Arkwright by Allen Steele

those last two missions is negligible in the grand scheme of things.” He shrugged. “I suspect he’s trying to get back at Kennedy after all these years. Apollo was JFK’s signature program, and Nixon still hasn’t forgiven him for the ’60 election.”
    â€œWhatever the reason, this is the final Apollo mission.” Nat lowered his head, rubbed the back of his neck. “Maybe we’ll get the new space shuttle. Maybe a space station too. But I wouldn’t count on anything more than that.”
    â€œBut there’s Mars,” Harry began.
    â€œNo. Not anymore.” George shook his head. “Before I resigned, everyone at Marshall got the word from Washington HQ—Mars is off the table until further notice. We’ve still got the two Viking missions in a few years, but no one there is to even talk about manned missions.”
    â€œI still think you had your best shot back in the ’50s with Freeman Dyson’s Orion proposal at General Atomics.” Nathan blew into his cupped hands and stuck them in his jacket pockets. “You’re right; without support for NASA, no one’s going to Mars. I kind of wonder if we ever will.”
    Harry was having a hard time believing what he was hearing. Like everyone on the boat, Nathan Arkwright had always been a tireless promoter of space exploration. The Galaxy Patrol books and TV show were often cited as being a major influence on America’s interest in space; together with Heinlein’s juveniles, Nat had introduced an entire generation to the grand adventure that lay ahead. Until Star Trek or 2001: A Space Odyssey —Harry had seen Art’s movie a half dozen times already—nothing had whetted public enthusiasm for space as much as Nat’s books.
    Harry briefly wondered if Judith had something to do with this. Nat’s wife had stayed in Massachusetts, with Nat covering for her by claiming that she was prone to seasickness, but it was becoming apparent that Judith was ill and Nat didn’t want to talk about it, not even with his closest friends. But no, this newfound skepticism was coming from somewhere else.
    â€œIf I didn’t know you better,” Harry said softly, “I say this was heresy.”
    â€œNot heresy—just cold, hard reality.” As if he’d known what Harry was thinking, Nat cocked his head toward Heinlein. “Bob’s been pushing space longer and harder than any of us, but even he’s seen the writing on the wall. Of course, he blames the Democrats for the budget axe—Proxmire in particular—but like George says, it’s really a bipartisan effort. And let’s face it … the public’s just not all that interested anymore.”
    â€œI’ll say.” Harry glanced at the window of the nearby bar. Through the curtains, he could see a handful of passengers who’d retreated from the cold to watch the launch coverage on TV. “What do you want to bet they got a lot of angry calls when they preempted Medical Center ?”
    â€œSo what do you do about it?” George asked. “I mean, isn’t that your job, getting people excited about space?”
    â€œMy job is selling books to—”
    On the other side of the bar window, the people watching TV suddenly broke into applause and excited shouts. Someone put down their drink and ran to the door. “They’re coming off the hold!” he shouted to the people on deck. “They’re picking up the count where they left off … T-minus thirty seconds and counting!”
    More shouts and applause from the pool deck as everyone dropped what they were doing and crowded toward the portside railing. Harry briefly thought about running upstairs to wake up Becky, but Statendam ’s captain solved the problem by blowing a long, loud blast from the liner’s single funnel. No one could possibly sleep through that.
    â€œGuess they must have