"Mmm. Come to think of it, we ought to set up a special
woman's-point-of-view program, too. That'll be worth plenty. Then
there's the tax question. We'll have to see what we can set up in
Washington, some kind of anti-space lobby. Good feature story material
here, too. You know the stuff--one space vessel equals the cost of two
hundred country hospitals."
"Sounds great."
"We'll have to plan on press parties, special stuff for the magazines
and networks. I've got a plan for some Hollywood promotion to counteract
all this Destination Space garbage they've been turning out. And as for
television--"
He talked on for another hour, feeling mounting excitement for the job
he was doing. Tom wasn't sure that he liked the aims of Homelovers,
Incorporated, but the challenge was enjoyable. Even at dinner that
night, in Livia's snug apartment, he rattled on about the PR program
until the girl began to yawn.
The bedroom was still monochrome. Only Livia had transformed it
magically into powder blue. Tom slept blissfully until morning, and went
into the office that weekend for sheer love of what he was doing.
After less than a month, his efforts started producing results. On a
crisp December morning, he found the following in his mail:
_"EARTH SONG"
A Screenplay
by
Duncan Devine_
_Roger Tenblade, a dashing young rocket pilot in the UN Air Force,
yearns to join the Space Expeditionary Force now planning the first
landing and colonization of the planet Mars. Despite the protest of
his lovely fiancee, Diane, he embarks upon the journey. The trip is
fraught with hazards, and the ship is struck by a meteor en route.
Every member of the crew is killed, except Roger, who heroically
brings the vessel back to home base. However, Roger is exposed to
large amounts of cosmic radiation. When he is so informed by the
medical authorities, he realizes that he can never make Diane a
normal husband. So rather than return to her and ruin her life, he
changes his identity and disappears to South America, where he takes
a job as a shuttle pilot for a third-class airline._
_Meanwhile, Diane marries Harold Farnsworth, scion of one of
America's wealthiest families ..._
Tom Blacker chuckled, and slipped the scenario back into the envelope.
He marked the manuscript "O.K. for Production," and turned to the other
mail.
There was the prospectus of a television series that sounded
interesting. He looked it over carefully.
_"CAPTAIN TERRA"
Half-hour Television Series
written by
Craig Comfort_
_Captain Terra, and his Earth Cadets are dedicated to the principle
of "Earth Above All" and have sworn their lives to the preservation
of Earth and its peoples, and to the protection of Earth against the
hostile aliens constantly threatening the planet._
_Program One, Act One_
_Bobby, Captain Terra's youthful aide, is attacked one day by a
strange creature which he describes as half-man, half-snake. He
reports the incident to Captain Terra, who calls a special session
of his Earth Patrol to determine how best to deal with this
enemy ..._
Tom read the prospectus through, and then dictated a letter to its
producers to call for an appointment.
At the bottom of the mail pile, he found an enthusiastic letter from a
theatrical producer named Homer Bradshaw, whom he had dealt with briefly
during his career at Ostreich and Company.
_Dear Tom,_
_Great to hear about your new connection! Have a fabulous gimmick
that ought to be right down your alley. Am thinking of producing a
new extravaganza entitled: "Be It Ever So Humble."_
_This will be a real classy show, with plenty of chorus line and
top gags. We plan to kid the pants off this spaceman business, until
those bright boys in the glass hats cry uncle. I've already lined up
James Hocum for the top banana, and Sylvia Crowe for the female
lead. You know Sylvia, Tom; she'll make space flight sound about as
chic as a debutante's ball on the Staten Island Ferry. This is the
way to do the job, Tom--laugh 'em out of it._
_If you're interested in a piece of this, you can always reach me
at ..._
He was about to call it a day at five-thirty, when he got a visiphone
call from John Andrusco. When he walked into the immense office at the
other end of the floor, he saw a glassy-eyed man standing at Andrusco's
desk, twirling his hat with nervous fingers.
"Tom," Andrusco said cheerfully, "want you to meet somebody. This is
Sergeant Walt Spencer, formerly of the UN Space Commission."
Tom shook the man's hand, and he could feel it trembling in his own.
"I called Walt in here specially, thanks to that memo you sent me, Tom.
Great idea of yours, about talking to some of the boys who've actually
been in space. Walter here's willing to cooperate a hundred percent."
"That's fine," Tom said uneasily.
"Thought you two ought to get together," Andrusco said, reaching for his
hat. "Think he can help a lot, Tom. Talk it over."
"Well--suppose we have a drink, Sergeant? That fit your plans all
right?"
"Suits me," the man said, without emotion.
They went down in the elevator together, and slid into a red-leather
booth in the Tuscany Bar in the base of the building. The sergeant
ordered a double Scotch, and gulped it with the same respect you give
water.
"So you've been in space," Tom said, looking at him curiously. "Must
have been quite an experience."
"Yeah."
"Er--I take it you've left the service."
"Yeah."
Tom frowned, and sipped his martini. "How many trips did you make,
Sergeant?"
"Just one. Reconnaissance Moon Flight Four. About six years ago. You
must have read about it."
"Yes," Tom said. "Sorry."