The Ruins of Mars (The Ruins of Mars Trilogy Book 1) (7 page)

CHAPTER EIGHT

A meeting in the War Room

      James Floyd was rushed across a small courtyard at the rear of the White House compound by the two Secret Servicemen who had brought him from the airport. As the three neared a red door in the back of the house, it swung open with the metallic hum of motorized hinges. James entered between the two agents: one in front and one behind. As soon as the last man was through the door, it quickly swung shut, and James heard the clicking of numerous locks and bolts. He found himself standing in a narrow hallway with plush blue carpeting and clean white walls decorated by numerous paintings. Before he could fully take in his surroundings, the agent behind him gave his back a little shove.

      “Keep going.”

      Leading the party at a clipped pace, the Serviceman in front took a fast right through a pair of thick wooden doors into a wider more-regal hallway. The man held the door for James as he stepped through, then set off again at a driving march. Paintings of past Presidents and other historical champions of American politics adorned the walls, and chandeliers hung from the ceilings like shards of ice and silver.

      Slackening his pace to take in the scenery, James felt another little shove from the agent behind. He whirled on the man and snapped, “Knock it off. I’m not a child, you know.”

      The man firmly grasped James’s arm at the elbow and pushed him forwards.

      “Sir,” he said in a hushed and authoritative growl. “The President of the United States and some of his highest advisers are waiting for
you
. I suggest you lock step and get your ass in gear.”

      The lead agent abruptly stopped in the middle of the long hallway, tapping the face of his watch twice. James went to plug his ears, but this time there was no siren. Instead, a section of wall about the size of a small door sank back five centimeters, then dropped into a pocket in the floor. Speaking into his transmitter, the agent nearest the opening beckoned James forwards impatiently. Approaching the man with small nervous steps, James started to ask a question, but the agent cut him off.

      “Inside,” he ordered.

      Stepping through the opening and into a small elevator, James turned to say something, but before he could speak, mirrored metal doors slid shut, and the elevator dropped like a stone. Grasping the handrails, he forced his stomach down out of his throat, feeling the crushing force of inertia press down against him like an invisible giant. As the seconds ticked by and the speed of his descent did not slacken, James began to wonder how far down he was going. A smooth voice echoed from the walls around him and cut through his thoughts.

      “Good morning, Mr. Floyd. I am George Washington. Welcome to the White House.”

      Speaking in no particular direction, James asked, “How far down are we going?”

      “I’m sorry, Sir, but that information is classified. Have you been briefed on the proper safety protocol?”

      Thinking back to the stern warning the agent had given him about not making sudden or threatening gestures, James nodded.

      “Good,” replied the AI. “We will be arriving at the War Room shortly.”

      With sudden and jarring rapidity, the elevator slowed, then stopped. A melodic chime echoed in the cramped space, and the doors slid apart. Before him was a long, oval-shaped conference room with low ceilings and curved walls, comprised entirely of screens. A rectangular table spanned nearly the whole length of the room, and there were chairs enough to seat twenty. James, however, saw only three occupants. At the head of the table stood the President of the United States, Atlas Jay. Tall and slender, his short gray hair was combed back—away from his tanned face—and his large, watery blue eyes flicked up to James, who was standing in the open elevator.

      “Proceed forward please,” prompted the voice of George Washington.

      James stepped out of the elevator, and the other two people at the table turned to look at him. Sitting to the left of the President was his Chief of Staff, a woman named Eve Bear. Notoriously beautiful in her youth, a life of political warfare and the maintenance of America’s global dominance had done little to wear her looks down. At fifty years old, Bear had the look of someone much younger: with straight blond hair and deep green eyes, which seemed to smolder with some internal heat. Her gaze was calculating, intense and unembarrassed. James felt himself blush a little as she watched him approach.

      To the right of the president was the Director of the CIA, Ben Crain. At forty-seven, Crain had a long pointed nose and small brown eyes, which when added to his large black-framed glasses and receding hair line, gave him a sharp and dangerous look. Seemingly the only human being on Earth whom Donovan respected, Crain was notoriously capable of doing things, in the name of freedom, which would easily tarnish a weaker man's soul.

      “Please,” said the President in accent-less English. “Take a seat here next to Eve.”

      Having indicated the open chair next to his Chief of Staff, the President sat down and smiled professionally. Grateful that he would not have to sit next to Crain, James walked quickly to his seat.

      “I’m sorry I’m late,” he stammered as he neared the group. “There were a lot of people outside and—”

      Raising a thin hand, the President shook his head. “That’s quite alright, Dr. Floyd. I know it’s been an interesting day for you to say the least.”

      Breathing a little easier, James slipped into the chair next to Eve.

      “I believe introductions are in order,” said the President. “This here is my Chief of Staff, Mrs. Eve Bear, and to my right is our Director of the CIA, Ben Crain.”

      Leaning across the table, Crain extended a hand to James, who shook it quickly.

      “It’s nice to meet you in person, Dr. Floyd,” drawled Crain in a hoarse voice. “Donovan has told me a lot about you, but I’m old fashioned. I like to meet a man in person before I judge his character.”

      At this comment, James felt his heart drop. If Donovan had been discussing him with Crain, then any chance of privacy was gone from his life forever. Once you made Crain’s list, you didn’t get off.

      “Oh, give up the Gestapo act, Ben,” snapped the President crossly. “This man is my guest, and we need him.”

      Making a steeple with his fingers, Crain tilted his head and was silent.

      Turning back to James, the President smiled warmly. “Dr. Floyd, I asked you here today because, as you’ve probably gathered, we have a big problem.”

      Feeling his stomach knot up, James nodded and waited for the President to continue.

