"So, was it him?" one of the workers asked right away.

"Yes, it was," the President said, keeping a poker face.

The people in the room hung on his every word and when Marshall offered no more information, it wasn't long before the next question was fired his way.

"And is the news good?"

The President smiled. The room let out a collective sigh of relief followed by a round of clapping. His wife approached and gave him a quick kiss.

"Are we ready to go out there?" he asked her.

"Yes, we are," the First Lady responded.

Arm-in-arm with his wife and with his Chief of Staff a step behind President Marshall walked out of the hotel room, where a dozen Secret Service agents were stationed. He informed them that it was time to go to the ballroom. Four agents led the way, with another four at the rear. The group made its way through the empty hallway on the second floor of the hotel.

Within minutes, they reached the side entrance of the stage area in the huge ballroom, where a party had already begun. A few thousand people were packed into the big room watching a huge screen of CNN, which projected Marshall as the election winner only minutes earlier. The crowd began to chant his name.

"Are you ready for this?" he asked his wife, having to speak loudly to be heard over the crowd.

"Second time's a charm," she said.

He smiled. Mr. and Mrs. George Marshall pushed through the curtain and walked on stage. The crowd went crazy. The applause felt like it lasted forever but after a few minutes, a lull in the noise finally allowed him to speak at the podium.

"Hear any good news lately?" he asked, inciting another lengthy ovation. "I just received a phone call from Charles Davis."

As loudly as the fans had just been cheering, the chorus of boos that followed the name of Marshall's opponent was just as deafening.

"Now, now," Marshall said, mockingly reprimanding the crowd. "Charles called to thank me for running such a good campaign..." (though I won't mention the 'cheap shot' I'd taken by waiting until the last week for the space station presentation) "...and to congratulate me on our success. For his kindness and fair play, I in turn thanked Charles Davis as well."

Still, the crowd continued to boo any mention of Marshall's opponent. I'm sure they'll like this part.

"Finally, our conversation ended when Mr. Davis conceded."

As he knew would happen, the crowd erupted into cheers yet again. This time, music began to play and thousands of red, white and blue balloons were released and rained throughout the room. The President knew tonight would probably be the easiest day of the rest of his life, although it was hard to feel like a winner when he knew what lay ahead.

CHAPTER EIGHT.

YEAR 11 PLANS BEGIN March 8, 2013-1 year, 8 months, 17 days until Interception...

Although his weakened body was in a state of relaxation, Neil Peterson could not help but feel the insatiable pang of boredom, an internal supply of potential energy that, in his mind, screamed for release. He had not communicated with James Armour in over a year and constantly wondered about the status of his mission. Did he still have to go through with it? Was the discovery of the comet still a secret on Earth? Was the 'Inner Circle' still the only group of people who knew about Comet Clement? For that matter, were the members of the 'Inner Circle' even still alive?

The last time he heard from mission control, President Marshall had been in a close campaign for reelection and the future of the 'Inner Circle' was questionable at best. Had the President won his reelection bid? If he lost, had the 'Inner Circle' been disbanded? Did they want to contact him but couldn't? Neil was constantly waiting to hear news from Earth, hear what was going on and whether or not his mission still had importance.

What am I thinking? Of course this is still important. Nothing could have happened in the past year, nothing could have been discovered or invented that would make an enormous comet just go away. I still have to deflect Clement to give Earth a chance.

Unless the 'Inner Circle' discovered new evidence that they were wrong about the comet's path. Could that have happened? Would they have told me about it if it did happen?

Probably not, Neil decided. There's no way I can get home now anyway, so why bother telling me.

His mind constantly filled with different scenarios, every one proving to be more outlandish and unrealistic than the last. But at least his mind was lucid enough to realize how ridiculous his thoughts often became. Neil tried to force himself not to think about such things, not to waste his time conjuring up wild conspiracies. Besides, he did not think about the mission nearly as much as he thought about his daughter, Emily.

His daughter's survival was the only reason Neil accepted the huge responsibility of this mission in the first place. Leaving her for the second time in his life had been the hardest thing he could do. Living in solitude, with only a picture of her for companionship, was mentally torturous. All he wanted was to talk to her, to see her and know that she was going on with her life, to know that she was happy and healthy. There was little doubt in Neil's mind that his ex-wife would take good care of her but he still wished he knew for himself.

