To himself he added, but I’ll be on Mars, shitheads, while you’re still down here.
NIGHT: SOL 48
IT WAS ALREADY NIGHT ON THE BROAD ROLLING PLAIN OF LUNAE PLANUM, yet Possum Craig was still driving the old rover—cautiously, at a mere ten kilometers per hour. He and Dex Trumball had agreed that they could mooch out a little extra mileage after sunset, before they stopped for the night.
Trumball had the radio set to the general comm frequency, so they heard Rodriguez and Fuchida’s landing at the same time the four in the base camp did.
“Those two poor bastards gotta live in their suits until they get back to th’ dome,” Craig said.
“Look on the bright side, Wiley. They get to test the F.E.S.”
The hard suits had a special fitting that was supposed to make an airtight connection to the chemical toilet seat. The engineers called it the Fecal Elimination System.
“The ol’ trapdoor,” Craig muttered. “I bet they wind up usin’ Kaopectate.”
Sitting beside him in the cockpit, Dex replied with a grin, “While we’ve got all the comforts of home.”
Craig made a thoughtful face. “For an old clunker, this travelin’ machine is doin’ purty well. No complaints.”
“Not yet.”
Dex had spent most of the day in his hard suit. They had stopped the rover every hundred klicks for him to go outside and plant geology/ meteorology beacons. Now he sat relaxed in his coveralls, watching the scant slice of ground illuminated by the rover’s headlights.
“You could goose her up to twenty,” Dex prodded.
“Yeah, and I could slide ‘er into a crater before we had time to stop or turn away,” Craig shot back. He tapped a forefinger on the digital clock display. “Time to call it a day, anyway.”
“You tired already?”
“Nope, and I don’t want to drive when I am tired.”
“I could drive for a while,” said Dex.
Pressing gently on the brake pedals, Craig said, “Let’s just call it a day, buddy. We’ve made good time. Enough is enough.”
Trumball seemed to think it over for a moment, then pulled himself out of the cockpit chair. “Okay. You’re the boss.”
Craig laughed. “Shore I am.”
“Now, what’s that supposed to mean?” Trumball asked over his shoulder as he headed back to the minuscule galley.
Craig slid the plastic heat-retaining screen across the windshield, then got up and stretched so hard that Dex could hear his tendons pop.
“It means that I’m th’ boss long’s you want to be agreeable.”
“I’m agreeable,” Dex said.
“Then ever ‘thing’s fine and dandy.”
Sliding one of the prepackaged meals from its freezer tray, Trumball said to the older man, “No, seriously, Wiley. Jamie put you in charge. I’ve got no bitch with that.”
Still stretching, his hands scraping the curved overhead, Craig said, “Okay. Fine.”
“Something bugging you?”
“Naw. Forget it.”
As he put the meal tray into the microwave cooker, Dex said, ‘ ‘Hey, come on, Wiley. It’s just you and me out here. If something’s wrong, tell me about it.”
Craig made a face somewhere between annoyed and sheepish. “Well, it’s kinda silly, I guess.”
“What is it, for chrissakes?”
With a tired puff of breath, Craig sank onto his bunk.
“Well, I’m kinda pissed about bein’ a second-class citizen around here.”
Trumball stared at him in amazement. “Second-class citizen?”
“Yeah, you know—they all think I’m nothin’ more’n a repairman, for shit’s sake.”
“Well—”
“I’m a scientist, just like you and the rest of y’all,” Craig grumbled. “Maybe I didn’t get my degree from a big-name school, and maybe I’ve spent most of my time workin’ for oil companies …” he pronounced oil as awl “… but I was smart enough to get picked over a lotta guys with fancier pedigrees.”
“Sure you are.”
“That Fuchida. Damned Jap’s so uptight I think if he sneezed he’d come apart. Looks at me like I’m a servant or something.”
“That’s just his way.”
“And the women! They act like I’m a grandfather or somethin’. Hell, I’m younger’n Jamie. I’m younger than Stacy is, did you know that?”
For the first time, Dex Trumball understood that Craig was hurting. And vulnerable. This jowly, shaggy, good-natured bear of a man with the prominent snoot and permanent five-o’clock shadow wants to be treated with some respect. That makes him usable, Dex realized.
