"You never won California, Mr. President," Mansfield said. "By the time it came to California, you'd already had both elections won. But you were a lot more popular than Brighton. I just don't see how he could pull it off."

Since yielding to his nerves was not something Marshall wanted to do just yet, and because his Chief of Staff was only increasing his worry, the President needed to turn to someone else for help. He only hoped she was still here. Marshall pressed the button on the intercom on his desk.

"Mae, are you there?" he asked.

It was well beyond ten o'clock, and neither Marshall nor Mansfield ventured outside of the Oval Office for nearly five hours now. Everyone in the building could have gone home as far as the two of them knew.

"Yes, Mr. President," the voice of his elderly secretary said. "I was just about to head home for the evening. Was there something I could do for you?"

"Do you think you could scrounge a pack of cigarettes from somewhere?" Marshall asked.

In his younger days, Marshall went through a pack of cigarettes every couple days. But once he started his political career, the President learned the public did not like their leaders to smoke (and neither did his wife). Even though it had been years since he quit, Marshall still had the urge to have a smoke. While he fought this urge the majority of the time, he figured now was as good a time as any to concede to his craving.

"I think Artie, the night watchmen on the first floor, smokes. I'll see what I can do," Mae said.

Since Marshall knew he was about to have a cigarette and calm his nerves, he felt agitated by Mansfield's constant prattling. His annoyance surfaced suddenly and the President was unable to hold out until Mae arrived.

"Would you please shut up and sit down already?" he yelled. While still irritated, the President immediately felt bad for raising his voice. "It's out of our hands now so there's no use getting bent out of shape."

Mansfield did as he was told. He sat down and turned up the volume on the TV, concentrating on the news program to avoid talking to the President. The Chief of Staff's foot continued to tap.

When Mae came in with the cigarettes, it was not a moment too soon.

"Your wife better not find out about this," Mae warned. "And if she catches you with them, you better not tell her I had anything to do with getting them."

"Don't worry, Mae," Marshall said, as he hurriedly took one out of the pack and lit it. "I would never throw you under the bus like that."

"You'd better not, sir," Mae said. "Because I know where you live."

Once his secretary left and the President was halfway through his cigarette, he felt bad for yelling at Mansfield, who continued to sit silently and act like a scolded dog.

"Here, smoke one of these," Marshall said, tossing the pack to Mansfield. "It helps the nerves."

After arriving at his Miami hotel, Andrew Brighton remained in his top-floor suite for most of the long, stressful evening. The hotel's ballroom, packed with over a thousand people, filled up quickly after five o'clock. Brighton made a few appearances on stage throughout the evening, for which he garnered national television coverage and a rousing ovation from those supporters in attendance. But these few appearances had been brief, as he quickly escaped back to his room and the extensive election coverage on every major news network.

Although quieter than the ballroom, his luxurious suite also seemed filled to maximum capacity throughout much of the day. Dozens of high-ranking campaign workers, various members of the media, and friends and family were constantly in and out of the room. Even when Brighton escaped to the bedroom, where he hoped for a higher level of privacy, many more people intruded than the vice-President wanted.

Once it was announced that he lost Texas, a state every expert agreed he needed to have, people in his suite slowly began to filter out. Whether his supporters sensed Brighton's need for solitude or whether they sensed the election had quickly become a lost cause, many of those with access to the suite found excuses to leave. It was not long before Brighton was alone in the bedroom with only his wife, Katina, by his side.

Over the next few hours, well into the next morning, the rest of the U.S. map turned from gray to green and yellow. While the vice-President had not been numerically eliminated with only three gray states remaining, Senator Stewart was inching ever so closer to reaching the magic number of 270. The states of Washington and Hawaii, along with their fifteen combined electoral votes, did not matter to Brighton with California still hanging in the balance.

With over ninety percent of the polls reporting, Stewart was holding a marginal lead in the huge West Coast state. Brighton was pleased that the race was so tight, especially considering how most experts picked Stewart to win this state handily. The senator had many supporters in Hollywood and since a prominent actor had once run California, most experts assumed the rest of the state would follow the lead of Stewart's actor friends and vote for him.

While the numbers might have been close, Brighton felt grim about his chances of pulling off a comeback with only ten percent of the votes remaining.

"It's not looking too good, is it?" Brighton asked.

