They held an impromptu celebration—of sorts—the night that the personnel from Hellas Base returned to Tithonium. No one planned it, no one was really in a celebratory mood. It took three trips in one of the broad-winged rocketplanes to bring all twenty-three of the men and women with their personal effects back to Tithonium. They were downcast, subdued, dejected at the realization that they had to abruptly leave their work, cut short the studies they’d been undertaking at the vast impact crater of Hellas.
As soon as their leader, Yvonne Lorenz, set foot inside the base’s main dome, Chang bustled her into his office and closed the door firmly.
Seeing the dispirited expressions on the new arrivals, Kalman Torok said loudly, “What’s the matter? You don’t want to go back home?”
A few of them shot annoyed glances at the biologist. “Like packing up and leaving in the middle of a program is a good career move?” one of the women snapped.
Torok shrugged good-naturedly. “Come on and have a drink,” he said. “I’m buying.”
Officially there was nothing stronger on the base than fruit juice, but most of the men and women kept private stashes of some sort. One thing led to another, and soon most of the people in the base had gathered in the cafeteria section of the dome. Several had brought bottles or flasks from their private quarters and splashed the various liquors into the plastic cups of juice—with one eye on Chang’s closed door. The mission director enforced the rules with iron rigidity. Or tried to.
Carleton, in his makeshift workshop, heard the growing chatter and laughter across the dome. He looked up from the plaster cast he had lovingly made of the fossil vertebra.
“Sounds like a party,” he said to Doreen McManus, who was watching him work.
She got up from the spindly stool she’d been sitting on and slid the door open a crack.
“It is a party,” she said. “Looks like everybody who isn’t on duty is in the cafeteria.”
“Want to join them?” Carleton asked.
“Are you finished?”
He lifted the white plaster cast from the work table. “Isn’t she a beauty? A lot better than those stereo images the computer generates.”
He held it out to her and Doreen took it in her hands. “It is a beauty,” she agreed, with an approving smile.
“The first of many,” said Carleton as he took the actual ash-gray fossil and tucked it into a plastic specimen case he’d appropriated from the biology storeroom shelves. He closed its lid with a firm snap.
“Let’s show it off,” Doreen suggested.
Carleton grinned at her. “Why not?”
Soon the gathering that was spilling beyond the cafeteria’s neatly arranged rows of tables was toasting Carleton and his discovery. The crowd’s mood had lifted considerably since the drinking had started.
One of the astronauts who had ferried the team in from Hellas loudly insisted on calling the fossil “Carleton’s clavicle,” even when several of the others pointed out that it was actually a vertebra.
“Clavicle,” the buzz-cut astronaut shouted, in a voice that drowned out everyone else. “It rhymes better.”
Basking in the warmth of their approval, Carleton shook his head and laughed. He saw tall, gangling Saleem Hasdrubal stumbling through a tango with one of the women technicians. How can someone get drunk on fruit juice? he wondered. Sal’s a Muslim, he doesn’t drink liquor. Maybe Black Muslims don’t abstain from alcohol. Or maybe fruit juice is enough to set him off.
Downing the last of the drink in his hand, he realized that Doreen was no longer at his side. Looking around, Carleton saw that she was chatting with a tall, lean young man who was wearing a denim shirt and chinos. The Navaho kid, Carleton remembered, brows knitting: Billy Graycloud. A computer geek.
Suddenly seething with anger, the liquor’s warmth fueling him, Carleton marched through the crowd toward them.
“Goodbye, Raincloud,” he growled.
Doreen looked startled, the Navaho more so.
“Uh, it’s Graycloud, Dr. Carleton. Billy Graycloud, sir.”
“Whatever.” Carleton grasped Doreen’s wrist. “The A team has arrived. Go back to your tepee.”
And he towed Doreen away from the youngster. Graycloud stood there dumbfounded, his coppery cheeks flaming deep red.
“That was cruel,” Doreen said, barely loud enough over the noise of the ongoing party for him to hear it.
“Fuck him,” Carleton snapped.
“Is that what you were afraid I’d do?”
He turned on her angrily. “Now look, if you think—”
Just then Chang’s office door slid open and the mission director stepped out, with Yvonne Lorenz behind him. Carleton stopped in midsentence. All the laughter snapped off as if a switch had been clicked. Everyone froze where they stood. In the abrupt silence Carleton could hear the soft footfalls of Chang’s slippersocks against the plastic flooring.
Furtively trying to hide their liquor bottles and flasks, the crowd in the cafeteria melted away before him as Chang strode into their midst, arms stiffly at his sides, hands balled into round little fists.
“Carter Carleton, I too wish to congratulate you,” Chang said. “You have made an important discovery. You will be honored for it.”
Blinking with surprise, Carleton said, “Why, thank you, Dr. Chang. Er.. . would you like some juice?”
