams. But it brought a change to his otherwise boring days and that was the least he could hope for.

Shuttle Pride arrived nearly half an hour before scheduled, two hours after Team Four made its return trip to Earth. Poor forecasted weather resulted in Team Two lifting off earlier than usual, but the time change was not totally out of the ordinary. Inclement weather often resulted in launch changes so the shuttle arriving earlier than usual shouldn't have caused problems.

But something did. Maddox had observed the exact same docking procedure a dozen times before, but every time he would ultimately think back to what happened to Shuttle Pride, he could never remember anything out of place. One moment the shuttle was making its approach toward the docking station and the next moment Maddox was hearing frantic shouting from the Pride's captain.

Maddox watched helplessly as the shuttle smashed into the space station piece, causing the entire corridor to shudder violently. The first few moments after the crash were some of the tensest since Maddox had been in space, immediately bringing back thoughts of the fatal accident. But as Maddox nervously waited expecting to watch the corridor fall apart or see the shuttle crumble to pieces the project leader was relieved when everything stabilized.

Less than an hour later, Maddox received word from Pride that the shuttle's computer-automated docking controls brought the craft in too fast for the connection, thus causing the minor crash. The shuttle still docked properly; the crew reported only minor damage to the space station piece and connecting corridor. Luckily, a preliminary inspection of the shuttle showed no damage to the craft, although further tests would be run.

Just before communicating his report with ground control, Maddox silently cursed his earlier hopes for excitement and decided he'd never again condemn boredom.

"Ground control, this is space control. Maddox reporting, do you read?"

"This is ground control, we copy," the familiar voice of John Stratis said. Stratis was in charge of mission control when James Armour was not around. Because Armour had not made an appearance on the radio since Maddox first reported the accident, the project leader felt certain Armour was away on other business, likely due to his other job as Defense Secretary.

With Slava's absence on board the space control center, Maddox preferred communicating problems to Armour, who provided another authoritative voice. Armour always worked with the project leader, not against him.

But now that a potentially serious problem occurred, Maddox was glad to be speaking with Stratis instead of the NASSA Chief. For the past seven months, Armour and the rest of NASSA dealt with the added stress of space station construction completed by the Chinese. According to NASSA reports, the Chinese were completing work in space at a pace Maddox and his men could never hope to safely equal.

The Chinese were in orbit on the opposite side of Earth as the Americans, stopping Maddox and his crew from seeing the opposition. Maddox escaped any contact with the Chinese, but Armour and NASSA could not avoid probing questions from the media about the Americans' apparent lack of success when compared with their Chinese counterparts. Maddox was glad to be in space where he could avoid such tough questions.

For Armour and the rest of NASSA's sake, Maddox hoped the media never caught wind of this day's minor accident.

CHAPTER FORTY.

JUNE 9, 2016.

Tyler Ainsworth stood in the large construction hangar and stared at his seacraft, its outer hull completed. Still, he could not hope but feel a bit disappointed. Although the craft was the biggest and most elaborate underwater vehicle his company had ever produced, he somehow expected more. Bigger, or more exotic-looking, or something...

"It's spectacular," Tyler's assistant said. "It's the biggest, most exotic seacraft the world has ever known. I wish we could show it to the public earlier than scheduled; it would be great for our PR department."

"No, that would not be a good idea," Nigel Huffington disagreed. "We must stick to the plan and wait."

"Nigel's right," Tyler said. "Besides, there's still a lot of work to be finished inside the craft."

Tyler's room within the craft had been completed for a long time, but that was the only room done thus far. Tyler wanted every room on the upper level of the craft to be nearly as luxurious as his own. The lower level, where those government passengers would be living, would not require nearly as much time and effort.

Construction on the craft's interior would start next week. For now, he enjoyed the silence of the mostly empty construction hangar. It was the first time in a while that the sounds of construction weren't hammering away. He needed this time to figure out how to raise more money to complete the ship's engines. He didn't want to limp back to President Marshall for another handout.

If only Tyler had thought to give Marc a vacation then he might've enjoyed total silence.

"As long as everything goes as planned, the inside of the seacraft should be more awe-inspiring than the outside," Marc said. "I mean, the room you stay in now is incredible, fit for a five-star hotel. I wish you would reconsider the room designs for the lower level. Those rooms don't seem like they'd be fit for a garbage man. I don't think any of the tourists would pay good money to stay in them."

"Tourists?" Nigel asked, momentarily confused.

Marc noticed Nigel and Tyler quickly glance at one another.

"Tourists, ahh, yes," Nigel repeated. "I almost forgot about them."