      “Now I didn’t bring you all the way to D.C. to jump down your throat about keeping a lid on this. I know how the time delays work between here and Mars, and I’ve already spoken with Director Barnes and Copernicus. They both assured me that you did everything you could to stop this from getting out, but well, hell—” The President trailed off for a moment, then resumed, “—You see, Dr. Floyd; it’s what we do now that matters.”

      Letting the statement hang in the air, the President fixed James with a sympathetic look before speaking again.

      “These people,” he said, pointing towards the ceiling. “Have been told for the last twenty years or so, that we’re running out of everything. Running out of food, running out of water and, maybe most dangerous of all, running out of time. No one knows where this planet is headed. Things don’t look good though. That’s for sure. Then, about five years ago, you boys at NASA come up with the first realistic plan for branching out, colonizing other planets, maybe even Terraforming them some day. Sounds good, but it takes a long time and a lot of money to pull off. Do you understand?”

      “Yes,” started James. “But what do the ruins have to do with any of this?”

      Frowning slightly, the President dipped his head.

      “These ruins are a real curve ball. We don’t know anything about them. Why are they there? What happened to the people who built them? Is Mars even worth colonizing? And, most importantly, why didn’t we know about them until now? These are the questions people are asking, questions we need answered. You don’t buy a used car without checking it out first, and Mars is a big purchase, Dr. Floyd.”

      Absently chewing his thumbnail, James pondered the analogy for a moment.

      Growing impatient, Eve Bear leaned in, saying, “I think what the President is trying to get at is this: we have invested too much money and time into Mars to just give it up. We still need to move forwards on our plans, but unless we want to fund the project on good intentions, we need to regain control of the situation. Now, when can we have a team ready to go to Mars so we can get to the bottom of this thing?”

      Jolted by the question, James looked her square in the face, then answered slowly, “Well, we do have a mission in the works for a landing party. By that, I mean the people who will actually establish a base and start building the colony. But, last I heard, due to funding, it was pushed back five or more years. Besides, no one on that crew list knows anything about dead civilizations. They’re all scientists and engineers.”

      Arching a thin eyebrow, Eve continued to drill James with her emerald gaze.

      Putting his hands up defensively, he said, “You should really be talking to Director Barnes about the landing mission, not me. I’m only the Mars Map director. My boss, Director Barnes, hasn’t assigned anyone to head up the actual landing party mission. We don’t even have the money to complete the ship yet.”

      Tapping a finger on the tabletop, the President drew their attention to him,

      “Actually, I greenlit the funding to finish the ship this morning after meeting with Director Barnes. As for the rest of the funding needed, you just leave that to Mrs. Bear and myself, I’m sure we can work something out. We have—” the President grinned slyly. “—Many friends.”

      Tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, Eve dipped her chin and smiled softly, finally releasing James from her penetrating stare.

      “Furthermore,” the President went on. “Barnes and I
have
chosen a Mission Director, and it’s you. I don’t know much in the way of Mars. I know it’s red, and I know we need to start moving towards colonizing it, but from what Barnes told me, you’re the right man for the job. Also, I understand that you’re already working on the mission design for the landing party as a consultant. We both think that if you take control of the project, the rest of the mission staff should fall in line pretty easily.

      Feeling totally blindsided, James couldn’t think to speak for a moment.

      The President swept a hand across the room and said, “You might have noticed that this meeting here is a little small. Well, I’ve already met with the Joint Chiefs this morning as well as with Director Barnes. The conclusion reached in that meeting was fairly simple. We need to put a crew on Mars as soon as possible. You already know the Mars project better than anyone else at NASA, and we want America to lead this mission. Now, there’s no way I can allow an expedition where all your team does is dig around in the dirt and pick up arrowheads. We need a payoff like the successful construction of a base and the steady production of hydrogen fuel cells and food. However, people are going to want to know who the Martians were and what happened to them. I need the best of both. Do you understand?”

      James sat and absorbed the shock of his sudden promotion.

      Exchanging a frustrated look with Crain, Eve Bear leaned close to James and said, “Maybe you had better show us what you have for the landing party mission so far. Let’s all get on the same page here. Barnes is a politician first and a scientist second. He couldn’t give us any specifics.”

      Nodding slowly, James rose to his feet and started to roll up his shirt sleeves.

      “George Washington?” he called.

      “Yes, Dr. Floyd?” answered the AI.

      “Will you please communicate with Copernicus? Can he gain clearance into here?”

      “No, Sir. I am sorry, but no outside AIs are allowed in the War Room. I can, however, act as a relay between the two of you, if you like.”

      James walked to the wall screen nearest him, running a slightly shaking hand through his wispy hair.

      “That’s fine. Please ask him to send you the crew dossier for Project Braun.”

      A few seconds passed, then the screen filled with a list of names. Rubbing his hands together James began to read off the list.

       “As of now, this is our crew dossier for Project Braun. That’s what we’re calling the human landing mission. Our selected Mission Commander and Ship’s Captain is Tatyana Vadovski. She’s a Russian with twelve years of experience in EVA. Um, that’s Extra Vehicular Activities, by the way. She’s also experienced in high Earth orbit Construction and most recently oversaw the addition of docks six through nine to the High Earth Orbit Shipyard. After her, we have two boys from the USAF: Ralph Marshall and Joseph Aguilar. They’re two of our best flyboys, and both have impeccable records. Aguilar is a little young, but his reflex and aptitude tests are exceptionally high. Marshall, who is already in our astronaut program, flew over thirty successful rescue missions during the Chinese occupation of North Korea, which is pretty impressive given how mountainous that landscape is there. We’ve picked him to pilot the Lander with the ground team because of that experience. Next, we have our Ship’s Pilot from India’s ISRO space program: Amit Vyas. He is what most people would call a prodigy when it comes to orbital navigation and maneuvering.”