With the slightest dip of his pudgy chin, Chang said, “Yes. I want to offer a toast.”
Doreen, standing at Carleton’s side, picked up an empty cup and poured a splash of the nearest fruit juice into it, then wordlessly handed it to the mission director.
Chang raised his cup and proclaimed, “To Dr. Carleton. May your discovery be the first of many. May we uncover a village of ancient Martians and learn much about them.”
Somebody shouted, “Hear! Hear!” But Chang impatiently waved them all to silence.
“I am not finished,” he said.
Turning to Yvonne Lorenz, Chang went on, “To you who have been forced to abandon your work at Hellas site I offer my thanks for your toil and my regret that your effort has been terminated. I have added my highest recommendations to each of your personnel files.”
They murmured thanks.
Chang half-turned and gestured to Dr. Lorenz. She was a short, slim Provencal with dark hair that was streaked with gray, a lean face that ended in a pointy chin, and eyes the color of a polar sea. Like almost everyone else, she wore coveralls, but hers were carefully tailored to her petite figure.
In a low but firm voice she said, “I believe we should all thank Dr. Chang for his generous recommendation. I realize most of you are disappointed to be sent home. I know that I myself am.”
“I won’t miss living in that damned camper,” said one of the astronauts. No one laughed.
Lorenz said, “I must admit that our living accommodations were ... eh, what is the word?”
“Rugged.”
“Crowded.”
“Piss poor—especially when the toilets broke down.”
That brought a chuckle. But Lorenz said, “No, the word I wanted is ‘Spartan.’ Our living conditions were Spartan.”
“You can say that again.”
“She already did.”
“Please,” Lorenz said, making a silencing motion with both her tiny hands. “Hear me out. Dr. Carleton has asked for five volunteers to help him excavate the village. Five of us may remain here if we are willing to assist Dr. Carleton.”
For a moment no one spoke. Then one of the men asked, “What kind of work would this be?”
“Manual labor,” Carleton answered, raising his voice so that they could all hear him clearly. “For the most part it’ll be digging and hauling a lot of dirt and rock. Not glamorous. Hard physical labor.”
They looked at one another. Carleton knew exactly what was on their minds: How will this look on my resume?
He added, “Of course, we’ll also be sifting through the digging to look for fossils. Even artifacts, eventually.”
No one said another word. They shifted uneasily on their feet, thinking, weighing, pondering.
“If any of you wants to talk to me individually,” Carleton said, “I’ll be happy to go into as much detail as you like.”
Lorenz said, “Five of you will be able to stay on Mars. Your work will not be the same as you have been doing, but you may have an opportunity to help uncover great discoveries.”
Chang added, “You have five days to make your decisions. In five days rocket from Earth will take up orbit above us. By then you must decide if you wish to remain to assist Dr. Carleton or return home.”
“Can we get credits in anthropology out of this?” one of the younger men asked.
Carleton smiled at him. “If you like I’ll give colloquia on anthropology.”
Doreen piped up, “I might be able to arrange for Selene University to give course credits for working on the dig.”
“Very good,” said Chang. “Five days to make a decision.” He put his cup down on the corner of the nearest table and glanced at his wristwatch. “It is late. Past ten o’clock. We all have much work to do tomorrow.”
With that, the mission director turned and walked back through the crowd, heading for his private quarters.
“He is right,” said Yvonne Lorenz. “We shall have to unload the plane and prepare for departure in five days.”
The crowd started to break up and drift toward their individual cubicles. Doreen stood uncertainly beside Carleton. He could see the doubt in her eyes.
Drawing in a breath, he said, “I’m sorry about my boorish behavior. I just didn’t like the way that kid was looking at you.”
She smiled a little. “You were awfully gruff with him.”
“Maybe,” he acknowledged.
“Possessive.”
“The word you’re looking for is
dominant.”
She didn’t reply, but she allowed Carleton to lead her across the floor of the dome to the flimsy accordion-fold door of his compartment. All the others were entering their own spaces, most singly, although there were several couples. Doreen scanned the area for Graycloud but didn’t see him. The others pointedly ignored Carleton and Doreen McManus as he stood in front of his door, gazing steadily into her wide, gray green eyes.
“They’re all going to know about this,” he said to her, almost solemnly.
She made a little shrug. “Everybody knows about everybody here. It’s okay.”
“I’m an accused rapist, back Earthside.”
“That’s a hundred million kilometers away,” Doreen said.
He said, “Eighty-three million, two hundred thousand klicks, as of this morning. I checked.”
Doreen smiled up at him. “You want to, don’t you?”
He smiled at her. “When love speaks,” he quoted, “the voice of all the Gods makes heaven drowsy with the harmony.”
Holding her arm gently, he slid open the door of his cubicle with his other hand, glad that he had put clean sheets on his bunk that morning.