"How many times do I have to explain this to you, Marc?" Tyler said, making no attempt to mask his annoyance. "I don't want this seacraft to be enjoyed by only the wealthy. We must also make economy lodging for our... less exclusive clientele."

Before Marc had the chance to probe any further, Tyler excused himself and the three men went their separate ways. Nigel returned to his room to avoid running into anyone he did not want to see. Tyler returned to his room to continue making plans to raise more money for construction of the seacraft's engines. And Marc returned to the small office he had inside the construction hangar, where he continued his public relation plans to entice future tourists to travel on their underwater cruise ship.

It took Peter Mansfield nearly a week before he scheduled time to meet with President Marshall in the Oval Office. Marshall was busy of late, especially with many interviews answering questions about the next election.

"Peter, how are you?" Marshall said. The President clearly saw the wear and tear the passenger project had taken on Mansfield, physically and mentally.

"I'm fine, sir," Mansfield answered, giving Marshall a rare smile. "In fact, I'm more than fine. I've been sleeping a lot better."

Having worked with the President for so long, Mansfield immediately recognized worry on Marshall's face.

"Is there something wrong with you, sir?" Mansfield asked.

"I'm afraid I have some news you might not like," Marshall said. "And I hate to burden you with it when you're finally appearing better. But you know I have nobody else to turn to with this."

Mansfield felt a knot forming in his stomach, the same knot that was with him for over a year before he finally untied it by completing the list. The President had news that must be terrible.

"I'm here for you and the 'Inner Circle' any way I can," Mansfield said. "Don't hesitate anymore to tell me, whatever the bad news."

"James Armour gave me a summary of his trip to the Russian underground bunker," Marshall said.

"The Russians aren't making the progress they hoped?" Mansfield asked, assuming the worst. "How bad did Armour say it was?"

"That's just it. James informed me that their bunker is progressing to levels beyond our imaginations," Marshall said. "He told me their shelter will be the best option we have. It's bigger, safer and holds more people than the space station."

Mansfield was confused why this was a bad thing.

"What exactly is the problem?"

"It's not a problem, just a further responsibility," Marshall said. "One that I hate to burden you with considering the other lists I've had you assemble."

The knot suddenly pulled as tight as ever. Mansfield knew the bad news before the President had to tell him.

"How many more people?" the Chief of Staff asked.

"Five-hundred," Marshall said. "The category breakdown can be the same as the two other lists." Mansfield nodded. "Again, I'm sorry to continually burden you but I can't trust anybody else to do this."

"I understand, Mr. President."

The two men stood in silence for several tense moments. Mansfield's reason for this meeting was now gone, as was any hope he had for sleeping the next few months.

"So what was it that you wanted to talk about?" Marshall asked.

Now that Mansfield wasn't finished selecting passengers after all, he did not need to discuss his completion of the first two lists. Instead, he blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

"I was wondering how you thought the election was coming for Brighton," the Chief of Staff said.

"Oh," Marshall said, surprised at the question. "I think Andrew is positioning himself exactly where he wants to be in this race."

"Even though he continues to constantly trash you and this administration?" Mansfield asked, feebly attempting further conversation. "I find it hard to accept that he's making a living by turning his back on us. I wish there was a different way he could go about campaigning, one that would not make our jobs more difficult than they already are."

Vice-President Andrew Brighton used his publicly acknowledged opposition to the President's space station policy as the centerpiece of his campaign.

"Our egos must take a backseat to Andrew winning this election," the President said. "The only way we can continue planning for Clement is to have a friend in office next. If Andrew loses, we'll only have two options. One, we tell the incoming President and hope he allows us to continue our efforts. Or two, we tell the public everything. I don't want to choose either option. Either way, we'd lose significant control over an already-fragile situation."

"I just wish there was a way Brighton could campaign without having to criticize our every move."

"If elected President, what policy changes will you implement in regards to the space station and the way that project is being run? And do you feel that your current administration, run by President Marshall, can best be described as fledgling due to the way the space station project has proceeded?" an elderly woman asked.

Although this woman looked sweet and innocent, she asked her question with the voracity of the best reporters Brighton ever dealt with.

Andrew Brighton hoped to get through one campaign tour stop without being asked about the space station.

If I can't get through this Q & A session without avoiding the space station topic, I don't think there'll ever be a tour stop where someone won't ask, the Vice-President thought.

Brighton stood behind a podium inside the large clubhouse of one of the most exclusive retirement communities in Florida. He gave a quick speech about his future plans for improving national security and healthcare, two topics the elderly usually cared about most. Brighton made a conscious effort to avoid even mentioning the space station. But once he opened the floor to questions, the space station question was the first one asked, just as it had been during every other tour stop.

