The Martian Race (36 page)

They dragged themselves vertical, pulled on their worn coveralls, and got themselves out to the social area. Cereal and pseudomilk. Raisins and sugar. No music, just the hab popping as it stretched itself for the day.

Raoul sat over his breakfast, silent, staring at the oatmeal Marc had cooked. Nobody spoke.

They had said little the night before, as well. The hours of cleaning up after the crash had completely robbed them of energy. Then they had all taken refuge in what was normally an onerous task—reporting in. For Julia this meant a soulful message to her parents and a stiff-upper-lip, we're-studying-our-options stall for the Consortium PR flaks to work with.

For Viktor and Raoul it was harder. She could see it in their faces that evening, after each had listened to Axelrod's incoming priorities and then responded. They had recorded their reports in private, each sitting in his acceleration couch. Neither she nor Marc wanted to watch.

They had all retreated to their precious privacy after supper, and Viktor had said little to her. Long experience had taught them when contact meant conflict.

Raoul suddenly attacked his oatmeal, dumping extra sugar on it and wolfing down spoonfuls. They all waited until he was through, nursing their coffees. Julia had deviated from her ritual tea today, somehow feeling that it would help solidarity, and maybe she needed the caffeine, too. Certainly she needed something.

She dreaded the end of breakfast. When it arrived, Raoul drained his coffee mug and rubbed it, a sure sign that he was steeling himself to speak. She wondered whether he was aware that the floral ceramic made by Katherine had come to stand in his mind for Katherine herself. Often he cradled it obsessively, kept it in its own holder he had made of elastics, insisted on cleaning it himself, and would stare into it for long moments—like now.

Raoul said abruptly, “Seals failed, pumps jammed tight. I can't fix it. Nobody can.”

Viktor nodded. They all knew this, but the words hung in the air for a long time. Julia let the minutes stretch.

Viktor said at last, “They have to send a second ERV. Launch in mid-May, arrives about nine months from now, in November.”

Marc asked quietly, “Can we live off our supplies until then?”

“Marginally,” Julia said. “The ERV has seven months’ food for six, NASA's mission plan. But we'll have to play farmer with a vengeance.”

Viktor continued in his flat, reporting voice, “ERV arrives, we transfer methane and oxy from the ruined ERV. Cannot launch right away. Delta vee is too large, no hope. We must wait for next window, about four hundred fifty days more.”

“Oh no,” Marc said. “There's no other window?”

“None we can make. June 2020 is first time planets are in right place, we can go. It's a Hohmann orbit but not a good one.” He paused, as if unsure whether they were ready for what came next. “Need extra delta vee even so.”

“How much delta vee?” Raoul demanded.

“Almost twice what we would have needed,” Viktor said very precisely, “for this time.”

“My God!” Marc's eyes widened in alarm. “That's nearly four times as much fuel as we have.”

“They know that on Earth,” Viktor said coolly. “They must build— very fast—ERV that can carry that much more.”

“Good God …” Marc paled.

“I believe we can make it. Axelrod must fly us more hydrogen … or else we mine water from the pingos.”

“And that's if everything works right,” Marc said. “The ERV has to make it okay, land near us …”

A silence. The mountain of labor and time and sheer endurance that confronted them was overpowering. Julia felt herself forced to note, “We're headed into the southern summer.”

That was the subtle point behind their entire mission profile. Dust storms raged across the southern hemisphere through its warm season. Though the winds rose to hundreds of kilometers per hour, they carried less mass. Still, nobody wanted to be there for months of stinging dust.

“Will not be fun,” Viktor conceded. “May have to go on diet, too.”

“I don't know
what happened,”
Raoul suddenly blurted.

“I do not know either,” Viktor said calmly, holding one hand palm up toward Raoul. “We ran the pressure profile we thought was best. Earthside approved.”

“But they sure as hell can't explain,” Raoul said bitterly.

“They say they are running fresh simulations,” Viktor said with a slight edge in his voice.

Julia frowned. It was not like Viktor to blame anyone but himself. Derision he handed out in sometimes ample portions, but not fault. She said quietly, “It doesn't matter.”

“I agree, does not,” Viktor said, looking not at her but at Raoul. “We did best we could.”