I have to stop thinking, he tried to convince himself. I need to make better use of my time than thinking of things that drive me crazy. But there was nothing to do except think, an infinite amount of time to do nothing but think.

Neil floated throughout the main room of the probe, his mind wandering to every possible subject, none of which had anything to do with the thousands of pages of paper that surrounded him. In different areas of the room, the page clouds were clustered so thickly that when Neil floated among them, he could see nothing but paper.

The only items in the probe that weren't essential to the success of the mission were the books that Armour left him. Neil read every one of them at least a dozen times the past three years. A few months earlier, he began to read "The Scarlet Letter" yet again when a sudden impulse seized his hand and he finally thought of something new that he could do. With great precision, Neil slowly ripped the first page out of the book, making sure to carefully rip the page as close to the spine as possible. The process took much longer than he expected. He could have yanked the page out in one quick motion but because he was so happy that he had something to do, he figured he should do it right.

After spending nearly ten minutes ripping out the page, Neil became quite disheartened when he saw that the torn edge of the paper was uneven. Feeling the need for redemption, he flipped to the next page and carefully tore out that one as well. The single piece of paper floating around the probe soon became two pieces, which became three less than ten minutes later. Tearing paper, an activity usually enjoyed by bored schoolchildren and overzealous puppies, became Neil's obsession the next few days. He was glad to have something to do and because he had quite a few thick books, he knew there were plenty of pages to contribute to his new hobby.

Neil knew that even if he tore out 10-15 pages per day, he would have enough books to last him until the end of his mission. But after three years of boredom three years of strict food conservation Neil was tired of showing self-control and stopping himself from what he really wanted. So when he finally got the chance to splurge on something that would not affect the outcome of the mission, he tackled his new hobby with fervent enthusiasm. It took him nearly a whole week to finish. With the exception of a few hours of sleep per day, Neil worked solely on tearing out perfectly ripped pages. Although he had a few thousand pages with which to play, he treated every piece of paper as though it was the last one he'd ever tear.

By the time Neil was finished with the last book, a huge cloud of paper shrouded the main room and he was again left with nothing but time. He forced the thought of the 'Inner Circle' and his daughter from his mind, which left him one remaining thought.

I need more paper.

On multiple occasions, he pondered the thought of tearing every piece of paper in half. Surely he could kill plenty of time by creating two perfectly equal halves of every page that floated around. There was no challenge in that skill, though; tearing paper in half did not require the expertise of tearing paper from a book. But finding books in this part of space would not be easy. If only James Armour had thought to put more of them somewhere else in the probe, like maybe in the cockpit area...

The cockpit area! How could I have forgotten?

Although he'd spent three long years in this probe, Neil tended to shy away from the small cockpit area. He took no pleasure in looking at the dozens of colored buttons he spent so much time using in his previous life as a test pilot. But when he thought back to his first tour of the probe before its launch, he remembered the different systems manuals hidden away in the small compartment just below the cockpit's control console. He remembered holding one of the manuals that day, but now he could not remember whether the pages had been inserted into a binder or if they had been attached to a spine. If the latter were true, Neil's boredom would come to a grateful halt and be replaced by the last hobby he would ever have.

As he swam through the sea of hovering pages, the thought of discipline ran through his mind. If I'm lucky enough to have this work out for me, I am going to pace myself this time. Even if I can only do a few pages a day, I'm making this last for the next year and a half.

Like a kid nervously approaching his stack of presents under the Christmas tree, Neil entered the cockpit area. There was a small piece of metal that protruded from the floor just below the control panel. He turned it nervously, and let out a deep sigh of relief when he found the system manuals all in booklet form, not in three-ringed binders as he'd feared. The stack of manuals was thicker than Neil remembered; it was like he stumbled upon a cache of hidden gold. He flipped through them one by one, noting the thickness of the manuals that dealt with the control panel.

He decided to start with the thinnest manual; leaving the thicker ones for later would be his best way to conserve. The first manual was labeled: "ACCESS CODES FOR WEAPON ARMING AND FIRING SYSTEM." Neil praised his luck one more time before putting the rest of the manuals back in the small compartment. His boredom and sanity had been saved for the time being.

Taking the thin booklet, Neil floated back into the main room, thinking to himself that the thick cloud of pages would soon grow thicker. As if afraid to start, he took a few deep breaths, fearful that his page-tearing skills had declined with the few absent weeks of practice.