"I think fledgling might be a bit harsh, don't you, dear?" Brighton asked, trying to sound as sweet as he could.

"No, if I wanted to be harsh, I would have said failing," the older woman responded bluntly, drawing murmurs of agreement from the rest of the crowd.

"I have great respect for many things President George Marshall and the rest of this administration has accomplished the past eight years. National security is at an all-time high and unemployment at an all-time low," Brighton said. "The President has been a great role model for me as a man; I respect him very much as an individual. But as I've said for quite some time, my opinions on the space station differ greatly from his. If elected, I do not plan to continue construction of the station as we know it now. I believe George Marshall feels he's doing the best thing for science but I don't feel it's best for the country and the public."

The elderly woman smiled in agreement and the vice-President received applause from the crowd.

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE.

JUNE 15, 2016.

Even after six months, John Fare was still amazed every time the car service dropped him off at his father's new house, a mansion that dwarfed the house his mother received in the divorce settlement. John grew up in the wealthier area of town but this new place really made him realize how important his father must be. But as much awe as it inspired in him, it also inspired anger because he knew what the house symbolized: his father's business success taking precedence over his family life. If John's father spent more time at home and less time in the office, he never would've risen through the corporate ranks, never would've reached a position with his company that paid him enough money to afford this new mansion.

But all the money and mansions in the world would not buy the one thing John wanted more than anything else: for his family to go back to the way they were.

The driver of the car service was a friendly man named Ted who drove John wherever he needed to go on the days he spent at his father's. Ted waited until the boy was safely inside before driving off. John immediately entered the five-digit code to turn off the alarm system.

"Hello?" John called, though he was certain his father wouldn't be home from work yet. Although it was just after six o'clock in the evening, John figured he had at least two more hours to waste before his old man showed up.

At least I have the place to myself, John thought, taking a pack of cigarettes out of his duffel bag.

When he first bought the house, John's father insisted on hiring a woman to stay with John on the days he came to visit. The lady was awful though, too forceful and demanding for John's liking. She always yelled at him to stop watching TV and playing video games before he finished his homework. It took John less than a month to take care of that little problem.

One of the first things John learned following his parents' divorce involved the subtle manipulation of his father. Guilt could be quite a useful asset when trying to get his way. After a few arguments, John convinced his father to fire the babysitter and let him stay alone.

John entered his bedroom on the second floor of the mansion and lit a cigarette, pulling smoke into his lungs without feeling the need to cough. He grabbed a chair and placed it next to an open window, hoping to mask the smell of smoke.

I don't want my dad to think I'm not responsible enough to be left on my own, John thought.

It was well after nine by the time his dad's Mercedes pulled into the long driveway. John watched from his bedroom window and quickly sprayed air freshener to cover the smell of his last cigarette. He ran into the bathroom and washed his hands before walking downstairs.

When the front door opened and John saw his father, he immediately knew the old man had forgotten (as usual, John thought) that tonight was their night to spend together. John tended not to make a big deal out of his father's forgetfulness, especially when he saw the exhausted look on his face. Besides, as long as John didn't give his father a hard time, he might be able to use the exhaustion to his advantage.

"Son, I'm glad to see you," he said, dropping his briefcase and giving John a hug. As long as they weren't in public, John didn't mind the affection. John noticed his father take a big whiff of his hair. "You smell like an ashtray."

"Mom's going through a pack a day," John said immediately, having practiced the lie many times before. "She's been really stressed recently."

His father frowned and nodded.

"I know what that's like," he said. "Did you eat dinner yet?"

"No, but I'm starving. I was waiting for you to get home so we could eat together," John said.

"I'm sorry about that, kiddo. I got stuck at the office, as usual. To be honest, I kind of forgot you were coming tonight," he said.

"That's okay, I know how busy your promotion makes you. It doesn't bother me that you work late," John lied, saying what he thought his father wanted to hear. "I'm not Mom, I won't get mad every time you forget something small."

"You're a good kid, you know that?" his father said, putting his arm around John. "Let's go see what we have to eat."

That's one point for the cause, John thought, as the two of them walked into the kitchen.

Half an hour later, John and his father sat at the large dining table eating the pizza just delivered. John was waiting for the perfect moment to launch his plan but his father beat him to the punch.

"Are you going to try out for the Zwier Academy's baseball team next year?" his father asked. Since his father gave him the news that he'd gotten John into private school, that was all the two of them ever talked about. "I've heard they have one of the best teams in the country."