Gerald Watson was one of the lead designers on the space station project. He had been at McNalley & Jones far longer than Maddox, who always suspected that the older engineer was jealous of his quick rise to success. When Maddox was assigned as team project leader, Watson was given the second highest command: team leader of the space construction crew. Along with nine other engineers, Watson volunteered to go through astronaut training in order to lead the crew that would assemble the station pieces in outer space.

Maddox knew he would have to spend some time in space during the construction process. He accompanied the team to the NASA training facility in Florida six months ago. He endured the first few weeks of training, which mainly consisted of underwater drills in full space suits. Underwater was supposed to simulate the experience of outer space and Maddox had been surprised how easy he found the training. He realized the pressures of the job would be far greater when the workers were miles above the Earth's surface but with the proper training, there was no doubt in his mind the team could succeed.

"How the hell am I supposed to find another crew? We can't just send regular astronauts into space and expect them to understand the sort of technology we use," Maddox argued.

"I guess you're going to have to train them then," Watson shot back. "The fact is that most of us aren't physically capable of handling what's involved with this kind of work. It would be better for astronauts to learn our technology instead of us learning theirs."

Maddox's secretary knocked lightly on the door and stuck her head inside, clearly wanting to tell him something. He tried to wave her away but her message was important enough to ignore his warning.

"What?" he snapped at her.

"Sir, you have another call on line 2. It's-"

"Take a message," he hissed at her.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Maddox. But you might want to take-"

"I said take a message. Now close the damn door."

Maddox would have normally felt bad for yelling, especially because of the upset look on the woman's face. But at this moment, he had more important things to worry about than his secretary's feelings. Snapping at Watson would get nothing done. So Maddox took a deep breath. Diplomacy was his only chance.

"Please, Gerald. Just give it another try. Try to get used to the conditions. Astronauts have been doing it for years, I think your crew should be able to adapt," Maddox pleaded, the words seething between his clenched teeth.

While his entire construction staff had been working so hard, slaving away in the desert, Watson and his crew had been having fun, learning how to play astronaut. Now that the going was tough, they just wanted to quit. Maddox refused to accept that, especially since he knew how much this would push back his timetables. There was not enough time to allow this crew to walk away.

"Did you hear what I said?" Watson asked aloofly. The tone of the man's voice made Maddox's skin crawl so severely that he wanted to hang up and smoke a cigarette. "We are done here. We tried, we failed, I apologize. You can keep crying about it as much as you want or you can get over it and find a new crew."

His nerves now completely shot, Maddox unleashed a torrent of threats and obscenities. He didn't care what Watson thought of him or whether his secretary, or anyone else in the trailer, heard his tirade.

"If you don't report back to your astronaut training, you and the entire crew will be fired," he yelled.

"You don't have the authority to fire us. I'll go right to Peter and Walter on this one. You won't be able to do this."

"Watch me."

Maddox slammed the receiver down over and over until he saw the plastic phone begin to crack. He grabbed the entire phone in both hands but restrained himself from throwing it against the far wall.

Show some kind of restraint. You don't want everyone thinking you've gone completely mental.

"Okay, things could still be worse," he said to himself, taking out a cigarette and holding it between his lips. "I'll make a few calls and get a replacement crew ready."

He could taste the cool menthol flavor of the unlit cigarette and felt tempted to go outside first. Maddox hated that he was relying more and more on cigarettes to keep his sanity but now certainly wasn't the time to try quitting. There was another light knock on his office door and his secretary entered again.

"Is everything okay?" she asked tentatively. Although her demeanor was timid, Maddox thought she was brave for coming in his office when he was going crazy.

"Yeah. Just having a bad day. Guess I was hoping those had stopped for good," he said, forcing a smile. "But when it rains, it pours."

"You'd better get your umbrella then," she warned. "James Armour just called. He's coming for a tour of the facility."

I'm definitely having this cigarette before I try to find a new crew, Maddox thought to himself, sucking on the cigarette as though it was already lit. It's okay. I'll get a new crew together, we'll get the fire taken care of and everything cleaned up. Everything will be fine by tomorrow.

"Fantastic," Maddox said sarcastically. "At least he gave us a heads up before coming. When will he be here? Please tell me we have until the end of the week?"

