Return to Mars (39 page)

Dezhurova pushed up from the table. “I’m going to check the outside camera views and see if the dust is obscuring them yet.”

“GREAT idea,” said Jamie. He got to his feet, too. “I’ll put in a call to Wiley and Dex. Check on how they’re doing.”

Vijay turned to Fuchida. “How does your ankle feel?”

“Not bad,” the biologist replied. “I can walk on it without much pain.”

“Then let’s check out the garden one more time before going to bed.”

Jamie thought Stacy suppressed a smirk at Vijay’s mention of bed.

Rodriguez got up from the table. “Come on, Trudy. I’ll play you a round of Space Battle.”

“Not with you, Tommy. You’re a shark. Besides, I won’t be able to concentrate on the game with this storm on top of us.”

Rodriguez went around to her chair. “Come on, I’ll give you ten thousand points handicap. It’ll be fun. Take your mind off the storm.”

She got up. Reluctantly, Jamie thought.

Jamie felt glad that their electrical power came from the nuclear generator, which would not be affected by the storm. He followed Stacy to the comm center, forcing himself not to turn back to look at Vijay.

As Dex stared at the blank screen on the rover’s control panel, he could still see his father’s image, like the retinal glow of a flashbulb or the lingering presence of a powerful genie.

He wants to dump Jamie, Dex marveled to himself. He wants to dump Jamie, but he didn’t say a word about who he wants to take Jamie’s place.

Dex sank back in the cushioned chair, his mind spinning. Could I do it? The answer came to him immediately. Certainly I could do it. I could head this operation without any trouble. But would the others listen to me? Especially if they think I pulled strings with my father to knock Jamie off.

This is tricky, he realized. The thought of being named mission director filled Dex with a warm flush of pride. They’d listen to me. They’d have to. After all, it won’t be just my father who picks me; the whole ICU board would have to vote on it. Probably they’d want a unanimous vote.

But would Dad put me in charge? Does he trust me that much? Or would it be just another one of his ways to keep me under his thumb?

Jesus H. Christ, he swore. I’m on friggin’ Mars and he’s still got me jumping through his goddamned hoops!

Craig came stomping in through the airlock hatch.

“Gettin’ dusty out there,” he said, once he lifted the visor of his helmet.

Dex started to get up from his seat, but Craig called back, “I’m okay. It’ll just take me a little time to vacuum all this crud off th’ suit.”

Dex went back anyway and helped him out of the backpack. It too was covered with a thin sheen of pinkish powder. Even Craig’s helmet was tainted.

“We’re going to get buried in this stuff,” he heard himself say. He wished his voice didn’t sound so shaky.

“Looks that way,” Craig said easily. “Th’ covers on the solar panels are holdin’ down good, though. Wind might be makin’ a lotta noise, but there’s not much punch in it.”

“That’s good.”

They were just starting to eat their dinners when the comm unit buzzed. Dex got up and went to the cockpit. He slid into the driver’s seat and tapped the ON key.

Jamie Waterman’s coppery-red serious face filled the panel screen. The picture was grainy, splotched with electronic snow. “Hello, Dex. How are you two doing?”

“Just having dinner, chief.”

Jamie said, “It’s starting to blow here. According to the latest met report, you’ll be in the storm at least through tomorrow.”

Dex nodded. He had seen the meteorology report; studied it hard.

“How are the batteries performing?” Jamie asked.

“We’re still on the fuel cells. Wiley decided to run them to exhaustion before we go to the batteries.”

“Smart move.”

“What’s happening there?”

Jamie seemed to think it over for a few moments. “We’re in good shape. We’ve got everything battened down. It’s going to be a noisy night, though.”

Despite himself, Dex gave a snorting, derisive laugh. “Tell me about it.”

“Your telemetry is coming through alright,” Jamie said. “We’re getting good data from you.”

“Fine.”

“The transmission will probably degrade as dust piles up on your antennas, though.”

“I know.” Dex started to feel a tendril of exasperation. Jamie’s just talking to hear himself talk, he thought.

“I can’t think of anything else we can do for you,” he said. “I wish I’d ordered you to stay at the generator.”

Dex suppressed an urge to say, me too. Instead, he leaned closer to Jamie’s image on the display screen and said as cheerfully as he could, “We’re doing fine out here. And when the storm clears up, we’ll be that much closer to the Pathfinder site.”

Again Jamie was silent for several maddening moments. At last he said, “It’s too late to worry about what might have been. Good luck, Dex. Give Wiley my best wishes.”

“Right. We’ll call you in the morning.”

“If the antennas are still functioning,” Jamie said.

“We’ll clean them oil if they’re covered with dust,” Dex replied, sharply.

“Good. Okay. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.” Dex punched the OFF key. Christ, he looks like he doesn’t expect to see us again.

Then he thought, Maybe that’s what Jamie wants. Get me out of his hair. No, he’s not like that. But it’s exactly how I’d feel if our situations were reversed.

DIARY ENTRY

TO HIS SURPRISE, IT WAS RODRIGUEZ WHO COULD NOT KEEP HIS MIND ON the Space Battle game. Time and again he focused his concentration on the computer screen, but his attention wandered with every shriek of the wind outside. The dome seemed to creak and groan like an old wooden sailing ship in a gale; Rodriguez almost thought he could feel the floor shuddering and pitching.