Only one way to get back into it, he thought.

He flipped open the first page, eager to begin. Unlike his previous books which Neil read multiple times and in which he had no interest the content of this booklet immediately grabbed his attention. Neil was an expert on every system in the probe from his test-piloting days and hadn't expected any of the manuals to pique his interest. But the weapon's system was something completely new to him, a system he would have to learn before his mission neared its completion. The firing system was now worthless, its power supply having been depleted minutes into the start of the mission. The computer had been scheduled to set the timer and firing sequence but Neil would have to do that manually now.

Rather than tear out pages, Neil began to read. The booklet was only forty pages long but Neil skipped over the first fifteen pages, which covered the basics of the now-defunct firing system. The description of the weapon-arming system was also relatively short and the remaining twenty pages of the booklet consisted strictly of ten-digit codes. Neil saw different codes for every minute interval up to the ten-hour mark. After the ten-hour mark, there was a code for every half-hour interval up to the fifty-hour mark, and then a code for every hour interval up to one thousand hours. There must have been thousands of the ten-digit codes, which seemed a bit excessive. Even more excessive was the fact that every activation code had a corresponding ten-digit deactivation code.

Like Armour said, better to have them and not need them than the other way around, Neil thought.

After glancing through the numbers, Neil reread the five pages of technical information on the arming system several more times, trying to absorb as much knowledge as possible. Most of what he read was technical jargon that he'd probably forget. But he learned one interesting fact that stuck out most in his mind: turning on the arming system and setting the timer on the bomb required no power whatsoever from the probe.

For the previous three years spent in this hellhole of a space box, the only toy aboard the whole ship the nuke system had been dormant. He spent many bored hours staring through the thick pane of glass at the bomb, pretending what would happen if he turned on power to the control system next to the bomb, if he began punching numbers into the keypad. He always held back, though, not wanting to drain unnecessary power from the rest of the probe. But now that he knew turning the system on expended no power...

Neil glanced from booklet to nuke then back to the booklet, rereading the same information multiple times, making sure that he understood everything he'd read. Finally satisfied that his eyes were not playing tricks on him, Neil tossed the booklet into the cloud of paper and floated over to the control panel.

Should I turn it on? What if the booklet is wrong and it drains power and then doesn't work later on?

He stared at the control panel, anguished with the decision that he now faced. He'd wanted to turn on this system for years and finally felt he had permission to do so. But there was still a small part of him that was torn, a small part that urged him to show caution. You've been here way too long to screw it up now because you found something different to do.

But why would the manual lie to me? Armour wouldn't have put these booklets on board if they contained false information.

"Stop being paranoid and just do it," he finally said aloud.

Without thinking, Neil powered up the system, watching in awe as the small control panel lit up. The keypad displayed a single green zero.

This is stupid. You're compromising the mission and the fate of the world just to see a couple of new buttons light up?

"Shut up," he said, glancing nervously around the probe as if power to the ship was going to shut off at any moment. Nothing seemed different but he floated into the cockpit anyway. He was relieved when he found everything running normally.

"See, I told you. You worry for nothing sometimes."

Neil floated into the back room as well, seeing that his bedroom and the food storage area (which now looked emptier than when he started the mission) had power as usual. When he floated back toward the main room, Neil purposely averted his eyes from looking at the picture of his daughter on the wall by his bed.

Look at her, his mind urged his eyes. Look at the picture of Emily. If that manual is wrong and turning on that system is draining power, you will fail your mission and she will die.

"But power isn't draining from the ship. I am doing no harm turning it on, no harm at all."

Even though Neil knew his paranoia was unwarranted, he could not deny the twinge of guilt at the thought of his daughter. There was no reason to turn the arming system on right now, especially not for mere entertainment.

I have to turn it off.

He floated to the control panel, intent on turning off power and leaving it off until the day he really needed it. Besides, with his newfound treasure-trove of booklet pages to tear out, Neil had all the entertainment in the world (or more accurately, the universe). The buttons on the control panel looked like the buttons in the cockpit anyway, so it was not like Neil was gaining anything new.

Except for the keypad...

The green zero demanded Neil's gaze. Before he was able to shut down power, the keypad's hypnotic green glow diverted his attention.

"I should type in a code. Just to make sure it works."

Are you crazy? You turned the power on to make sure it works. You don't have to test things any more than that.

