Two science fiction masters—Jack McDevitt and Mike Resnick—team up to deliver a classic thriller in which one man uncovers the hidden history of the United States space program…   “Houston, we have a problem…”   Formerly a cynical, ambitious PR man, Jerry Culpepper finally found a client he could believe in when he was hired as NASA’s public affairs director. Proud of the Agency’s history and sure of its destiny, he was thrilled to be a part of its future.   But public disinterest and budget cuts changed that future. Now, a half century after the first Moon landing, Jerry feels like the only one with stars in his eyes.   Then a fifty-year-old secret about the Apollo XI mission is revealed, and he finds himself embroiled in the biggest controversy of the twenty-first century, one that will test his ability—and his willingness—to spin the truth about a conspiracy of reality-altering proportions... “McDevitt and Resnick take us along on a well-written ride through all sorts of back-door deals and hidden secrets before they tell us what really happened...as they rewrite history in a way that doesn’t conflict with what we think we know.”— Florida-Times Union “The apparent cover-up conspiracy at the heart of (the novel) is unpeeled back layer by layer through and elaborate series of plot twists and turns.”— Jessup Press Sentinel  “The authors expertly crank up the tension and maintain it throughout via a suite of thoroughly believable characters.”— Kirkus Reviews (starred review)   Jack McDevitt is a former naval officer, taxi driver, English teacher, customs officer, and motivational trainer, and is now a full-time writer. His novel Seeker won a Nebula Award, and he is a multiple Nebula Award finalist. He lives in Georgia with his wife, Maureen.    Mike Resnick has won five Hugos (from a record thirty-six nominations), a Nebula, and other major awards in the US, France, Japan, Spain, Croatia, Catalonia, and Poland. He’s the author of seventy-one novels, more than two hundred and fifty short stories, and three screenplays, and is the editor of forty-one anthologies. His work has been translated into twenty-seven languages. It was probably a sign of the times that the biggest science story of the twenty– first century, and probably the biggest ever, broke in that tabloid of tabloids, The National Bedrock . It might have gone unnoticed had an enterprising reporter not launched it into the middle of a press conference intended to be a quiet, nostalgic celebration of NASA’s accomplishments over a span of sixty years. And to get everyone’s mind off the fact that the Agency was now looking at a closing of the doors. In any case, when it first happened, nobody recognized it for what it was. NASA’s public affairs director, Jerry Culpepper, was in total control, fielding questions, returning glowing responses, admitting that, yes, we knew the Agency had fallen on hard economic times, as had the rest of the country, but there was much to commemorate, much to feel good about, and that was where our attention should be focused on this historic day. It was July 20, 2019, exactly fifty years since Apollo XI had touched down on the Moon. Jerry stood before a large canvas depicting Neil Armstrong, Michael Collins, and Buzz Aldrin, gathered around a control panel, looking down at a lunar landscape. Jerry, carried away by the emotions of the day, was riding with them. The event was being held just off the lobby, in a room that would be dedicated to exhibits from that first landing. Space helmets, moon rocks, astronaut uniforms, and the logbook (signed by each of the astronauts) would be on display. Photos of a Saturn V, a lunar module, the Kennedy Space Center, the Sea of Tranquility, adorned the walls. “They set a high standard for us,” he said, speaking of the eighteen astronauts who’d made the six lunar flights. It was a statement he immediately regretted, because it overlooked the legion of men and women who’d ridden the big rockets before and since, who’d put their lives on the line and, in some cases, had made the supreme sacrifice. He thought about correcting himself but could see no way to do it gracefully. So he moved on, talking without notes, and finished with a line he’d often used in guest appearances: “As long as we remember who we are, they will not be forgotten.” He looked out over his audience and spread his hands. “Questions?” Hands went up all over the room. “Diane.” That was Diane Brookover, of The New York Times. Jerry didn’t care much for Diane. She was okay in a routine social setting, but she enjoyed trying to make him look foolish. Of course, that was true of reporters in general, but she was particularly good at it, especially when she smiled. She was smiling then. Whatever. Best to get her out of the way early. “Jerry,” she said, “why does the government need a NASA Hall of Fame when they already have one for the astronauts? I mean, aren’t you really putting this thing up simply to d