No fear, he told himself. Yet his insides were shaking.

He and Trudy Hall sat side by side in her bio lab, with two highspeed joysticks plugged into the beeping, chattering computer. The screen showed sleek space battlecraft maneuvering wildly against a background of stars and planets while they zapped at each other with laser beams. Ships exploded with great roars of sound.

Finally, when he had lost the third round of the computer game, Rodriguez pushed his chair back and said, “That’s enough. I quit.”

“You let me win,” Trudy said. There was more delight in her smiling expression than accusation.

He shook his head vehemently. “Naw. I was trying. I just couldn’t concentrate.”

“Really?”

Rodriguez’s shoulders drooped. “Really.”

“Worried about the storm?”

He hesitated, then admitted, “It’s kinda silly, I know. But yeah, it’s got me spooked—a little.”

“Me too,” Hall admitted.

“You sure don’t look it,” he said, surprised. “You look calm as a cucumber.”

“On the outside. Inside I’m as jumpy as … as …”

“As a flea on a hot griddle?”

She laughed. “What a ghastly idea.”

He got to his feet. “Come on, I’ll buy you a cup of coffee. Or maybe you prefer tea.”

She stood up beside him, slim and spare next to his solid, chunky build. They were almost the same height, though, and her dark brown hair was only a shade lighter than his.

“Actually, I still have a drop or two of a rather decent sherry in my quarters.”

Rodriguez’s brows rose. “We’re not supposed to take any liquor—”

“It’s left over from our landing party. Should have finished it then, I suppose, but I saved a bit for a possible emergency.”

“Yeah, but …”

“This counts as an emergency, don’t you think?”

Inadvertently, Rodriguez glanced up into the shadowy height of the darkened dome. The wind moaned outside.

“There’s not enough to make anyone drunk, you realize,” Hall said. “Just a bit to take the edge off, you know.”

He looked back at her and saw the fear and helplessness in her eyes. She’s just as scared as I am, he told himself. She feels just the way I do. But I can’t show it, not to her or anybody else.

“Okay,” he said.

“Come on, then,” Trudy said, holding her hand out to him. “Walk me home.”

He took her hand. Then as they walked through the empty shadows of the dome, with the wind howling now and the structure making deeper, stranger noises of its own, he slid his arm around her waist. She leaned her head against his shoulder and they walked together toward her cubicle and a night when neither of them wanted to be alone.

Stacy Dezhurova was staring hard at the display screens, watching how the wind was fluttering the tied-down wings of the soarplanes. The wings of the bigger, heavier rocketplane were also undulating noticeably, straining against the tie-downs fastened to the ground.

“We’ve done all we can, Stacy,” said Jamie, behind her. “You ought to get some sleep now.”

“But if one of the planes breaks loose …”

“What can we do about it?” he asked gently. “We parked them downwind of the dome. If they break loose, at least they won’t come crashing in here.”

She nodded, but kept her eyes glued to the screens.

“Stacy, do I have to order you to your quarters?”

Dezhurova turned and looked up at him. “Someone ought to stay on duty. Just in case.”

“Okay,” Jamie said. “I will. Go get some sleep.”

“No. I couldn’t sleep anyway. I’ll stay.”

Jamie pulled up the other wheeled chair and sat next to her. “Stacy … we’re going to need you tomorrow, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, rested and able to perform at your best.”

She looked away from him briefly. Then, jabbing a finger at the digital clock next to the main display screen, she said, “It’s twenty-one-fifteen, almost. I’ll stay here until oh-two-hundred. Then you can come on until six. That will give each of us four hours’ sleep. Okay?”

“One A.M.,” Jamie said.

Her serious expression did not change at all as she asked, “Will that give you and Vijay enough time?”

Jamie felt his jaw drop open.

Dezhurova laughed. “Go on. Set your alarm for one. Then you can relieve me.”

Jamie got up from the chair thinking; Stacy could take the director’s job. She’d be good at it.

Vijay was sitting at the galley table when Jamie left the comm center. He walked straight to her and she looked up at him with her big, soulful eyes filled with—what? He wondered. Anxiety? Loneliness? Fear?

And what’s in my eyes, Jamie wondered as he extended his hand toward her. She took it in hers, rose from her chair, and walked wordlessly with him toward his quarters. What am I doing? Jamie asked himself. This isn’t love. This isn’t the kind of romantic moment that poets write about. It’s need; we need each other. We’re scared of this storm, of being so far from home, so far from safety. We need the comfort of another person, someone to hold on to, someone to hold me.

They said hardly a word to each other as they stripped and got into Jamie’s narrow bunk. Their lovemaking was torrid, as if all the rage and power of the storm had possessed them both. The first time, ten nights ago, they had taken pains to be as quiet as possible. Not this night. Not with the wind wailing outside. Now they lay, languid, spent, thoughts drifting idly, all barriers down, all furies calmed.

Should I tell her about Trumball? He asked himself. There was no urgency in the thought. It simply rose to his consciousness dreamily, like a whisper struggling through a drug-induced haze.