“Listen, Wiley,” Dex began, “I didn’t know that we were hurting your feelings.”
“Not you, so much. It’s the rest of ‘em. They think I’m just here to be their bleepin’ repairman. ‘Least you call me Wiley. Never did like bein’ called Possum. My name’s Peter J. Craig.”
The microwave oven chimed. Dex ignored it and sat on his own bunk, opposite Craig’s. “I’ll get them to call you Wiley, then. Or Peter, if you prefer.”
“Wiley is fine.”
A smile crept across Trumball’s face. “Okay. Then it’s going to be Wiley from now on. I’ll make certain that Jamie and the others get the word.”
Looking embarrassed, Craig mumbled, “Kinda silly, ain’t it.”
“No, no,” Dex said. “If Jamie and the others are bothering you, you’ve got a right to complain about it.”
To himself Trumball thought, If and when we get to a place where I’ve got to outgun Jamie, I’ll need Wiley on my side. Wiley, and as many of the others as I can round up.
Jamie spent nearly an hour after dinner talking with Rodriguez and Fuchida atop Olympus
Mons.
They were spending the night in their seats in the plane’s cockpit. Like trying to sleep in an airliner, Jamie thought. Tourist class. In hard suits. He did not envy them their creature comforts.
Still in the comm center, he scrolled through the messages that had accumulated through the long, eventful, draining day. It took more than another hour to deal with them: everything from a request for more VR sessions from the International Council of Science Teachers to a reminder that his mission status report for the week was due in the morning.
One message was from Darryl C. Trumball. Since it was marked PERSONAL AND CONFIDENTIAL, Jamie saved it, planning to go to his own quarters before he looked at it.
But when he finished all the other messages, he glanced up from the comm screen and saw that the dome was darkened for the night. Suddenly it seemed chilly, as if the frigid cold of the Martian night were seeping through the dome’s plastic walls.
No one seemed to be about. No voices, only the background sounds of the machinery and, if he listened carefully enough, the soft sighing of the night wind outside.
So he opened Trumball’s personal message.
Darryl C. Trumball’s eyes were blazing, his skull-like face grim as death.
“Who in the hell gave you the authority to send my son out on this excursion to the Sagan site?” he began, furious, with no preamble.
”Goddammit to hell and back, Waterman, I specifically gave orders not to allow Dex out on that excursion!”
And so it went, for nearly fifteen blistering minutes. Jamie watched Trumball’s angry face, flabbergasted at first, then growing angry himself.
But as the older man blathered on, Jamie’s anger slowly dissolved. Behind Trumball’s bluster, he saw a man worried about his son’s safety, a man accustomed to power and authority, but totally frustrated now because there was no way he could control the men and women on Mars. No way he could control his own son.
He can’t even talk to us face-to-face, Jamie knew. All he can do is rant and rave and wait to see if we respond to him.
Trumball finally wound down and finished with, “I want you to know, Waterman, that you cannot countermand my orders and get away with it. You’ll pay for this! And if anything happens to my son, you’ll pay with your goddamned blood!”
The screen went blank. Jamie reran the whole message, then froze Trumball’s angry, snarling image at its end.
Leaning back in the squeaking little wheeled chair, Jamie wondered if he should be firm or conciliatory. A soft answer turneth away wrath, he thought, but Trumball won’t be diverted that easily.
There’s more involved here than a squabble between Trumball and me, he told himself. That old man is a primary force behind the funding for this expedition—and the next. If you want a smooth road for the next expedition, Jamie told himself, you’ve got to keep Trumball on the team.
Yet as he stared at the coldly furious image on the screen, anger simmered anew within Jamie. Trumbull has no right to scream at me or anybody else like that. If he’s sore at his son, he should take it out on Dex, not me. And if I give him the impression that he can push me around, he’ll start making more demands. He’s a bully; the more I give in to him the more he’ll take.
What’s the best path, Grandfather? How can I do this without causing more pain?
He took a deep breath, then pressed the key that activated the computer’s tiny camera. Jamie saw its red eye come on, just atop Trumball’s stilled image on the screen.