“Nobody'll ever know what made the whole system crash like that,” Raoul said. “I went over it all yesterday afternoon, couldn't see what blew first.”

“Standing out there for years, it got worked pretty bad by the weather,” Marc said. Julia could see Marc was trying to soothe Raoul and Viktor, but she knew that only time could do the job.
Well, at least we have plenty of that …

They were facing months of hardship and a long voyage back—at best. They all knew it and there was nothing to say.

Into the gathering silence came the beep announcing a priority message. Viktor glanced at the monitor. “Axelrod.”

The slim, athletic, elegantly tailored frame had gotten a bit gaunt and tired. “Got your reports, Raoul and Viktor. Been through the slow-mo of the crash with the experts. They figure—well, hell, what's it matter?”

He sagged against his desk and eyed them bleakly. Julia felt a spurt of alarm. John Axelrod had always been buoyant, even when troubled. This deflated balloon did not bode well.

“Don't matter worth a bushel of dog turds, as my daddy used to say. You're stuck there and there's no way back. You've got enough food to hold out until I can get you an ERV—the one I damned well shoulda sent way back then, right after your launch. I know that now, in spades.”

“Yeah,” Raoul said with an icy spike of a voice, “you bastard.”

“So I got nothing to say to you until I hear from the tech boys. Tell thee true, I don't expect much from ‘em. Ever'body knows how much food you got. Air, water, the rest—keep making ‘em with the thermal nukes. Goddamn they're good!” He suddenly brightened. “Wasn't that a good break, though? Didn't crack a single fuel tank when you came down, Viktor. That's good piloting.”

“Failed in last ten seconds,” Viktor said sourly.

“Else things'd be much rougher, guys. This way, that ERV arrives, you pump your methane and oxy over to it. We'll send a good pump for sure …”

Axelrod's voice trailed away and he gazed off-camera. “And I … I'm doing what I can for you here. Talking to Airbus. Now, this is the main point, so listen up.” He turned to face the camera, again in command. “I don't want you talking to the Airbus crew there. Not now. We're negotiating with their people here. I'm trying to find a good angle on this for you all. Gotta see if they can take one person back. Maybe. Beyond that, I can't say. So that's the word—no talking.”

There was some more meandering monologue, but Julia got up and went into her study. She and Viktor had a code, to retire to the study when the world got to be too much. He sat and listened while she fled. She sat on the narrow seat in the small room and let the tears come that had been waiting there for her for days, since the greenhouse blowout. Even last night she had not been able to let them out, but now, all alone, they rushed forth.
Delayed shock.
Her medical training reasserted itself.
Physician, heal thyself.

They went on for a long time. She knew it would be harder on the other three. They couldn't even cry.

When she came out another face was on the screen. Not Axelrod, not some member of the Earthside tech team, but… Chen.

“We expect to be there within two hours,” he was saying. The view was from a handheld camera, showing the background of the Airbus control room. “To be of what help we can.”

Marc said, “Sure didn't take them long.”

“Or us,” Viktor said. “To break Axelrod's rule.”

“You're going to talk to them?” Raoul asked. “Those bastards?”

Viktor's smile was more like a thin gash across his face. “We have negotiations of our own to make, that I am sure.”

28

JANUARY 29, 2018

S
HE HAD KNOWN HIM AS MENTOR, AS COLLEAGUE, AND NOW AS HE CAME
from the lock, as rival. Victorious rival, as his thin smile announced.

“I am sorry to come on such an occasion,” Chen said with a formality that seemed fitting, despite the smile.

“We welcome any assistance,” Viktor said, ushering in Chen and Gerda and Claudine. “Thank you.”

They had made cocoa. Mars always chilled you, and coming in to a hot cup of milky reception had become a ritual often observed among the four of them, to mark a distant journey come to an end. Marc, not Julia, had thought of offering it.

Julia had noticed that usually the first thing their crew did after returning to the hab, especially after getting some food, was to turn and look out, “through” the large flatscreen. When not in receiving mode for messages from Earth, it reverted to one of the three external cameras. Safety protocols called for cycling among these three, but Marc had reprogrammed them so that the view outward toward the ERV had the most screen time.

