Back | Next
Contents

Chapter 39

"A base on Mars?" Hathaway repeated, incredulously. "After sixty-five million years?"

"It's possible. Well, more than possible, because I've got the readings to prove it. They built really well, Mars doesn't have weather anything like ours, it's reasonably geologically stable, so if they were building well, yeah, lots of it could survive even after that time, especially if it was underground."

Madeline felt the pressure on her already. Oh, great. Another base—and the one on Phobos alone was more than enough to keep her constantly busy trying to balance the desires of the scientists on Nike and the political authorities back on Earth.

"But it will still be in worse condition than this one, correct?" Hathaway asked.

"Oh, for sure, Ken. At least the outer parts of it will. You can tell just by looking at the sensor returns that there are parts of it that just ain't what they used to be. But it looks to me like large chunks of it are apparently still pretty much intact—hard as it is for me to grasp how anything can stay that way over that length of time on a planetary surface. We are definitely going to get new construction tricks out of these guys, whatever else."

"I don't doubt it, A.J.," Hathaway said, "but I think investigating this new base can wait another few months, after all these millions of years. I'll check with NASA, of course, to see what they want us to do."

Famous last words, Madeline thought sourly, staring at the communication screen which had just gone dark after delivering NASA's instructions. They'd neglected a rather vital element of the puzzle, which NASA had cheerfully pointed out.

"Duh!" A.J. exclaimed, smacking his forehead. "Boy, are we a bunch of stupes. That base isn't one belonging to the same people. It belonged to their enemies, who might be entirely different cultures, creatures, whatever. NASA's right—which is a marvel in itself. We have to give that base a look, even if it's just a quick once-over, to see what it might have that's really different from this one."

For all his professed self-recrimination, A.J. was obviously delighted by the new prospect. Madeline, on the other hand, was trying not to scowl openly at the now-dead screen. She could tell that Hathaway was doing the same. Like her—and unlike A.J.—he had the sort of responsibilities that made this new development no joy to contemplate at all.

A.J. was oblivious to their concerns, of course. "Is this cool or what? We're actually going to land on Mars. I thought we wouldn’t be doing that until the next trip. If then!"

Hathaway took a long, slow breath. "No help for it," Madeline thought she heard him mutter.

More loudly, he said: "We need a general conference. Jackie, please ask Joe and Helen to come to the bridge. We'll need both of them to give us an assessment of how feasible it will be to get to the ruins in the first place, without a major excavation that we don't have the tools for. Get both of the linguists, too. And Bruce Irwin, to be the pilot. And . . ."

"Ryu," A.J. suggested. "We'll need an areologist, for sure."

"Yes, and Dr. Sakai."

Jackie nodded and started speaking softly into the ship's communication system.

"Are you sending all of us?" Helen asked.

"Not on the first trip," Hathaway replied. "The lander just isn't big enough, given that we have to make room for the pressurized rover or there's no point sending anyone at all. The landing team will consist of yourself, A.J, Madeline, Rich Skibow—sorry, Jane, but he's better qualified on the physical end than you are—Dr. Sakai, Joe, and Bruce to pilot the lander. Helen, you'll be in charge."

Her eyes widened. "Why me?"

"I'd think it was obvious. This is basically a paleontological dig, and who's more qualified on Nike to be the boss of one? Bruce will be in command, of course, during the flight itself."

"That's fine," Jane Mayhew snapped. "But why is Fathom going?" She was all but glaring at Madeline. "Do we really need a watchdog down there? Enough—I do not like this—to bump me off the expedition?"

Madeline gave her a smile. Not the full-bore one, just a serene little indication of innocence. "Don't be silly, Jane. Why would I go down there to play watchdog? All the communications from the Mars expedition will have to be relayed through Nike anyway. I can do my watchdog bit up here far better—and be enjoying my chocolates while I'm at it."

Mayhew looked suitably abashed. "Well. Yes. That's true."

Madeline now turned the smile on Hathaway. "Which does, however, bring up the question: why am I being included in the expedition?"

