Joe opened his mouth to protest more, as did A.J., but neither of them could get a word out. The ludicrous idea that Mars—an entire planet whose surface area was equal to that of all land masses on Earth combined—was a 'site for investigation' simply beggared speech. Phobos itself was potentially huge, depending on how many aliens had lived there, and how many tunnels they'd carved over their time of residence. Putting Mars off limits because there might be something down there was like an Egyptologist insisting that no one visit North America because it happened to be on the same planet and might have vital Egyptian relics hidden on it
. . .
somewhere.
But it was equally clear that the decision had already been made—probably not by Fathom, or Deiderichs, but someone else. Fathom might even understand how ridiculous it was, but she wasn't about to say so.
"Well," he finally said, glaring at A.J. to keep him from detonating. "Look, then, what the hell are you offering? From what I'm hearing, you're telling us to shut down."
"That, Joe, is because you and Mr. Baker didn't let me finish anything I was trying to say."
When the two blinked and looked slightly apologetic, she gave about a half-power smile and continued. "Gentlemen, Ares is in this thing already. And this is the real world, not an idiotic conspiracy theory novel. Even if the U.S. government
wanted
to, we couldn't make people like A.J. just disappear."
Again, the full-bore smile. Despite the animosity of the moment, Joe was a bit dazzled by the woman. And he couldn't help but notice the easy charm with which she'd just managed to segue into getting even A.J. on a first name basis.
"If you think the government manages the space program ineptly," Fathom continued, chuckling softly, "I can assure you that it manages conspiracies even worse. Or have you forgotten Watergate and—" She waved her hand, still smiling. "And all the other—what was that marvelous expression of yours, A.J.? Oh, yes. And all the other brilliant conspiracies built by the worst compromise the conspirators could think of, which have dazzled the American electorate over the decades. Not to mention turning two Presidents out of office."
That drew a laugh, even from A.J.
Fathom shook her head. "So, please relax. Yes, we're having a dispute. But let's keep the melodrama out of it. As I said, even if the government wanted to, we can't 'disappear' a single individual like Mr. Baker or Dr. Buckley—let alone the entire Ares Project. Not without producing a fire storm, for a certainty. We need your cooperation, people, not your antagonism. We can't let you keep going
exactly
as you were. But we can do something else."
She paused briefly. "Think, everyone. What is going to happen when this is announced?"
"Uproar from every quarter of the world," Joe said. Similar comments were heard around the table.
A.J., for once, didn't say anything, but his expression was that of someone having bitten into a chocolate-covered grasshopper and finding it didn't taste nearly as bad as he thought it would. His blue glare was fading—or perhaps sharpening—to a speculative stare.
"You are all touching on the initial reaction, but missing the practical point," Fathom said. "What will happen is that every nation with even a pretense to a space program will, as you say, 'want in' on the investigation. And to make sure that no one beats us there, I think you can rest assured that there will be a quite unprecedented increase in NASA's budget, a streamlining of its mandate, and an elimination of a great deal of the political wrangling that is normal business in this realm. We will not be sending a relatively few people to Phobos and Mars to demonstrate that we can beat private industry. We will be sending an investigative team to stake out the entirety of that moon and wring every tiny secret we can from the remains of that alien base. We will want, at the very least, to make a start at investigating the planet that they, evidently, found of interest as well. And we will be doing it as fast as we possibly can, with a virtually unlimited budget."
She smiled anew. "And as there is one other American organization that is already ready and able to prepare for landing on both Mars and Phobos, with trained and skilled personnel, we will naturally want to expend some of our budget in recruiting the assistance of the Ares Project."
Fathom turned to face A.J. squarely. "A.J., how would you like to go to Phobos yourself—on board a new, much bigger
Nike
?"
The expression on A.J.'s face almost made Joe laugh out loud.
So that's what someone looks like when the Devil offers them their heart's desire for that little, insignificant trifle of a soul.
"You can't promise that." A.J.'s voice was weak.
