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Steinmetz and the others became the heroes of the hour. They were feted across the country, interviewed on countless television talk shows, and given the traditional ticker tape parade in New York.
The cheers for the moon colonists' triumph had the ring of old-fashioned patriotism, but the impact went deeper, broader. Now there was something tangible beyond the short, showy flights above the earth's atmosphere, a permanence in space, solid proof that man could live a life far from his home planet.
The President looked buoyant at a private dinner party he hosted in honor of the "inner core" and the colonists. His mood was far different from the first time he had confronted the men who conceived and launched the moon base. He held out a glass of champagne to Hudson, who was staring absently through the roomful of people as though it were silent and empty.
/> "Your mind lost in space, Leo?"
Hudson's eyes fixed on the President for a moment, and then he nodded. "My apologies. A nasty habit of mine, tuning out at parties."
"I'll bet you're hatching plans for a new settlement on the moon."
Hudson smiled wryly. "Actually, I was thinking of Mars."
"So the Jersey Colony is not the end."
"There will never be an end, only the beginning of another beginning."
"Congress will ride with the mood of the country and vote funding to expand the colony. But an outpost on Mars-- you're talking heavy money."
"If we don't do it now, the next generation will."
"Got a name for the project?"
Hudson shook his head. "Haven't given it much thought."
"I've often wondered," the President said, "where you came up with `Jersey Colony.' "
"You didn't guess?"
"There's the state of New Jersey, the isle of Jersey off the French coast, Jersey sweaters. . ."
"It's also a breed of cow."
"A what?"
"The nursery rhyme, `Hey diddle diddle,/The cat and the fiddle,/ The cow jumped over the moon.
The President looked blank for a moment, and then he broke out laughing. When he recovered he said, "My God, there's irony for you. Man's greatest achievement was named after a Mother Goose cow."
"She's truly exquisite," said Jessie.
"Yes, gorgeous," agreed Pitt. "You never tire of looking at her."
They gazed in rapt fascination at the La Dorada, which now stood in the East Building central court of Washington's National Gallery. The burnished golden body and the polished emerald head gleamed under the sun's rays that shone through the great skylight. The dramatic effect was awesome. Her unknown Indian sculptor had portrayed her with compelling beauty and grace. She stood in a relaxed posture, one leg in front of the other, arms slightly bent at the elbows with hands extended outward from the sides.
Her rose quartz pedestal sat atop a five-foot-high solid block of Brazilian rosewood. The missing heart had been replaced by one crafted out of crimson glass that almost matched the splendor of the original ruby.
Throngs of people stared in wonder at the dazzling sight. A line stretched outside the gallery by the mall for nearly a quarter of a mile. La Dorada even surpassed the attendance record for the King Tut artifacts.
Every dignitary in the capital appeared to pay homage. The President and his wife escorted Hilda Kronberg-LeBaron to the preopening viewing. She sat in her wheelchair, a content old lady with sparkling eyes who smiled and smiled as the President honored the two men in her past with a short dedication speech. When he lifted her out of her chair so she could touch the statue, there wasn't a dry eye in the house.
"Strange," Jessie murmured, "when you think about how it all began with the shipwreck of the Cyclops and ended on the shipwreck of the Maine."
"Only for us," Pitt said distantly. "For her it began four hundred years ago in a Brazilian jungle."
"Hard to imagine such a thing of beauty has caused so many deaths."
He wasn't listening and didn't reply.
