"Come on, ladies. Is it really proper to watch television while you're on duty? Let's save this for when you get off your shifts."

The first two nurses scattered, quickly disappearing down the long hospital hallways. The third woman, Linda, did not budge, nor did she make a move to turn off the television. Williams cleared his throat but the larger nurse continued watching.

"Linda?"

"Shhh" she hissed. "None of the patients need me now. And I don't want to miss this."

Williams stepped forward and looked at the fuzzy picture on the TV, where President Marshall was showing footage from another space station proposal. The doctor read the bottom of the screen, where a headline said that Marshall was showing the final three proposals for the space station designs. Williams had been busy making rounds all night and had completely forgotten about the President's big announcement. After seeing the topic of the speech, he kicked himself for missing any of it.

"Well move over. I want to watch, too."

He squeezed next to Linda and turned the volume up, trying to hear every word the President said. The two watched in silence as Marshall wrapped up the presentation of the second space station design. Before he began on the third one, a monitor at the nurses' station took a serious dip. Williams and Linda ran down the hall.

The heart monitor next to Emily Peterson's hospital bed beeped uncontrollably when Dr. Williams and the nurse ran into her room. Emily was a pitiful sight to see. It looked as though every part of her tiny body not in a cast had some sort of tube or wire running into it. Every strand of her once beautiful, curly hair was now gone, her head shaved before surgery was performed to release the swelling in her brain. Her once-angelic face now appeared to be one large bruise with eyes, nose and a mouth. Both of her legs were broken in a dozen different spots and would eventually need multiple surgeries, though the chances of her ever walking again were low. Those operations would have to wait until her body was strong enough to take yet another surgery.

And those were just the problems that could be seen on the exterior of her body. As Dr. Williams rushed over to Emily's bedside, he knew that at least three different internal injuries could now be causing her body to shut down.

"She never should've been taken out of the ICU so soon," Williams said as he quickly inspected the unconscious girl.

He had to stop the internal hemorrhaging quickly and prep her for what was sure to be another surgery.

"I wonder what the last design will look like," the blonde nurse said.

"I don't know and I don't really care. I'm more interested in whether Williams gave Linda hell for watching the TV."

"Let's go see if we can find her."

After they were done checking on their young patients, the two nurses walked back to the nurses' station. Linda was not there, yet the television was still on, President Marshall just finishing the presentation of the final proposal. They barely had time to watch any of it when Linda and Dr. Williams came rushing down the hall, wheeling the bed that held Emily Peterson. All of the nurses had come to know Emily over the past few days, yet another small child with a heartbreaking story. When the two nurses saw them, they immediately rushed over.

"Call the OR," Dr. Williams demanded.

The blonde nurse ran over to the station and picked up the phone to make the call. The other nurse helped them push the bed toward the elevator, the doctor now able to fully concentrate on administering help. Once the elevator doors opened and the bed was in place, Linda dismissed the other nurse.

"Watch the other kids, call Dr. Monroe if there are problems."

With that, the elevator doors closed and the middle-aged nurse rejoined the blonde. The two women had grown used to dealing with recovering children, not sick children, and seeing poor Emily Peterson so close to death was a shock for both of them.

"That poor child."

"I know. She should still be in intensive care. They rushed her up to us. I mean, it's a miracle she lived through that accident."

"I know, it's just awful. Especially with what happened to her mother."

For once, the two women were speechless. They were no longer in the mood to watch the President and they turned off the television.

There was no clock in the auditorium, leaving President Marshall to wonder how long the presentation had been going. During the planning stages and rehearsal, they had figured the whole running time would be just around an hour. But after all the videos and letters he read from each company, Marshall would not be surprised if it took twice as long as expected. As he wound down the final proposal, he began to see the light at the end of the tunnel. As important as this presentation was, and for how much time he spent worrying about it, Marshall was pleased with how it went.