Neil knew he shouldn't push his luck but since turning power on did not cause problems for the probe, he did not see the big deal in typing one measly activation code. After all, each activation code in the manual had an opposing deactivation code and it may be smart to test out both.

He floated through the hovering pages, quickly trying to find the manual before his mind talked him out of trying it. Neil never thought the pages floating around this room looked like much but now that he was searching for the manual, he realized just how thick the paper cloud was. It took a few minutes to find but only a few seconds to locate a code to use.

"At least I'll choose a safe code," he reassured himself, typing in the ten-digit code that would arm the nuke to detonate in 500 hours. He was careful to type in the code exactly as it appeared in the booklet, checking the first nine numbers several times before finally putting in the last digit.

When he pressed enter, Neil watched in delight as a timer on the bomb illuminated, showing 500:00:00. This perfectly even number was soon replaced by 499:59:59, 499:59:58, as the timer began to count backward. Five hundred hours was about twenty days so Neil could fall asleep for the night (or day or whatever time it was) without a significant change in the timer when he eventually woke up.

"It'll only be at 493 or 494 when I wake and that's only if I sleep well," he thought aloud. Although he hadn't planned to leave the system on, Neil decided to take a nap and see how much time would pass.

He floated to his bed and strapped himself down, suddenly tired after the last few hours of unexpected productivity. Neil did not normally sleep well but rarely accomplished anything during his time awake to tire. But after reading something new and activating the nuke control system, he was exhausted, both mentally and physically.

I really am starting to get weak, he thought to himself. All I did was read a few pages and type some numbers into a keypad and I can barely keep my eyes open now.

Neil's inactivity the past few years left him depleted of all energy. Completing a small challenge that only took a few hours totally drained him. He finally understood how feeble this mission was leaving him.

I'll just rest my eyes a few minutes, he thought as his eyes closed. Neil's eyelids barely came together when the thought of his daughter flashed in his mind. He forced his eyes open and the first thing he saw was the picture of his beautiful Emily smiling down at him.

"If you go to sleep now," the picture seemed to say, "I hope you wake up in less than 20 days."

Can a person even sleep for 20 days? Neil knew that if he slept for 20 days, he was not likely to wake up and the mission would fail anyway. But his daughter continued to smile down at him and the worry of oversleeping continued to hound his exhausted mind. He finally unclicked the bed straps and floated back out into the main room in a sleepy haze.

499:48:02.

Again, finding the manual floating around proved more difficult than Neil hoped. When he finally found it, he was typing in the deactivation code mere seconds later. He was groggy and tried to type in the numbers quickly so he could return to bed. After typing in the ten digits and pressing enter though, the timer on the bomb did not shut off.

499:45:57...499:45:56...499:45:55...

See what you did! You blew it! his mind screamed at him.

"No, this can't be," Neil said, watching the numbers slowly bleed away. If his mind had been tired before, the failure of the deactivation code had instantly pushed him to full throttle. He tried pressing the ENTER button again, praying that maybe the keypad did not read the code he typed in. But nothing happened and the same green zero stared back at him.

Neil's hand started to shake and he felt the strong urge to relieve his bladder. His head felt lighter but he was pretty sure this was the usual light-headedness felt the whole time aboard the probe. He looked in the manual again, making sure he'd used the correct code.

That's the same one you looked at before, you moron. You've blown the past three years, the world is going to die!

"Shut up!"

Very slowly, Neil typed in the deactivation code again. When all ten digits appeared on the keypad, he rechecked the number with the manual until he was one-hundred percent certain that both codes were the same. His finger stopped inches in front of the ENTER button and for the first time since the day of the launch, Neil felt sweat on his body.

It's not going to work.

"Yes it will."

You just killed the world.

Neil pushed the button.

Hours later, Neil lay strapped in his uncomfortable plastic slab of a bed, staring up at the ceiling, feeling his nerves continue to race uncontrollably. He knew that sleep would not be easy to come by, not today at least. He looked at the picture of Emily and wondered what she looked like now that she would be three years older.

You're lucky you only typed in that code wrong. You could have doomed Earth.

After deactivating the arming code, Neil quickly shut off the entire system and threw the manual into the cloud of paper, not watching as it disappeared among pages of 'War and Peace' and other literary classics.

"I know. Don't worry, I won't turn on that system again until we reach the comet," he said.

You better not, his sanity warned.