“Mr. Trumball,” he began slowly, “I can understand your concern for your son’s safety. I had no idea you sent a message that Dex was not to go on the excursion to pick up the Pathfinder hardware. There was no such message addressed to me. And with all due respect, sir, you are not in command of this expedition. I am. You are not in a position to give orders.”
Jamie looked directly into the camera’s unblinking red eye and continued, “Neither Dex nor anyone else here will receive any special privileges. The idea for picking up Pathfinder was his, and he certainly wanted to go out on the excursion. Even had I known of your wishes, I’m afraid I would have had to go against them. This is Dex’s job, and I’m sure he’ll do it without trouble.
“He’s got the best man we have along with him: Dr. Craig. If they run into any difficulties, they will return to base. I had—I have, no intention of taking foolish risks with anyone’s life.”
Unconsciously hunching closer to the camera, Jamie concluded, “I know that you helped to raise most of the money for this expedition, and we’re all very grateful for that. But that doesn’t give you the authority to make decisions about our work here. You can go to the ICU and complain to them if you want to. But frankly, I don’t see what even they could do for you. We’re here, more than a hundred million kilometers from Earth, and we have to make our own decisions.
“I’m sorry this particular decision has you so upset and worried. Maybe when Dex comes back with the Pathfinder and Sojourner you’ll feel differently. Good night.”
He tapped the keyboard twice: once to turn off the camera, the other to transmit his message to Trumball. Only then did he blank the old man’s image from the screen.
“I would’ve told him to stick it up his arse.”
Jamie wheeled around and saw Vijay leaning against the partition doorway, holding a steaming mug in both hands, as if she were trying to warm herself with it.
“How long have you been there?”
She came in and sat down beside him. “I was getting myself a cuppa when 1 heard Hex’s dad ranting.”
She was in her bulky coral-red turtleneck sweater and loose-fitting jeans instead of the usual coveralls, sitting so close to him that Jamie caught the delicate scent of the herbal tea she was drinking, sensed its warmth.
He said, “The old man must’ve told Dex he didn’t want him going out on this excursion and Dex never informed me about it.”
Vijay took a sip from the steaming mug. “Should he have?”
“It would’ve helped.”
“Maybe he was afraid you’d nix the excursion if you knew.”
Jamie shook his head. “I couldn’t do that. Let somebody like Trumball think he can boss you around and you’ll never hear the last of him.”
She dipped her chin in agreement. “There is that.”
“I just hope nothing happens while he’s out there,” Jamie said.
“Din’t you hope that anyway? Before Trumball’s blast, I mean.”
“Yeah, sure, but … you know what I mean.”
“Yes, I suppose I do.”
Jamie blurted, “You slept with him, didn’t you?”
“With Dex?”
“During the flight.” Jamie was shocked that he mentioned it. The words had come out before he realized what he was going to say.
Vijay nodded, her expression fathomless. “Yes. Once.”
“Once,” he repeated.
With an odd little smile, Vijay said, “You get to know a lot about a man when he’s got his pants down.”
Jamie ran out of words.
“I told you he was an alpha male,” she said. “Same as you are.”
He nodded glumly.
“I’m attracted to alpha males.”
“So you’re attracted to him.”
“I was. Now I’m attracted to you.”
“Me?”
She broke into a smile. “Do you see anybody else around here?”
Jamie felt off balance. She’s teasing me. She must be teasing.
Placing her mug on the corner of the console desk, Vijay said, “You’re attracted to me, aren’t you?”
“Urn, sure.”
She got to her feet and put her hand out to him. “So the only question remaining is, your place or mine?”
Jamie stood up slowly, not certain his legs would support him. “It’s not that simple, Vijay. You said that yourself.”
“That was then. This is now.”
“But …”
She planted her hands on her hips. “My god, Jamie, you’re as bad as most Aussie blokes!”
“I didn’t mean—”
She stepped up to him and slid her arms around his neck. “Don’t you ever feel lonely?” she whispered. “Or scared? We’re so alone out here. So far from home. Doesn’t it ever get to you?”
Her voice wasn’t teasing now. He held her tightly and could feel her trembling. Beneath all the flip talk she was shivering with anxiety.
“I don’t want to be alone tonight, Jamie.”
“Neither do I,” he admitted at last. “Neither do I.”