"No, I guess not," Katina answered honestly. One of the qualities Brighton most cherished about her was honesty, even if it was brutal at times. But the vice-President had enough people around trying to sugar coat any piece of bad news. It was actually refreshing to hear the truth once and awhile.

"But as cliche as it sounds, everything happens for a reason," Katina said, as she slowly ran her hands through his hair. This always helped Brighton relax. "We've been through times much more trying than this. Regardless of the outcome, I'll always be by your side. Besides, if you don't win, it won't be the end of the world."

The vice-President looked at his wife and began to laugh out loud. He found it even funnier that Katina did not know what he was laughing at, nor did she know the enormity of her simple statement involving the end of the world.

If only she knew, Brighton thought, suddenly feeling guilty that she was being so supportive while he kept such a big secret from her.

"What's so funny?" she asked, poking him hard in the side, knowing her husband was having a laugh at her expense.

Brighton looked in her beautiful brown eyes and for the first time in nearly twelve hours, his eyes came unglued from the television and the election coverage. He moved forward and kissed her, loving her more at this moment than he could ever remember.

"I can't tell you how much I love you," he said.

Katina looked at him and smiled. But instead of returning his love or kissing him again, the vice-President's wife pinched his arm.

"Don't think you're getting out of this one," she said jokingly. "I want to know what you're laughing at."

Brighton felt a strong urge to tell her everything but something on the television grabbed his attention.

"It's near one in the morning, Eastern Time and we have major breaking news," the television anchor said. "We are ready to announce the winner of California and its 55 electoral votes."

Although Katina claimed that it did not matter if Andrew won the election, the vice-President felt his wife's hand tighten on his arm as the results were about to be announced.

On the television screen, the picture switched from the anchorman to a shot of the ballroom just downstairs. While the crowd went crazy every time they saw themselves on the large screen, they did not even react to the change in camera shot. They were on edge to hear the announcement as well. On TV, Brighton saw a gray image of California appear on the large screen in the ballroom. But that gray color soon turned a bright shade of yellow, which was followed by a roar so loud from the crowd that the vice-President could almost feel a rumbling twenty stories up.

Brighton felt a surge of relief more than excitement, a calm more than a rush of energy to still be in this race. A total tally of electoral votes was then shown on the screen, showing Brighton now within a few votes of Stewart, both of whom needed less than ten votes to win the Presidency. Hawaii and its four votes had not reported a winner yet, but those four votes were worthless at this point. Whoever won Hawaii would not have enough to be pushed over the edge of victory.

Everything came down to the state of Washington. Those eleven electoral votes would determine the next President of the United States.

"No single state has ever played such an important role as Washington will play now," the news anchor said, a bit over dramatic and historically inaccurate. Other elections came down to the results from one state but past elections were apparently forgotten in the heat of the moment. "With nearly seventy percent of precincts reporting, Washington, like many other states, is incredibly close, with Vice-President Brighton holding less than a one percent lead over Senator Stewart. But as we just saw with California, a small lead can change in the blink of an eye."

"They probably won't announce the winner of Washington for at least another hour, sir," Brighton's main campaign advisor told him. "After what happened with Florida years ago, nobody will make the mistake of announcing such an important decision until all the votes are counted. Now might be a good time to make a quick appearance in the ballroom."

"You're right," Brighton said. The vice-President straightened his tie, put on his jacket and grabbed his wife by the hand. "Come on, let's go show everyone that we're going to win this election."

In the Oval Office, a cloud of cigarette smoke hung over the room. President Marshall and Mansfield finished off most of the pack.

But at this moment, neither man could complain. Although the Chief of Staff pointed out that Brighton's lead could disappear in a matter of minutes, President Marshall refused to think negatively at this point.

"Now this is what I call a race," Andrew Brighton said to the hundreds of people packed in the ballroom of his hotel headquarters. Footage from a few minutes earlier played on the news, footage of Brighton briefly addressing his supporters who prayed for the California miracle and got it. His fans went wild, and if Marshall had been at the Miami hotel, he would have been cheering wildly, too.

"It's kind of ironic: the state named after our nation's first President will be responsible for deciding our nation's last President."

The fact that this would be America's last Presidential election, or at least the last election before the comet struck, was not a subject Marshall currently wanted to ponder.

The two men sat in silence for the next hour, watching the percentage of reporting polls creep ever so slowly toward the one-hundred-percent mark. The drama was almost too much for Marshall and Mansfield to bear. But just after two-thirty in the morning, they finally got what they wanted.