"Do you object?" Hathaway asked, gruffly.

"Officially? No, of course not. And speaking personally, I'd like to go, as a matter of fact. But I really don't see what special skills I bring to the task."

Hathaway looked at her for a long moment. "You don't, huh? Even you! Bunch of civilians."

His dark eyes swept around the table. "People, it may not have dawned on some of you yet that this trip will be dangerous—and dangerous in an up-close and personal way that the voyage here wasn’t. If something had gone wrong with the Nike, the engineers would either have been able to fix it or they wouldn't. But, either way, there would have been no call for physical heroics."

"That's preposterous!" Mayhew blurted out. "Do you really think we'll encounter hostile Martians that require Ms. Fathom's martial arts skills to deal with?"

"That's not what I'm talking about, Jane—and you're perfectly smart enough to know it." As even-tempered as he was, Hathaway was clearly restraining himself. "There are a thousand things that could go wrong down there. Any number of which could indeed require considerable physical exertion. So why is Madeline going, and you aren't?

Because Madeline is in the best physical condition of any member of Nike's crew, myself included, and you—since you've been blunt, Jane, so will I—are probably in the worst. You were forty pounds overweight when we started the voyage, and you've gained twelve pounds since. That's not because your diet hasn't been good—Joe sees to that—but because you have consistently refused to maintain the exercise regimen that Dr. Wu set up for everyone. He complained about it to me again just two days ago. He's starting to get worried that when you finally return to Earth you'll have real physical problems with Earth-normal gravity."

"Oh," Mayhew said, in a very small voice. Her pale, plump face was pink with embarrassment. "I've been very busy," she protested.

Hathaway shook his head. "Nobody thinks you're lazy, Jane." He glanced at A.J. "But in a lot of ways you're just like Wonderboy over here. You get so preoccupied with your work that you forget about everything else. Fortunately for him, A.J. developed good workout habits years ago, so he never slips too far. But you—"

He sighed. "I don't mean to hurt your feelings, Jane. Really, I don't. But I'm the commander of this expedition and I would simply be remiss in my duties if I let you go on this trip. I'm not too happy about sending Rich, to be honest, given his age. But we need a linguist and—being blunt again—he's in better physical condition than you are even though he's eighteen years older. He does stick to the exercise schedule."

Apparently not knowing where else to look, Mayhew gave her fellow linguist a look of appeal.

Skibow looked away for a moment. "I do wish you'd start exercising. I've begun worrying about your health myself. Not here, so much, in this low gravity. But once we get back . . ." His eyes came back to her, looking very warm. "I'd miss you, Jane. I really, really would."

After a moment, she smiled. "All right, then," she said. "I will."

Without looking away from Skibow, she said: "I withdraw my objection."

"Fine." Hathaway cocked an eye at Madeline. "Any further questions?"

She shook her head.

"Anybody?" The captain waited a moment and said, "Then let's get to it."

* * *

"Not to sound pessimistic and all, Ms. Fathom," Bruce said dryly, "but you do realize that no one's alive who's actually done a landing on Mars? Plenty of simulations and all, but believe you me, that's not the same thing."

"I do. I've also been doing the simulations. Since no one else has, I guess that makes me the copilot. God help us all. But you do have actual experience in reentry landings, Bruce, even though the atmosphere here is a lot thinner."

"Yes, I do. No, you don't." Irwin was looking at her very skeptically. "And why in God's name has a security specialist been practicing flying a spacecraft anyway?"

She grinned at him. "I like to learn new things. And I already know how to fly a plane."

He maintained the skeptical look.

"I do! Okay, a small one. And, uh, okay, not very well, I suppose. On the other hand—" She drew herself up stiffly. "Unlike you, I've never crashed any sort of aircraft, either."

Bruce snorted, and gave Joe a glance that was even more skeptical. "You've never been on a flight with our very own Typhoid Mary, either. Now you'll have your chance—don't say I didn't warn you."

"Hey!" Joe protested.