In his head, he was quickly putting together a whole new schedule to deal with the sudden problems. Even if Armour rushed and got here by Friday, everything should be in order.

"Actually," his secretary said, looking down at her watch, doing anything to avoid looking Maddox in the eye, "he should be here by the end of the hour."

The cigarette fell from his lips.

Although James Armour wore dark sunglasses, he had to squint to avoid being blinded by the bright sunlight. His helicopter zoomed above the desert ground, flying over countless miles of abandoned wasteland. This area of desert was an ideal location to set up the space station construction complex but Armour felt sorry for the hundreds of workers who had to endure the brutal conditions. Armour was already sweating profusely and he wasn't even on the ground yet.

The Secretary of Defense had been visiting Los Angeles as the key speaker for a conference on National Security Advisors of the West Coast. Armour hated fulfilling parts of the job like this, especially since he felt better suited dealing with the construction of the space station. If it had been up to him, Armour would have resigned from the nation's highest security post and made better use of his expertise with the enormous space project. The rest of the 'Inner Circle' did not want him getting too close to the space station project, though. President Marshall explained that resigning in order to join a project, one that most Americans would not view as being important as national security, would appear suspicious. The secret group had worked so diligently to mask the importance of the space station to humankind's long-term survival. Having Armour join the space project would only cause more skepticism, especially from the snooping media.

But that did not mean the 'Inner Circle' was ready to hand over complete control of the space station project to the company who'd won America's vote for the best design. When President Marshall found out Armour would be on the West Coast, he immediately ordered his Secretary of Defense to inspect the project complex and evaluate the progress of McNalley & Jones. The company had been given eight relatively hassle-free months, even after the numerous debacles they suffered. To neither Armour nor Marshall's surprise, Peter Mansfield demanded that the space station project be given to another company after the initial six-month screw-up. The two remaining members of the 'Inner Circle' sympathized with the demanding pressure they'd unexpectedly put on the company and overruled Mansfield.

But now, M&J no longer had a free pass. While the company was given a second chance to get their act together, the 'Inner Circle' unanimously agreed that they must keep the winning company on a shorter leash. Any further screw-ups or incompetence would cost them the project and a new company would be selected. Armour knew that a disaster was not far away. If they had to hire a new company, there would have been an even shorter timetable, with no sort of grace period. If a new company experienced the same growing pains that McNalley & Jones had, Armour was afraid the space station idea would have to be abandoned altogether.

I really hope you come through for us, Neil. It sure would be nice not to have to worry about the world's biggest contingency plan.

"Two minutes, Mr. Armour," the pilot of the chopper yelled back.

Armour nodded and continued to stare out the window, knowing the complex would come into view at any moment. Although he'd seen plenty of pictures, this was Armour's first visit to the desert facility. The man in charge was a fellow named Wesley Maddox, who Armour remembered as being much younger than expected. Hopefully this young man had learned from his early mistakes and righted the ship by now. When a view of the complex arrived seconds later, Armour doubted Maddox had succeeded.

A billow of black smoke rose high into the air. As the helicopter approached, Armour and the pilot saw a fire on the ground. Luckily, it did not appear to be attacking any of the hangars within the complex.

"What the hell is going on down there?" Armour asked.

"Just one minute, sir. Ground control is contacting me."

The pilot pushed a button and ground control directed them to raise their altitude and circle the facility for the next few minutes. The pilot did as instructed. A few minutes later, two large planes flying at low altitude dropped water onto the fire, extinguishing it almost immediately. Within minutes, the helicopter received permission to land.

As Armour climbed out of the helicopter, Wesley Maddox threw a cigarette onto the ground and shook hands with the older man. Another unwanted visitor also met Armour upon his arrival: the heat.

"I assume that fire isn't the only reason it feels hot as hell around here," Armour yelled over the thumping noise of the helicopter blades. The blades whipped up a mini-sandstorm but still couldn't blow away the stench of cigarette smoke from the project leader.

"No, sir. It's always like this. You never really get used to it but after a few months, you learn to tolerate it. If you come with me, we can talk in my office. I have the air conditioner on full blast. In about an hour, the sun will let up a little. Then I can give you a tour of the facility."

"What about the fire? What the hell happened there?"

"A delivery truck was dropping off a load of aluminum," Maddox explained. "It hit one of the poles holding up the tent. Caused a short with one of the light bulbs."