"So those are the proposals from which America will be choosing," he concluded. "We are on the cusp of the most exciting, and possibly greatest, accomplishment ever created by humankind. I look forward to my fellow Americans making the best possible decision. I will also forever treasure the fact that my presidency over the past four years has helped to achieve this. I thank all of you for your patience. We have a thrilling future to look forward to; I do not envy the difficult decision that must be made by each and every one of us. But if there is one thing I know about this great country, it's that American citizens know how to make the right choices for their country.

"I'm sure you are tired of seeing my face so often these past few months so I will end this tonight by thanking each and every one of you for your time. Goodnight, America."

The red light on the camera in front of him blinked off and Marshall's image on the monitor faded to the Presidential seal. Within seconds, Peter Mansfield entered the auditorium with the director right behind. The director clapped his hands, encouraged by how smoothly everything went.

"Mr. President, you did a marvelous job. That was by far the best work I've ever done. I could not have imagined things going better."

Marshall loosened his tie and unbuttoned the top of his shirt, allowing his body to finally breathe. He took a deep breath, slowly exhaling all of the tension that built up the last couple of days. Executing this presentation so well was a great relief and gave him the best chance to swing voters back toward him. If everything with the election proceeded the way he hoped, this would be the first step toward protecting Earth. Of course he hoped that building a space station would not even be needed but if Neil Peterson failed his mission, the 'Inner Circle' would be ready for the Earth's next line of defense.

After shaking hands with the director, President Marshall and Peter Mansfield were rushed out of the auditorium by the Secret Service. Once alone in the back of the limo on their return trip to the White House, Marshall asked his Chief of Staff's opinion.

"How do you think it went?"

"I think we did well," Mansfield said. "But at this point, we can only wait and hope for the best."

CHAPTER SIX.

October 7, 2012 The sun began to rise as Peter Mansfield slowed his jog to a brisk walk. After the President's presentation the previous night, the White House Chief of Staff staggered home, as tired as he could remember feeling in months. Because the campaign had gone much worse than expected, Mansfield felt constant pressure to win back the public's approval. The stress of dealing with the campaign, as well as the continuing stress of worrying about Comet Clement, had not allowed Mansfield's mind to rest long enough to get a peaceful night's sleep in months.

The space station presentation was the last card they had left in their deck of tricks. After they pulled it off without a hitch, Mansfield knew there was nothing left to do but wait and see how the public responded. Although they would fight to the bitter end of the campaign no matter what, Marshall and Mansfield knew deep in their hearts that the fate of the campaign depended solely on the public's reaction to the previous night.

If America rejected the presentation, Marshall would lose the White House and the 'Inner Circle's' fate would be unknown. Maybe the new President would continue with the space station plans. Maybe Neil Peterson's mission would be successful and the comet would be pushed off course. Maybe they would be able to confide in Chucky 3 and only add a few members to the 'Inner Circle.'

Or maybe everything would get shot to hell. Either way, when Mansfield arrived home the night before, he knew there was nothing he could do but wait. Nothing his mind could conjure would change anything, which meant he could give his brain a night off for once. After stripping off his suit and dismissing his wife's incessant questioning about the President's presentation, Mansfield climbed into bed and did something he hadn't done for as long as he could remember: he passed right out.

For the next few glorious hours, Mansfield slept the sleep of a trouble-free man. His body and mind both fully relaxed, wrapped by the warmth of carefree rest. But that deep sleep was not meant to last.

An hour before dawn, Mansfield's eyes snapped open. All of the relaxation that comforted him those few precious hours was suddenly gone. His mind traveled from zero to a hundred miles per hour in a split second, all of his worries and problems instantly returning. Sleep was impossible and if he'd stayed in bed, he knew the hour before sunrise would be spent staring at the dark ceiling above.

Mansfield got out of bed and did the only thing to burn away the newfound energy that flowed through his veins. He donned his exercise clothes and ran. Jogging was the only thing that slowed his worrying and eased his troubled mind. It did not allow him to forget the comet and the campaign completely but when he ran, Mansfield focused better than any other time. He was not sure why - maybe it had to do with the union of body and mind - but thoughts became much clearer when he worked up a heavy sweat. He normally ran during the early hours before sunrise, the only time when the District of Columbia was asleep and relatively free of noise. Silence was a rare thing when living in the capitol.

