20th July, 1969
A cloud of cigarette smoke hangs over mission control as Neil Armstrong descends the Eagle's ladder to write a new chapter in human destiny.
"That's one small step for [burst of static] man, one giant leap for mankind."
Mission control erupts in a frenzy of high fives and bear hugs. Suddenly a lone voice rings out amidst the throng, trampling on the collective spirit of camaraderie and achievement.
"Can it, guys!" I shout, taking the radio. "Eagle, this is mission control. We're gonna have to go again, fellas."
The room echoes with jeers and hisses. I call for silence again.
"Copy that, Houston," Armstrong replies. What's the problem?"
"It's a small step for a man, Neil."
"That's what I said, Houston."
"No, you said it's a small step for man. We've gotta go again."
"Bullshit," he says, acting the big guy just because he's stepped foot on an extra-planetary body. "I filled up my EVA waste unit just climbing down that fucking ladder."
"I could say it!" Buzz Aldrin offers hopefully. Armstrong tells him to shut the fuck up. Suddenly the red telephone buzzes.
"It's the President on line one, sir," Jim Lovell says, holding the receiver against his chest.
"Shit, that's all we need." I pick up and try to placate the old codger.
"What the hell's going on?" Nixon growls. "I should be talking to those guys right now - not being left on hold, listening to the theme from the freaking Brady Bunch."
I explain Armstrong's fluffed his words and is being uncooperative. Nixon says he knew this would happen and asks if there's some way we could pin it on Kennedy to besmirch his legacy. Lovell points out that millions of people of all creeds and nations are watching. Fearing a roasting from Brezhnev at their next summit conference, Nixon orders the moon to be destroyed. I radio Michael Collins aboard the Columbia command module.
"Mike, you know that five dollars you owe me? Keep it..."