"Is there anything you need to do to take care of that right now?" Armour asked.

"No, sir. I'm told the fire isn't nearly as bad as it looked. An incredible stroke of bad luck that it even happened. I'm told the rest of the hangars are fireproof, though. Fire probably wouldn't have even started anywhere but the tent."

"Won't the materials inside the tent be ruined? That should be another setback of time and money," Armour said, surprised that this guy Maddox did not appear too fazed about the calamity.

"I don't think so, sir," Maddox explained. "The aluminum was manufactured to be ultra-resistant to high temperatures. The material will have to be cleaned to remove soot and any burnt debris from the tent. But besides that, it should all be usable. The worst part of the whole ordeal was dealing with the fire, making sure it got extinguished without anybody getting hurt."

Mansfield would be looking for any reason to shut this operation down and Armour was glad this fire did not have to be that excuse.

"One little mishap isn't that big a deal then," Armour said jovially. The anxious look on Maddox's face told the Secretary of Defense that the fire was not the only problem.

"I think we should talk in private," Maddox said, leading Armour toward his trailer.

Peter Mansfield rushed into the Oval Office, bypassing Marshall's secretary without stopping to have his arrival announced. The President had just sent Mansfield a text message, which read: "OO ASAP." When Mansfield received messages such as these, he knew that whatever Marshall had to tell him was of the utmost importance. Mae, the President's elderly secretary, knew better than to try stopping the Chief of Staff. He often transformed from a normal man into a raging lunatic if she got in his way. Besides, Marshall never admonished her for allowing Mansfield to burst in whenever he wanted.

When Mansfield entered, he heard the familiar voice of James Armour on speakerphone. Marshall waved him toward his desk.

"James, Peter is here now," Marshall said. The President paused momentarily in case the two men wanted to exchange a greeting but was not surprised when met with icy silence. "James was out in LA for a conference so I had him stop by the space station complex to check in."

"I hope they still aren't screwing up as bad as before," Mansfield said. He never hesitated to voice his displeasure about their decision to leave the project in the 'incompetent' hands of McNalley & Jones.

"You'll be happy to know that we aren't screwing up quite that bad," another voice said.

"Wesley Maddox, the project leader is also with James right now," the President said, embarrassed that Mansfield's cynicism was overheard by Maddox.

"That's good to hear, Mr. Maddox," Mansfield said facetiously, offering no hint of an apology.

"Not all is completely well, though," Marshall said. "Wes, could you tell Peter the cause of your most recent problem?"

Mansfield did not wait to hear the specifics before giving his opinion of the situation, whatever it may be.

"More damn problems? That seems to be a growing trend with your operation, Mr. Maddox. Before your company was officially awarded the contract, you personally assured us that you could pull this off. It hasn't been a year yet and things might be ruined beyond repair," Mansfield lectured.

"Will you be quiet and listen to what the man has to say? Wesley isn't here to listen to your reprimands," Armour interjected on the project leader's behalf.

Before Mansfield could start another bout of bickering with the Secretary of Defense, Marshall interrupted.

"Peter, just listen to what the man has to say. Go ahead, Wesley."

"Thank you, Mr. President. As I was telling Mr. Armour and the President, we think all of our earlier problems have been corrected," Maddox began.

"Think?" Mansfield said, not able to help himself. The President shot him an annoyed look and the Chief of Staff knew to remain quiet for the rest of the explanation.

"We have not yet had any repeats of the earlier issues. We've found a new company to produce aluminum with the required specifications. Strength tests are done multiple times on a daily basis to make sure station pieces are holding up to the guidelines we've set. Although we had to scrap the work done in the first six months, we've worked twice as hard over the past two to get where we're at today. In fact, we've worked so hard that we're only four months behind schedule, not six." Maddox's tone of voice had an air of superiority that Mansfield did not like, especially considering the man had blundered so greatly before. But the Chief of Staff had to admit that he liked what he was hearing. Everything had a silver lining, though, and Mansfield knew he was about to hear the bad news.

"I wish I could say everything was going completely perfect," Maddox said.

"I had a feeling you were going to say that."

"First of all," Maddox began, "we are using materials at a much faster rate than our supplier can produce them."

"That seems easy enough to solve," Marshall said. "Just have a few different companies produce it for you."