As usual, his run led him toward the National Mall, a two and a half-mile long stretch of parkland between the Potomac River and Capitol Hill. This area, the most popular tourist attraction in DC, was packed during the day with visitors anxious to see the Jefferson and Washington Memorials, as well as numerous museums like the Smithsonian and National Gallery of Art. But the early hour found the park nearly empty, a blessing for Mansfield's mind and thought-process. Once he passed the Washington Memorial and approached the long reflecting pool, he finally slowed to a walk.

Are they going to buy it? Was the presentation good enough to entice voters to sway their support back to us?

The same questions had been running through his mind from the moment he woke. Although the 'Inner Circle' made the presentation as alluring as possible, Mansfield wondered if they could've done more, added some small detail to ensure that the public would need this space station built. Having Americans vote on the space station was President Marshall's idea, a truly genius one to maximize the public's fascination. Granting them this ultimate decision had to empower them but would enough people feel this way to swing the lopsided polls back in Marshall's favor? Had they waited too long to do this?

These were questions to which Mansfield did not know the answers. And as far as the Chief of Staff was concerned, not knowing answers was the worst feeling imaginable.

Once he reached the end of the reflecting pool, the only thing that separated him and the river was the Lincoln Memorial. He walked up the steps to the large building protected by 36 Greek-like columns surrounding it. Beyond these columns and through a large opening sat the statue of Abraham Lincoln, 19 feet tall even though honest Abe was sitting. Alone in the memorial, Mansfield stared in awe at the concerned look on Lincoln's face. Mansfield glanced around; from inside the building, the columns had the daunting feel of prison bars. The Chief of Staff could sympathize with the feeling of incarceration that Abe must have felt. The 16th President would be forever stuck inside this building, just as Mansfield felt he would always be stuck inside his own mind, haunted by questions and concerns about one thing or another.

As the rising sunlight began to shine through the columns, Mansfield knew the lead story on early morning news would be the President's speech. This would give them the first reactions to the night before. After one last glance up at Lincoln, who was the last man to truly steer this country in a whole new direction, Mansfield began his run home.

Mansfield arrived home physically exhausted, yet mentally eager. He went straight to his kitchen, surprised to find his wife already out of bed.

"Another run?" she asked. "You must have felt refreshed after sleeping last night. I can't remember the last time I saw you sleep like that without tossing and turning."

"Yeah," he said quickly, walking past her and taking a seat in front of the TV. He did not want to miss a single word of what was being said, especially not because of chit-chat forced upon him by his wife. His wife had other ideas, though.

"Are you going to tell me about the presentation now? You just brushed me off last night," she said. Peter recognized the annoyed tone of her voice and knew he'd better talk if he wanted to avoid an argument. The last thing he needed now was to add marital stress on his already-full plate.

"I'm sorry, I was tired. What do you want to know?"

"Did you know he was going to be making that speech last night? It's been all over the news this morning. People seem really excited about it."

Hearing her say that made Mansfield want to pay attention to the news but a few more words would talk him out of trouble with his wife.

"Marshall didn't tell me about it until yesterday afternoon," he said.

"Why didn't you tell me when I called you yesterday? It's nice having the inside track on these kinds of things. I mean, it should be one of the perks of having a husband who works 100 hours a week."

"I'm sorry. The President stressed the importance of keeping everything secret. Besides, I didn't know it would be such a big deal to you."

The news program switched to a live feed from 'the man on the street', where a reporter randomly questioned pedestrians about the President's presentation. This was the moment Mansfield had worried about since his eyes opened a few hours earlier. Even though his wife still talked, Mansfield ignored her and turned up the volume. A montage was shown of different people stopped walking down a busy street.

"So, ma'am. What did you think of the President's speech last night?" the reporter asked an older, black woman.

The elderly and African-Americans, two groups we didn't do well with when we won the first election.

"I think it's really exciting," she said. "I remember the Space Race when I was a little girl; never thought I'd see something like this in my lifetime."

