In the two weeks they had been on Mars Jamie had been asked to submit to only the one media interview, on the second day after their landing. All the others in the landing party had been interviewed at least twice already. Jamie thought that national politics had been at the root of it: with two American astronauts on the surface of Mars, the project administrators did not want to upset the Russians by having a third American in the limelight.
Now he wondered if his reasoning had been naive.
Brumado began to look uncomfortable as Jamie’s questions registered on his face. He ran a hand across his neatly clipped graying beard before replying.
"I’m glad this conversation is not being overheard," he said with a slow smile. "For the first few days after your landing the American media was in a furor about the fact that you were a Native American. A red man on the red planet: that was the mildest of their stories about you."
Jamie realized that the mission controllers had practically blacked out all news transmissions from Earth. For the first time he understood that Kaliningrad — and Houston — were censoring the news from home.
"The Vice-President is very sensitive to political nuances," Brumado was going on. "She thought that the radical branch of the ethnic activist groups in the States might use you as a weapon against her. She wanted you removed from the ground team."
But Dr. Li wouldn’t let that happen, Jamie said to himself. The mission controllers wouldn’t stand for such blatant political interference.
"I have tried to convince her that you could become an asset to her campaign for the presidency — if she will support further Mars expeditions instead of opposing them."
Jamie’s head was spinning. Even before Brumado stopped speaking he said, "So you worked out a deal for me to make a statement supporting her, and then she makes a statement supporting continued exploration."
Brumado kept on talking about how difficult the Vice-President could make everything if she insisted on Jamie’s being removed from the ground team. It would even make Australia happy, he pointed out, to have O’Hara sent down to replace Jamie.
Then at last he heard Jamie’s words. He stopped short, muttered, "Wait…"
Jamie realized that Brumado had an instant-replay feature on his console, wherever on Earth he was. He watched Brumado’s face as the Brazilian listened to his words.
"Ah. Yes. That is the deal. You send me a statement supporting the Vice-President. I hold it until she makes a public announcement of her support for further Mars missions. Then I give her people your statement. When you return from Mars you announce your support of her candidacy. Everyone gets what they want. Everyone is happy."
Not quite everyone, Jamie thought. Then he heard himself say, "There’s one thing more. I want the schedule rearranged so we can go back to Tithonium Chasma before we leave. Otherwise no deal."
Alberto Brumado felt his jaw drop. He was accustomed to demands and counterdemands from the politicians, even from the academics who ruled universities. But to get one from this young pup of a scientist was something of a shock.
"Rearrange the mission schedule? But that would be impossible."
He watched Waterman’s stolid broad-cheeked face as his words raced to Mars with the speed of light. It seemed to take forever.
Finally Waterman replied, "Either we go back to Tithonium Chasma and take a good look at that rock formation or there’s no deal. I know that she’ll demand that I be taken off the ground team and O’Hara brought down to replace me. Okay. If she does that I’ll yell my head off once we’ve returned to Earth. I’ll tell the media that I was removed from the ground team because I’m a Native American and she’s against full political rights for ethnic minorities."
Brumado felt perspiration breaking out across his forehead. "You are putting me — the entire project administration — in a very difficult situation."
Waterman’s reply, when it came, was, "That can’t be helped. This is important, much more important than who gets elected next year. We’ve got to go back to the canyon."
"All right," Brumado said reluctantly. "I’ll see what I can do."
He waited long, long minutes before he saw Jamie Waterman’s answering smile.
The deal was done. Now to get the project administrators to agree to it and then implement it with the Vice-President’s aides. And make certain that she has no way to back out of it.
Brumado ended his transmission to Mars and rose from his chair, weary, drained, more than a little fearful. Like an athlete who had given his last ounce of strength and now waited for the judge’s verdict. There must be a second expedition sent to Mars. There must be. At least that. At the very least.
Glancing down at the blank gray screen of the communications console he realized that Waterman was both an asset and a liability. It’s a mistake to get him involved in the politics of this thing. He does not think politically; all he is interested in is the science. He is aflame to make a great discovery on Mars. So much so that he could ruin everything.
Thank god we could speak in private, Brumado said to himself. With the time lag between us it was difficult enough to get anything agreed to. It would have been impossible if others had been listening in.
More than a hundred fifty million kilometers away, Tony Reed stared thoughtfully at the dead screen of his own laptop. He had gone from the dome’s communications center to his infirmary, slid the accordion-fold door shut, and immediately tuned in on Jamie’s conversation with Brumado.
As the team’s physician and psychologist I have every right to know exactly what is going on, he had told himself. Secrecy be damned! They have no right to keep secrets from me.
Now he removed the plug from his ear and yanked out the hair-thin wire that connected it to his computer. So Jamie’s forcing them to send him back to Tithonium Chasma. Good! It can’t be soon enough.
SOL 14: AFTERNOON
Jamie had been unusually silent and moody at lunch, Tony Reed thought. Even for our stoic red man he’s being awfully quiet and withdrawn.
Reed was sitting at his infirmary desk, mulling over Jamie’s conversation with Brumado. The man has cheek, Tony thought, almost admiringly. Whatever inner demons are driving him, he has the gall to make demands on Brumado himself. And the Vice-President of the United States.
Smiling to himself, Reed thought, With any luck at all he’ll be banished to the orbiting spacecraft and leave Joanna to me.
Humming tunelessly, Reed tapped at his computer keyboard, calling up the afternoon’s schedule. Six of the seven scientists were supposed to be continuing the tedious business of mapping the depth and extent of the underground permafrost layer. Toshima, the seventh, would remain inside the dome working with his meteorology instruments. Reed had no responsibilities for outside work; one of the advantages of being team physician, he told himself.
Tony punched up his personal mission task schedule on the computer screen and saw that it was time for his weekly inventory of pharmaceutical supplies. With a barely suppressed moan of boredom he started by checking out the stocks of analgesics and vitamins. Next would come the uppers and downers. Have to be especially careful with them. Can’t have these people depending on drugs.
Pock!
The sound startled him. What on earth was that? Reed cocked his ears, but heard nothing more than the usual hums of machinery and the distant muffled voices of the others. With a shrug, he turned his attention back to the task at hand.
Wearily he went through the computer’s file on the analgesics. Every aspirin tablet must be accounted for. No one was allowed to take even one on his own; only the team physician could dispense the pills, and he had to keep a strict record of who received what.