All seven now stood before this view. The ERV was slumped slightly to the side as a result of the last landing. Panels were off, exposing a tangle of plumbing. Even in midday glare, the vista seemed somehow forlorn.

Nobody said anything at first. Then Chen broke the silence with, “Unfortunate. The fuel is intact?”

“Yes,” Viktor said. The two captains stood together. “I got it back down when the pressure on line two dropped. Did not damage the main tanks.”

Chen nodded and turned away. “You have a very pleasant place.”

The Airbus Three, as media had dubbed them, spent a few moments reconnoitering the hab, with Raoul as guide. They noted with skill the design features and compromises the four crew had imposed on the basic design that had lifted off from Canaveral a thousand years ago. They admired most the space. The hab was the size of a New York condo at best, but still more than half again larger than the Airbus living quarters.

Which quickly developed to be the point of the visit. They sat around the social table, the guests getting the seats with Viktor.

“We are sorry for the accidental failure of your test,” Gerda said.

“At least no one was hurt,” Claudine added. Viktor said, “Starvation will be at least slower.”

A tense pause, then, “Surely not that,” Claudine said.

“We can take one more crew member,” Chen said gravely.

“That is all?” Viktor blinked in surprise.

“It is not a matter of payload, you understand.”

“We have a good food reserve—”

“We do not have the room.” Chen nodded toward Marc. “As he can confirm.”

“Yeah, there's sure not much,” Marc grudgingly agreed. “We all saw that. Big limitation is in the systems. The one I trained with, it was rated for a crew of four. The air and water filtration systems, everything.”

“We have higher shielding needs,” Chen said, “for the reactor.”

“It limits the payload mass,” Gerda said.

Viktor nodded. “I appreciate your limitations. We are all here living close to knife edge.”

“There are severe constraints upon our mission,” Gerda said, apparently trying to be helpful.

“Management?” Viktor said.

Chen smiled again. “It is amusing to find ourselves, the entire human presence on another world, carrying out the dictates of people who are on the other side of the solar system.”

“We are in command here,” Viktor said, “you and me.”

“There will be an accounting when we are home,” Chen said.

Viktor grimaced. “For those who get home.”

“I am offering one berth upon our return flight,” Chen persisted. Julia could see he was getting irked with Viktor, though the only sign was a slight lift at the corners of his mouth.

“And who will fill this berth?” Viktor asked edgily.

“I believe that is up to us,” Chen said.

“I am captain of ship and I say who will go back,” Viktor said stiffly.

“Our ship, we say who goes,” Gerda said.

Both men turned to look at her. Chen said nothing. Gerda realized she had violated the levels of command and visibly swallowed. Nobody said anything for a long moment. Julia had no idea where this was going and was fairly sure that Viktor did not, either.

“I trust what we say here will not become an issue for Earth to know of, on either side,” Chen said.

Marc grinned. “Too late for that. I'm getting all this on interior camera. With audio.”

Chen was genuinely shocked, eyebrows shooting up. “I had assumed—”

“We made no promises,” Viktor said. “Axelrod wants to know what goes on here.”

Chen bristled. “When I came aboard—”

“At own invitation. We did not invite.”

Julia could see that in Chen's mind the frontier between irritation and outright anger had grown thinly guarded, and as his irked mouth twisted she saw that he had crossed the border without slowing down. “We came offering
help—”

“At price, I think,” Viktor shot back. “Only not announced yet.”

Chen stood up, loudly scraping the chair back. “I believe we could all use a time to think upon these matters.”

“Leaving?” Julia asked. “No, don't. We can't let things get out of control—”

“Then let us take time to slacken the trouble here,” Chen said. “Julia, I would like to have a word with you, a technical word.”

“No one negotiates but you and me,” Viktor said. “Captains.”

“No negotiations,” Chen agreed readily. “Scientific talk only.”

Claudine said in a blithely conversational manner, as though nothing at all had happened, “I would appreciate very much seeing more of this ship.”

Marc snapped this up. “Sure, lemme show you.”

The two of them moved away, buzzing. Their animation contrasted sharply with the stiffness of the others. Julia was suddenly aware of being on camera, though she had been there so much for years she felt foolish even noticing the camera near the ceiling, whose snout tracked whoever was speaking, following its software.