The screen switched to an older, conservatively dressed man.

"I'm glad Marshall has finally gotten around to addressing this issue," he started. "Charles Davis has been attacking him on this for the last six months but I feel the President has done an excellent job repelling his opposition's main point of attack."

All of the nervous energy Mansfield just ran off was suddenly replaced with energy of excitement. Sure, it was only a few people out of millions of Americans, but it was a step in the right direction. And since news stations always seemed to prefer showing negative opinions rather than positive ones, it had to be a good sign that each interview shown was positive.

The montage ended and switched to a live shot of the reporter still standing on the busy street.

"There you go, it seems like the people of Washington DC seem to once again embrace President Marshall, though he has recently been down in the polls by almost 15%. Just like his future space station, it seems his approval this morning is out of this world. Back to you guys."

The newscast switched back to the studio, where an attractive woman and man sat behind a large desk.

"Out of this world indeed," the newswoman said.

"I agree, Julie," the man said. "And according to reports from our other affiliates throughout the country, it seems the President's stock is on the rise. Early poll projections conducted this morning on the East Coast have President Marshall surging back into the race."

A pie chart appeared on TV and showed that Marshall's slice was significantly bigger than it had been for weeks. Mansfield heard a phone ringing in the background of his kitchen but his attention stayed on the news.

"It appears as though this race is going to be much closer than we thought," the woman said.

Mansfield's wife said his name three times, finally raising her voice until Peter answered.

"What?" he snapped.

"You might want to take this. It's the President."

Mansfield took the phone and heard the excitement in Marshall's voice. The President was just as enthused about the positive reaction from the public.

"We're back in this," Marshall said, sounding as exuberant as he did during his first campaign. "Hurry up and get here, we have to go over our follow-up strategy."

Mansfield hung up the phone and hurried out of the room. For the first time in months, he looked forward to going to the White House. Maybe I'll be able to go inside without thinking my time there is limited.

Mansfield's wife watched her husband jog out of the kitchen without touching the breakfast she'd made. She was worried about Peter, worried that her husband was going to give himself a stroke or a heart attack from working so damn hard. But she understood how important his job was and tried to be supportive. Instead of complaining that she had cooked for no reason, she took his plate of food and sat down at the kitchen table, eating the eggs and bacon herself while watching the remainder of the news.

"In related news, Tyler Ainsworth Sr., owner of Ainsworth Industries, died last night following an accident at his home. His company was one of twelve to submit a proposal for the space station project. While making the top six, it was not one of the finalists. Mr. Ainsworth, reportedly in bad health already, apparently tripped and fell down some steps. His son, Tyler Jr., found him and called 9-1-1, who arrived too late to resuscitate him. He was pronounced dead on the scene. The cause of death will be announced pending an autopsy later today."

CHAPTER SEVEN.

November 6, 2012 "How did he sound?" Mansfield asked.

"How do you think he sounded? Pretty pissed off," President Marshall answered as he hung up the phone, a satisfied grin plastered across his face. "He really thought he had us."

"I really thought he had us for awhile, too," Mansfield responded.

President Marshall stood in the hotel bedroom and put on his suit jacket, fixing his tie and straightening his hair in a nearby mirror. For the first time all night, the two men were alone and could speak candidly.

"I would be lying if I said a part of me hadn't wished things had gone the other way. It might be nice to pass this burden on to somebody else," the President said.

"Maybe, but you don't know how Chucky would've handled it. If he'd gone public with the secret, you would have been vilified."

"I think the public would have more important things to worry about than being angry at me. But no need to think about that anymore. We have two jobs to do, one that everyone knows and one that only we know. It's time to concentrate on both again instead of this damn election."

"Yes, sir."

"How do I look?"

"Great, sir."

The two men walked out of the private hotel bedroom into a much larger room, where a few dozen of Marshall's closest campaign workers and advisors anxiously awaited the news. They all knew who Marshall was talking to on the phone in the other room and all knew what it was about. They still nervously awaited the definite outcome of that conversation, though.