Irwin ignored him and went over to study the map spread across the table. "Where will we be landing?"

Helen pointed. "The base is located here, in the southern portion of the Valles Marineris named the Melas Chasma. If you look at this image"—she put up a photograph on the screen—"you can see that the Bemmie base is located about where this chevron-shaped white mark is, close to the edge of this secondary valley or canyon. There appear to be several flat areas not too far from it, well within range of the pressurized rover."

Bruce studied the image. "At first glance, you look to be right. But I'm going to go over it carefully with A.J., get him to do some models of the approach and all. We're going to have to do a powered landing at the end, since there's not enough atmosphere for a pure glide-and-land. May be able to set us down right close."

"I'll get cracking on those models for you, Bruce," A.J. said, standing up. "We've got a lot of work to do, and I still have to go over the reconfigurations for my Fairy Dust. I hadn't expected to be bringing any to Mars quite yet."

After A.J. left, Helen turned to the rest of them. "Jackie and Gupta are selecting the equipment to bring with us, Joe, but you need to make sure you're fully checked out on whatever's sent. You'll be our only engineer. Dr. Sakai, Dr. Skibow, please go over the equipment listings as they're generated and make sure we have everything we need."

Joe nodded. "The lander has quite a bit of capacity—fifty tons mass plus passengers—but the rover's going to eat up thirty-five of that. And I'd prefer that most of the equipment be able to fit into the rover's maximum carry of ten tons. We don't know how close Bruce will be able to land us or how far we'll have to carry stuff, and you can bet the excavation equipment will take a big bite out of that. Plus food, water, and all the other necessaries. So be selective about what you take, okay?"

Madeline was the only one not given an immediate task. After everyone else had left, leaving her alone on the bridge with Hathaway, she cocked her head at the captain.

"Tell me why, Ken. Do you really think there's much danger? I shouldn't think there would be, myself. The technology is all tested, we are all very well trained, and we've been operating here in space for months with no problems at all beyond piddly stuff."

He shrugged. "No, I don't. But who really knows? And that's why I want you there." He gazed for a moment at the entrance to the bridge, through which the others had recently departed. "Those are all fine and wonderful people, each in their own way. Jane Mayhew, too. But what they aren't—not one of them—are soldiers."

"Neither am I."

He gave her that dark-eyed stare. "Yes, you are, in the one criterion that matters the most. Danger is something you take for granted. Something you've trained for. Something you expect. Which they don't."

He looked up at the huge viewscreen, which now showed the great reddish orb of Mars. "Remember what it's named, Madeline. And remember that this planet destroyed more unmanned probes than all the other planets of the Solar System put together. They still make jokes about the Martian antispacecraft defense network. We'd be damned fools to assume that the first humans to land on the face of the god of war won't encounter any grief. And if they do, I want you down there. I'd go myself, but I can't."

She gazed up at the planet. It did look ominous, in point of fact. Mars always did.

"I understand. I'll leave you the codes before I go, Ken. In case something happens to me."

He turned his head to look at her. "You sure?"

"Yes. Three reasons. First, because I have to. It's possible, if you don't have the codes, that the program might malfunction and scramble all transmissions. It was designed by security freaks, don't forget. I don't really share that mind-set, but I understand it perfectly. 'When in doubt, suppress.'"

Ken's eyes widened a little. "Huh. I admit, I hadn't even thought of that."

"The second reason is that I trust you. If something happens to me, just continue monitoring the transmissions the way I have and use your own judgment as to what's okay to send and what isn't."

He nodded. Madeline was silent, for a while, her eyes never leaving Mars.

"And the third reason?"

"It will be an immense relief," she said quietly. "I'm tired of that burden."

She brought her eyes down and smiled suddenly. The full-bore Madeline smile that was hers alone.

"Instead, I got nothing to worry about except Martian monsters. For which—"

The fast set of katas she went through had Ken Hathaway howling within seconds.

"Take that, you nasty green thark!"

Back | Next
Framed