"Not quite yet," Fathom conceded. "But I think we can if the new budgets we expect get passed. And if you keep giving us results like these"—she indicated the tunnel scene, where a closed, enigmatic doorway etched with unknown characters was just passing from view—"and can promise better on-site
. . .
I think you could bet on it."
She looked down the table. "Unless you have an objection to the idea, Colonel Hathaway?"
Hathaway had been quiet, just observing for the most part. Addressed directly, he shook his head. "In principle, no. It's true that
A.J. Baker is no longer in prime physical condition, since the accident. But if, as you imply, we make
Nike
a much larger vessel with a larger crew—which means we can afford some redundancy in personnel—that shouldn't be a major consideration. Especially since his demonstrated skills clearly make him the best choice for sensor work."
"Very good." General Deiderichs spoke up, taking control once more. "Thank you, Ms. Fathom. Ladies, gentlemen, you now know the basic concept. The government recognizes this story will break, and break very soon. When it does, we intend to pressure the legislature to give us the budget, priorities, and authority to proceed at maximum speed to assemble the hardware and personnel for a full-scale expeditionary mission to Phobos. We consider this to be of paramount concern for the security and interests of the United States and of the world at large. The Ares Project will provide its specific expertise in rapid and efficient independent missions to assist NASA, not only in designing
Nike
and her auxiliary systems, but in designing, assembling, and launching multiple supply missions for both Phobos and Mars destinations. Am I correct in assuming, Dr. Buckley, that with a sufficient budget you could prepare and launch a number of large-payload missions which would reach Mars within a year to a year and a half?"
"That would depend on how 'sufficient' the sufficient budget was," Joe said cautiously. "But if we make certain assumptions, and could hire adequate numbers of people, and have access to launch facilities without having to spend three months just getting the clearances
. . .
Yes, I think so."
Deiderichs nodded. "In a week or two we will arrange a meeting with yourself, Director Friedet, and your financial officer—Hank Dufresne, isn't it?—to determine the details of the contract work involved. By that time I believe we should have some reasonably firm numbers to work with."
He's serious, all right. They've got this one planned out.
Joe now found himself regretting, a bit, his sarcastic thoughts about A.J. It turned out that he was no better at resisting temptation, when the Devil offered the spoon.
"In the meantime
. . .
Dr. Gupta. You and Ms. Secord will have to brief the rest of the engineering staff. It is my intention to send a crew of at least thirty, and possibly as many as fifty, people to Phobos. Can such a version of
Nike
be built?"
The sonorous, impressive voice replied immediately. "
Can
it be built? Undoubtedly. In fact, it has already been partially designed. The engineering department has often speculated on the need for larger vessels, and so such designs have been considered many times. There are tentative blueprints for ships twice the size, even ten times the size, of
Nike
as she currently stands. Is this not true, Ms. Secord?"
Jackie smiled. "Yep. Me and several of the guys worked out preliminaries for several
Nike
-based designs. A couple of them would be right around that size. With modern design software and no budget restrictions, I could get you a brand new set of blueprints good enough to start work on in a few weeks. But—"
Gupta took the cue as smoothly as if it had been rehearsed.
"—But, as our colleague Dr. Buckley says, whether it
will
be done depends on a great many things. So many assumptions which must be made to give you an answer. If, as you have implied, the launch is to take place approximately eighteen months from now
. . .
"
He frowned. "I must say that it can only be done—can
only
be done—if your promises become truth. If we must worry about the slowness of the bureaucracy, if we engineers must pass a dozen review boards for every new shelf design, then no. If these things change, then yes, I believe it will be done."
General Deiderichs gave his first smile, a tight but sincere little grin that flashed out and vanished. "I think you will find that bureaucratic roadblocks will begin disappearing very quickly, Doctor. The authority for this mission comes straight from the top, and for once there wasn't even any significant debate about it. As of now, priority requests for the Phobos Mission will override everything else. You can consider yourselves to be working for what will amount to a new Manhattan Project, though with some unavoidable public component to it. Assuming you agree?"