"The results are in," the news anchor said. "We are ready to announce the winner of the state of Washington and thus, the new President of the United States. With ninety-nine percent of the polls reporting, we are ready to report that the winner of the election is..."

CHAPTER SIXTY.

Lillian Edwards stared through her helmet at the awe-inspiring view of Earth over 200 miles below. She was not the first construction worker to fall under the spell of the scenic beauty, nor would she be the last. Although she had the same view every day for the last two weeks, Lillian sometimes felt the need to pinch herself to make sure this was all real. In all her years of dreaming, Lillian never imagined her eyes would fall upon such a fantastic sight.

Lillian and her crew arrived in space two weeks earlier, nearly a month later than originally scheduled. Shuttle delays were something the new space team had become accustomed to, as nothing ever happened according to the carefully planned timetables. Following a week of simple training upon arriving in orbit, Lillian and her crew began work that led to the installation of pods over the last week. 'Construction combat' was her team's nickname for space work, though the work so far had been relatively simple considering the hours of high-level training they completed. Therefore, Lillian sometimes found herself admiring the view while her team was busy prepping the corridors to install the three pods they brought to space.

Lillian's crew joked about the way she became mesmerized by the view.

"You spacing out again?" Parker asked, snapping Lillian out of her brief trance.

"Sorry," she apologized, making no attempt to deny her reverie. "But this view is just so incredible. It takes my breath away every time."

"You keep on looking then," Parker said. "Tell us if anything changes down there."

Although there was no doubt her team could complete this task whether she was there or not, she learned that losing focus on the job could prove disastrous in this environment. The final test at the construction-training program taught Lillian that unexpected situations could arise and the only way to gauge herself as a good leader was how she handled them. But it was also her job to provide constant guidance and supervision to her squad to avoid such catastrophes.

No more losing focus, she told herself. If you want to admire the view, wait until your shift is over.

Lillian glanced down at the timer strapped to her wrist and saw that her team's shift only reached the one-hour mark. Even though the other teams in space worked eight-hour shifts sometimes longer Lillian and her crew were still in a probationary period and were limited to four hours of space work per day. Therefore, she never felt her team had enough time to make significant progress.

But today was going to be different, she told herself. Their number of days left in space was quickly dwindling so Lillian knew her team would have to start completing the tasks assigned to them.

"Parker, give me a complete status update," she asked her second-in-command.

Parker worked with Lillian long enough to realize when it was time to joke and when it was time to be serious. Hearing the firm tone of voice and seeing the fiery eyes peering out at him inside of Lillian's helmet, Parker knew his team leader was all-business right now.

"Prep work on pod station number one is complete," he said. "The anchors are secure and ready for attachment. Pod station two is approximately halfway through prep. The perforated corridor cutout should be completely removed within an hour and the team should be able to secure half of the anchors before the end of today's shift."

Prep work was boring but it was just as important than the actual pod attachment. It was harder to appreciate the results of prep work, though. And with just two weeks remaining until their evaluation, Lillian wanted to see results sooner than later. "Parker, how long would it take to transport a pod from the cargo hold and attach it to station one?" Lillian asked.

As team leader, Lillian already knew the answer to that question. By planting this thought in Parker's mind, she hoped to ascertain his thoughts on the idea.

"Approximately three hours," he said, glancing down at the timer on his wrist. "Which just happens to be exactly how much time we have left on our shift. Is that just a coincidence?"

"What do you think about trying to do it today?" Lillian asked. "It might not be according to schedule, but it doesn't matter whether we finish prep work for pod station two before we attach pod one."

"I think it's a great idea," Parker said. "I think the team will agree. We've been itching to attach that first pod to prove that we belong up here. Doing that today should help ease the pressure we're all under."

Lillian knew that working in space would provide high levels of pressure and stress, especially for their first assignment in space. But the team was also under the added stress of having only one month to produce results. At the end of this month, Lillian and her team would face a meticulous evaluation. If NASSA was not happy, they would be replaced by one of the other training crews. With less than two weeks remaining and none of the three pods yet attached, the crew felt more pressure than they wanted. The schedule Lillian set had been followed to a T, and they were still on schedule to finish all three pods before their month was up. But Lillian knew a good leader learned to make adjustments to the tightest of schedules, especially if it was for the good of her team. Attaching pod one certainly seemed like the best move for everyone.