"That's the problem, Mr. President. There is only one American company that produces it. You see, the aluminum is a rare hybrid material, one that is not widely used. In fact, there are only two other companies in the world that make the stuff. One in China, one in Russia. It would probably be hard to make deals with these companies. Even if we did, it would be very costly to transport it from Asia to our facility."

"How long until your supply runs out?" Mansfield asked.

"At most, a few months. The company we're using had a large stockpile when we first made a deal with them. But their stockpile was nowhere near the amount we needed to finish the job and we're finally catching up to their production rate. Plus, with the fire today, a small amount of our supply is now worthless."

"Fire? Did you say there was a fire?" Mansfield asked. He looked at the President, who nodded somberly and pointed to the television. The Chief of Staff had not even realized the TV was on when he walked into the Oval Office. On screen was a view of the space station complex from outside the large perimeter fence. A stream of black smoke rose from somewhere inside and a video replay showed the two water bombing planes flying overhead.

"How the hell did that happen?" Mansfield demanded.

Maddox provided Mansfield a quick version of the accident, making sure to stress that it was caused by a stroke of bad luck rather than incompetency. Of course, the Chief of Staff chose to interpret the events the way he wanted.

"Haven't the proper safety precautions been taken?" Mansfield asked.

"They have but you can't always prepare for unexpected accidents. But like I said, we only lost a small amount of aluminum."

Mansfield threw his arms in the air, appalled that the man in charge of building the space station seemed so unconcerned about a fire that damaged much needed materials. President Marshall could tell his top aide was about to explode so he steered the course of the conversation away from the fire.

"What other problems have you encountered, Mr. Maddox?"

"Just this morning, Mr. President, we lost our entire space construction crew. They were at the astronaut training facility in Florida and unexpectedly quit. The crew was all engineers, sir, and they were not ready to be launched into space. I tried to convince them to stay but they said no amount of money could make them risk their lives. I should be able to put together another small crew but the training takes a long time and there are no guarantees that anybody who starts now won't also quit after six months."

"James, aren't there any people you can put together for this job?" the President asked.

"I'm not sure, sir," Armour replied. "After we disbanded NASA, many of our astronauts moved on and took jobs with private firms. We still have a few men left who have continued their training but to be honest, I don't think they could handle the construction work in space. American astronauts have had very little experience in space station construction. This kind of work really would be best suited for the specialists."

"I believe that was one of the biggest problems with training, Mr. President," Maddox said. "My crew was learning how to become astronauts, when they probably should have been training how to become space construction workers. I'm just not sure there are available teachers well-suited to teach this sort of job."

"Maybe you should have thought of that before you pitched your project to the NASSA board," Mansfield yelled. "If you stopped trying to get your face on TV all the time, maybe you'd be able to plan for these kinds of setbacks."

"I'm tired of listening to this," Maddox yelled back. "I have enough pressure on me without having to hear this ridicule. We're doing the best we can here. How the hell was I supposed to know that my whole damn crew would quit on me? How the hell could I have possibly planned for that?"

"Okay, okay. Let's everyone just calm down," Marshall interceded. "Arguing is counterproductive. We have to focus on how to deal with the problems we have. Wes, is the rest of construction proceeding as planned?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then that's all we can hope for right now. Continue on schedule and try to put together a new space crew."

"Yes, Mr. President."

"James, I need you to return to Washington now. We'll have to sit down and figure out how to solve these problems," Marshall said, his voice the definition of calm.

"I'll be on a plane within the hour," Armour responded, exactly how Marshall figured his Secretary of Defense would. Although Mansfield was an expert in getting desirable results from bad situations, the President couldn't help but wish he had a much calmer man as his Chief of Staff. In fact, Marshall wished there was at least one other voice of reason that could help them deal with the whole space station and comet situation, one more person who could think objectively without yelling so damn much.

Marshall severed the phone connection. No sooner was it just the two of them when Mansfield began ranting about the need for a change. The President was in no mood to listen to this and stopped his Chief of Staff before the man gave them both a heart attack.

"Peter, you need to relax. I think you've been getting too stressed out recently. Maybe you need a rest."

"Mr. President, I am stressed. We're all incredibly stressed about everything. Sometimes I wish that you two showed more enthusiasm about getting things done."