“That’s a considerable relief,” I said. I moved her image a few centimeters in the projection space to make room for incoming text reports from Point One on project security.
“I can’t come to Kaibab, obviously. You’ll have to build our little project by yourself for the time being.”
“It’s building,” I said.
“You sound flat, Cassie.”
“I’m keeping on keeping on,” I said, never able to hide my feelings from Ti Sandra. In truth, in the past week, since hearing of Ilya’s death, I had become an automaton. It was the best thing that could happen to me. No time to think of my grief, no time to contemplate the future beyond a few brief weeks, lists of jobs to do that took me eighteen or twenty hours a day, and the worst times of all, those few minutes before exhaustion compelled me to sleep…
“What’s your goal, honey?”
“I don’t understand,” I said.
“We have to keep goals. Even sacrificial lambs should have something to look forward to.”
Somehow that suggestion seemed obscene. I turned away, shaking my head. “Survival,” I said.
Ti Sandra’s face wrinkled with concern. “We’re going to talk at least once every day. We’ve both lost our rudders, Cassie. I’ll be your rudder if you’ll be mine.”
“Deal,” I said.
“Good,” she said. She took a deep breath and the top of her head rose briefly out of frame. “Tell me about Kaibab.”
I outlined what had happened in the few days since we had last spoken. From around Mars, cargo and passenger shuttles had arrived by the score at the secret station on Kaibab Plateau. Half-finished tunnels had been given quick cosmetic touches. New quarters had been opened and supplied with rudimentary comforts. The main laboratory had been finished and construction of the main tweakers had begun.
Kaibab’s population had expanded quickly: two hundred, three hundred, four. The ice lens could supply water enough for a thousand people. Other Point One people arrived daily. Soon I would have a miniature capital working within the cold tunnels and chambers — a backup to Many Hills.
The tweaker project and the Kaibab laboratory had been given the same code name: Preamble. The ultimate goal of Preamble — to provide the President with an option in case of extreme emergency — was known only to a very few. That the option loomed large as a real possibility was known only to Ti Sandra, Charles, Leander, and myself.
Two more Olympians — Mitchell Maspero-Gambacorta and Tamara Kwang — had flown in to join Charles, Stephen Leander, Nehemiah Royce, and Vico-Persoff. Pincher and Yueh Liu remained at Tharsis Research, working on a backup tweaker and overseeing the growth of more thinkers.
I finished my report. Ti Sandra bit her lower lip, nodding approval. “You’ve done great, Cassie,” she said. “I tell you what. When this is all over, we’ll have a family party. I’ll wear the brightest gown you’ve ever seen, and we’ll celebrate being secure. That’s my goal.”
“It’s a wonderful goal. Welcome back into the loop,” I said, and we signed off.
I stared at the desk for a moment, lost in contemplation.
Mars was still deep in the dangerous woods. We could mount big guns, but that was all — and there was still a question as to whether we had the will to fire our big guns. So long as that question remained, we were far from secure. But our most obvious and insidious danger was internal.
The Republic would not long stand the strain. Martians rebuilt, installed more robust backup systems for life support… And still lived in fear of another Freeze, or worse. Rumors swept the stations as government agents fanned out to old mining claims, searching for evidence of locusts. Even Cyane Sulci was searched from the air. The search was futile. A factory seed no larger than a fist, disguised as a rock, would be almost impossible to uncover. But for the destruction at Melas Dorsa, no signs were found.
The locusts had struck Melas Dorsa with extraordinary cunning and efficiency, first sending small units into the deserted station to reconnoiter and knock out com, then big destructors. Or so the speculations went… for we had no record of what had happened there, other than the mute evidence of breached tunnels, destroyed equipment, and the shattered remains of arbeiters.
We maintained a tentative date for elections, but that date was six months away — and nobody knew what would happen or where we might be by then.
As accusations flew, heads of state within the Triple exchanged messages, offered reassurances, scanned all available diplomatic channels for signs and symbols of actions to come…
And found nothing. The channels were jammed with posturing and denial. I had never seen the Triple in such a state of absolute confusion.
None of the Earth alliances would admit to having given the go-ahead for war on Mars — but all were demanding full disclosure of Mars’s newfound powers. The Moon and the Belter BMs were if anything even more shrill about the Martian threat. The Republic Information Office and all diplomatic agencies worked to reassure the other members of the Triple of Mars’s peaceful intentions, but could not tell them precisely what had happened… or what we might do next.
Most Martians demanded full disclosure as well. Opposition inside the government was still too disorganized to mount a full effort against Ti Sandra and myself, but clearly the pressure would increase in weeks or months until it became unbearable.
We were contemplating a game of baboon’s asses — displaying the colors — on an enormous scale. In this game, however, for one contestant to even blink while making preparations to depart the field…
Disaster.
Point One’s extensive com net returned to full operations. Everything was cobbled together, with human rather than thinker oversight. Martian thinkers were still in very short supply; fewer than twenty had been grown and initiated at Tharsis Research and of those, only ten could be pulled from civilian purposes for the Republic’s needs. Many Hills received three, Kaibab, six — three of them QLs with built-in interpreters, to guide the large tweakers.
Lieh Walker had become spymaster. Day by day, she expanded the Republic’s solicitation of outlaw data gleans — buying information at great expense from sources that were not particular about their methods. We should have established extensive spy networks months before — but we had not foreseen a time when there would be such serious disharmony between Earth and Mars. Now, perhaps too late, we became more ruthless.
We added dozens of new data flies — operatives who coursed the Earth nets, tapped cable transmissions, fed from the sweet attractions of private GEWA and GSHA connections. Some of the data we gleaned we sold to other sources to help finance our own operations.
When Lieh asked me to authorize the funding of twenty additional agents on Earth and in the Belt, I asked what their status would be. “Well-paid,” she said. “Expendable.” GEWA and GSHA had already swatted a few of our flies — a usually fatal punishment that transferred corrosive evolvons to the data-coursing enhancements the flies used in the nets. “If I need to know any more,” I said, “tell me.” “It’s on my back,” she said. “You’ve got enough to carry now.”
By which she meant, I was carrying the lives of every Martian, herself included — and I never knew whether she approved or not. I suspect she didn’t.
Still, some good news came. Stan had been released by Cailetet. Crown Niger had kept Stan and his wife and child in detention at Kipini Station in Chryse for a total of ten weeks, preventing any communication with the outside. I had two text letters from Stan after his release; there was time only for a brief reply, and of course I could not tell him where I was, or what I was doing.
I made a few quick calls and got him a post at Many Hills, where he could use his experience with Cailetet to work on some diplomatic patchwork. I had heard little from Crown Niger’s camp; they were lying low after the Freeze, wisely enough, hoping to weather the storm. Ti Sandra created a special task force to deal with the dissident BMs and regions. Stan, I thought, could join this task force.