A wave of nods swept the room, ending with A.J.'s.
They've reduced him to speechlessness! Will wonders never cease?
Aloud, Joe said, "Conditional on the implied cooperation on NASA's end, yes. And conditional on Glenn and the rest going along with it. Me and A.J. may represent a large chunk of Ares, but it's not like we own it. I can't really see the rest of them turning this down, especially since I'd guess that if we did, Ares would just get shut down somehow. As long as you're not putting in an actual claim to Ares itself. We're a private concern, and we won't be absorbed into the government."
A quick glance flashed from the general to Fathom. Joe wasn't quite sure, but he
thought
that the blonde woman gave—not a nod, exactly, but a slight movement of the head indicating assent.
Now that's interesting. If I did see that, the General was waiting on
Fathom's
approval? Good Lord. The woman can't be older than her mid-thirties. Where is her authority coming from?
The exchange was all very quick. Others in the room might not have caught it, as several of them were obviously distracted by their own thoughts. In any case, the general's answer came smoothly enough.
"No need to worry, Dr. Buckley. NASA has been working with private companies since its inception. I am sure there will be no need to force you to abandon private industry status. I'm not sure we could do it legally, anyway, even if we wanted to. All we insist upon is that you have to agree to work within our security restrictions until such time as that's no longer necessary."
"Okay, then, I don't see a problem."
"Good." Deiderichs seemed to relax very slightly. "Well, ladies, gentlemen, I believe I've given you all more than enough to think about for the time being. Now, I'm afraid, I have a number of private meetings with various staff scheduled, and quite a few later on with members of Congress in the relevant committees. Ms. Fathom will be remaining here, as any new information will obviously be coming from this installation until further notice."
He rose from his chair. "Unless there is anything else at the moment, this meeting is concluded. Thank you all for your attention and assistance." He left, accompanied by Fathom.
A.J. still looked shell-shocked, until Jackie poked him. "Hey, A.J. Think about it. Now you'll get to design the sensor suite for the Nike. And ride a nuclear rocket to Mars."
"Yeah." A.J. was perking up, but there was still a wary look on his face. "So why am I still looking for the catch?"
"The catch," Hathaway said, getting up, "is that you'd better keep producing. Haven't you got some real work to do, A.J.?"
A.J. glanced at the corner of his virtual display and suddenly scrambled for the door.
"This is why I
hate
meetings!" trailed after him, as he ran out the doorway.
"Bracing calculations, check. Geometry, check. Force configuration, check."
A.J. glanced over all the parameters once more. He'd checked them a dozen times already, but he was still nervous. Three Faeries were about to try to pry open one of the doors, and if something went wrong, he could potentially be cut down to two ISMs—which wouldn't be able to transmit while exploring any distance inside the miniature moon, as at most they'd have only one other for a relay.
He'd told Jackie that he wasn't likely to lose the Faeries. That was true, in a sense, because just blowing the manipulator arms wouldn't be likely to cause trouble. The fact remained that prying on something in zero g carried other risks, especially if something broke. The sudden release of forces and fragments of broken prying arms flying around in close quarters could easily do damage to any of the Faeries. They had been built to survive launch and travel stresses, but only in specially-designed cradles in
Pirate
's equipment bays.
Once he hit the transmit code on this one, there'd be no stopping it; the three little probes would follow their directions to the electronic letter. He ran another simulation. Too many unknowns. They might move the door, or break the Faeries, or anything in between.
At least he was sure there was something to find behind there. Despite the amazingly dispersive and absorptive characteristics of the door—and, apparently, the wall material on the other side—he had managed to gain an idea of the size and layout of the chamber beyond. Shadowy blobs hinted at other objects inside the oval room, which was about twenty-five meters long. He'd been able to get some idea of the composition of the door's exterior, which was an odd alloy of iron, copper, beryllium, and apparently mercury and silicon in small quantities. But the precise alloy wasn't known—and whatever was inside wasn't the same material. It might have a core of some sort of insulation, with the exterior clad in the aliens' version of armor plate.