Ackerson was being carried through a path of humanity aloft on dozens of shoulders. He was waving to the hundreds of well-wishers as he was carried toward the battery of microphones waiting on the wooden platform erected for the occasion. Wade couldn't help but think of a hero of another age. Lindbergh. It must have been the same then. And who remembered those that followed him? Or those that paved the way so he could make it? Wade shook his head. He turned away from the window quickly, heading for the desk and the bottle. The Secretary followed him with his eyes, undecided.
Boeman lifted the bottle high above his head in a toasting gesture. "To the hero."
"Don't, Wade."
The bottle paused there while the eyes of the two men met. Finally the bottle returned to the desk as Wade surrendered. Then he slumped down in the chair.
The Secretary placed his hand on Wade's shoulder. Boeman shook it off, and he was sorry instantly. "O.K. Frank. You win. Ackerson wins."
"Good," the Secretary said softly. "That's the way we want it. We have to prevent everyone from feeling the way you do now. It isn't that you're jealous of Ackerson getting the glory. And you know that Tomer doesn't mind. It's your worrying about him that's clouding your mind. Everyone would be feeling the same way."
The Secretary looked out the window. "We couldn't have that. It would have set space travel back years. Ackerson is powerful evidence that space flight is safe. Tomer is our insurance. We need that just as badly. We had no choice. We had to stake a claim on the Moon."
Wade poured another drink. "And that conceited ass is getting all the credit while Tomer is sweating it out up there on that cold chunk of rock—while everyone thinks he quit the project because he got cold feet.............