"Biology is not a branch of witchcraft," Rebecca went on. "It is a science. It has laws. Laws of evolution, adaptation, and system development. One of those laws is that disease organisms are specifically adapted to their hosts. The bacteria and viruses that infect humans have been co-evolving with our ancestors for the past four billion years. They have been engaged in a four-billion-year-long arms race to maintain their ability to breach the defenses that have continually been evolving in the bodies of our ancestors. No would-be pathogenic species that has failed to track us in this way has the remotest chance of infecting us. That is why human beings do not catch Dutch elm disease, and trees do not catch head colds. It's utterly impossible."
"Good point," Townsend noted.
"These Martian microorganisms have been separated from the terrestrial biosphere for their entire evolutionary history. All the laws of biological science tell us that the notion that they could be pre-adapted to represent a pathogenic threat to any Earth-based life is not only incorrect but intrinsically absurd—acausal reasoning.
"However, harmless as they are, the Martian microbes represent a genetic treasure, as they have developed means for survival in extremely arid and cold environments. If their genes could be appropriately spliced with terrestrial plants, it could lead to species with the ability to grow in the Arctic or in the harshest deserts, thereby alleviating world hunger. To forego such benefits on the basis of a superstitious and nonsensical argument that an endless program of laboratory research needs to be conducted to prove the absence of risk from such a source is not rational. It is mindless hysteria, and a complete abandonment of the scientific method."
Rebecca waved her hand to McGee to turn the transmitter off.
The historian slapped down the stop switch. "Well, you may not have stopped them from killing us, but at least you got in a few good insults."
HOUSTON
JAN. 28, 2012 16:20 CST
In the examiners' meeting room at the Johnson Space Center, Rebecca's broadcast was just concluding. Kowalski frowned in disgust. "That's all she had to say? I have never heard so much empty rhetoric masquerade as science in my entire life."
NASA Administrator Ryan smiled. "Actually, George, I think she just cut your balls off."
"I quite agree," said Dr. Wong flatly. "It is necessary, however, for the board to vote on the substance of the matter. All those who believe that the level of risk is low enough to allow the crew to return, please signify now by raising their right hand."
Ryan raised his hand immediately, followed by a few of the assembled scientists. Not enough, Ryan thought. Then Dr. Wong raised her own hand, and others followed, until all hands but Kowalski's were raised.
Agitated, the Science and Security Advisor looked around the room for support. Finding none, he reluctantly raised his own hand in agreement with the rest.
CHAPTER 12
HOUSTON
JAN. 28, 2012 17:30 CST
TWILIGHT ILLUMINATED THE lawn in front of the examiners' meeting-room building at the JSC. The gathered security guards cast long shadows. Nearby, the usual group of a few pro-crew demonstrators maintained their vigil, listening to a folksinger strum the chords to the final verses of "The Beagle Has Landed."
Beyond the pro-crew demonstrators, a huge crowd chanted "Keep Earth Green! Keep Mars Red!" As they marched in front of a bandstand, the agitated people carried signs decorated with green crosses. On the platform, Gary Stetson and the Reverend Bobby Joe Stone stirred up the crowd in anticipation as Administrator Ryan, Surgeon General Wong, and the JSC security chief approached a podium in front of the main NASA building across the way.
Looking proud and satisfied, Ryan stepped up to the microphone. "Ladies and gentlemen, I am pleased to announce that the examining board has reached a decision. It is the unanimous verdict of the board, based on sound scientific principles and investigation, that the Martian microorganisms represent no threat, and that the crew be allowed to continue their mission and at the appointed time return safely to Earth."
An instant cheer went up from the pro-crew demonstrators, but a split-second later the anti-crew mob screamed in outrage.
Stetson could not believe it. "This is genocide! This is ecocide! You'll never get away with this." He turned to his followers. "They've signed all of our death warrants!"
From a distance, Ryan looked directly at Stetson. "The board's decision is final."
The NASA Administrator's aloofness was even more infuriating than his decision. Stetson's blood boiled, and his anger reflected in his crowd of supporters. "No it's not!" he yelled. "Let's get them!"
Stetson's supporters seemed confused, but he knew what to do. Grabbing a green cross, he charged off the stand and ran directly at the pro-crew demonstrators. Immediately he was flanked by his hired shills, carrying along several dozen of the most volatile members of his crowd.
By the time Stetson's vanguard crashed into the pro-astronaut picket line, the mass of Redpeace demonstrators had begun to surge forward. The scuffle began, the two groups striking at each other with signs and placards, kicks and fists. In most places along the skirmish line Stetson's mob prevailed, but in some instances they were driven back into the main Redpeace mass, knocking down some of the older Fundamentalist folks.
That ignited the main Redpeace contingent's rage, and they rushed forward, scattering the pro-spacers like chaff. It was a total rout. Some spacers fled toward the uneasy police line. The slower ones didn't make it that far.
As Stetson watched, the folksinger who had initially rallied the pro-spacers was caught in her flight and trampled to the ground. Her guitar was smashed. Now an army in full charge, the Redpeace mob hit the line of police and NASA security guards who tried to resist with billy clubs, but were quickly overwhelmed. A few cops farther back shot tear-gas canisters, which were promptly picked up by several of the bolder Redpeace members and hurled back.
But the whiff of tear gas had done its work: Within seconds, the Redpeace mob was completely out of control. When the secondary police line broke, the crowd began smashing windows and lighting fires.
From the balcony of the main building, Dr. Wong surveyed the advancing rioters and turned to the JSC security officer standing beside her. "Is there a back way out of this building?"
"Yes, right this way." As the dignitaries were shown to safety, the uniformed man picked up his cellular phone. "This is Captain Martino at JSC. Get me the governor's office."
HOUSTON
JAN. 28, 2012 19:55 CST
That night the Johnson Space Center burned.
Sirens howled as torched buildings exploded into flame. Firefighters attempting to reach the engulfed buildings were stopped by the screaming mob. NASA employees attempted to defend their offices and labs, but in most places were routed.
Even as the destruction raged, not all of NASA's opponents engaged in direct action. Some cut broader and deeper. Thus, outside the burning Public Information Office, a mobile television crew focused its lens on a live broadcast by a portly, expensively dressed man in a minister's collar.
"Mars has monsters, yes it does!" the Reverend Stone intoned. "Those monsters may be too small for the naked eye to see, but they can murder your mother, your father, your sweetheart, and your sons and daughters."
The camera zoomed in on Stone's face, illuminated with flickering yellow-orange firelight. "Those astronauts on Mars are contaminated with red death, the mother of all plagues. They went where human beings were not meant to go, and now they must pay the price. Them, not us!"