"Then let's do it," Lillian said. "Have the team start preparing the corridor and station one for the pod transfer lines. Once we get the pod moved over here, attachment should be a piece of cake."

Three hours later, Lillian stared through her helmet at the awe-inspiring view in front of her. But this time, she looked at the attached pod at station number one.

"Let's go, team leader," Parker said. "We're all waiting for you."

As was standard procedure during space walks, the team leader was last to return to the shuttle's decompression chamber following a shift. After 'spacing out' for a few seconds earlier, Lillian focused on directing her crew in attaching the first pod. Once their shift was over and the crew began the careful retraction of their SPACE lines, she had nearly twenty minutes to admire the job her team had done.

Lillian was normally an emotionally stable person and could not remember the last time she cried. But when she stared at the attached pod and realized that all of her dreams and hard work reached its culmination, Lillian had to fight hard to keep her feelings in check. I can't let myself cry, I wouldn't be able to wipe the tears away.

After a final look at the pod and imagining how the station would look one day with over a hundred of these pods, Lillian turned away and joined the rest of her excited crew.

Once Lillian and the crew removed their space suits, they squeezed into the small communication room of the shuttle to hear Lillian's progress report to Wesley Maddox.

"I see that you took things upon yourself to change the schedule, Team Leader Edwards," Maddox said.

Lillian's stomach dropped for a moment, as this was not the response she expected to hear. Maddox was very supportive of the recruit class during their two weeks in space, but he was sure to stress the importance of getting the job done quickly and correctly while maintaining the highest level of safety. While Lillian expected Maddox might not be thrilled at having changed the schedule, she expected his excitement of the first pod attachment to outweigh issues with scheduling conflicts.

"I felt the schedule needed changing, sir," Lillian answered confidently, trying to save face in front of her team.

"And what was the reason for this change?" Maddox asked, giving her the chance to explain.

"Upon completing prep work on pod station number one, I felt it important to attach the pod before finishing prep work on the other two stations, sir," Lillian answered. "If there had been any sort of technical mistake in the prep procedure, I felt it better to discover the problem on the first pod station before following the same set of prep procedures for the other stations. The only way to check for possible mistakes was to actually attach one of the pods. Why bother making the same mistake more than once if we could do something to avoid it?"

"And were there any mistakes in the procedure?" Maddox asked.

"No, sir," Lillian answered. "The attachment of pod one at station one went as smoothly as planned."

There was a short silence from the project leader. Lillian turned to her crew, many who noticed the tension in Maddox's voice. Lillian wondered if she looked as worried as Parker and most of the others.

"Good job then," Maddox said. "Please accept my congratulations on a job well done and convey that message to the rest of your team."

Lillian looked around at the relieved, smiling faces of her crew.

"I will tell them, sir," she said. "But for some reason, I'm sure they already know that you're pleased."

"Also remind them and yourself not to get too cocky," Maddox said. "This is only the first of over a hundred pods that need to be attached. I'm sure not all of them will be as easy as the first. But as long as your team continues to perform as well as you have, I'm certain you'll play a significant role in the long-term process of the space station's completion."

"Thank you, sir," Lillian said. "I speak for the rest of my team when I say we look forward to continuing this work. Should we get to the specifics of our shift then?"

After every shift, it was the team leader's duty to have a conference call with Maddox to discuss in detail exactly what was completed. Maddox's calls with leaders from the other teams were not lengthy but due to her team's lack of experience, he still wanted specific details from Lillian.

"We can discuss that in a moment. I actually have some other important news from Earth to share with you first," Maddox said. "I hope you and the rest of your team remembered to send in your absentee ballots before leaving."

Living in space, Lillian quickly learned that the concept of time and the date was the first thing she lost. Although she always cherished her civil duty-she voted in every election since the time she turned eighteen-Lillian forgot today was Election Day.

Or was yesterday Election Day? she wondered. What time is it even?

"I remembered," she said. "But I can't speak for my other crewmembers. What happened?"

"I just received a transmission from Earth about an hour ago," Maddox explained. "I was told that the Presidential race was the closest in history. It came down to....well, I guess the specifics aren't very important. Andrew Brighton won. It came down to a few thousand votes. Let's just hope he doesn't keep his campaign promises and shut us down."

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