He had interpreted her question impersonally. With Tricia he should have known better. She laughed, the insider’s laugh he knew so well.
“Now you stop that. You know what I mean. How are you}”
“I’m fine, Tricia. One thing about being President, people do coddle you. A better question is, how are you managing out at Highgates?”
As he spoke he glanced at an expanded metsat view of the local area. Highgates lay fifty miles to the west and slightly south, in Virginia horse country. Like the rest of the region, the four square miles of estate surrounding the forty-room mansion of Highgates was blanketed with snow.
“Well, it’s hard to go anywhere.” Tricia’s voice was resolutely upbeat. “So for the past week I haven’t tried. We have our own generators and our own wells and plenty of food. I’m learning to enjoy solitude. I can’t complain. And you know me, I never do.”
She was right. Tricia took misfortune in her stride, chin up and head held high. It was one of her best points. She complained about nothing — or about only one thing, which Saul was not going to mention.
“You are wise to stay home,” he said. “I’m trying to bring services and systems back, but it’s slow going. Staying at Highgates makes good sense.”
“Oh, don’t say that.” There was a joking pout in her voice. He could visualize her dark-eyed face, as clearly as if they had a videophone connection.
“I’m planning a trip into Washington tomorrow or the day after,” she went on. “I was really hoping I could stop by and say hello. You tell me you’re fine, but I’d like to see for myself and make sure. You drive yourself too hard, you know. You’re too busy with others to take care of your own health.”
Getting from Highgates to Washington would be difficult, but Saul knew better than to suggest that to Tricia as an obstacle to their meeting. She would find a way.
“Tomorrow would be good. How about dinner? Here?” The words seemed to emerge from his mouth without the involvement of his forebrain.
“That will be perfect.”
He regained some self-control. “It won’t be just the two of us, I’m afraid. There have to be some other people present, and we’ll be talking business.”
Saul could do what he liked with his calendar. Tomorrow had nothing that could not be moved. He was testing, searching for information.
“That’s all right,” she said at once. “So long as we can both be there. About six? I know you like to eat early.”
“That will be good.”
“Wonderful. You know, I’m really looking forward to seeing you. Bye, Saul.”
Before he could add anything, the line went dead. Saul leaned back in the padded chair, specially designed for his predecessor, and breathed deep. It had been two years and more since they had spoken to each other, but his heart was racing. He had not known what Tricia wanted when he placed the call to her, and he had no better idea now.
The list of callers was still sitting in front of him, open to the last sheet. He didn’t even want to think about them, until he noticed Yasmin Silvers’s name at the top of the page. How had he overlooked that earlier?
He knew. He had been focused totally on Tricia. The initials next to Yasmin’s name showed that she had spoken with Auden Travis, but there was no message summary.
Saul touched the intercom. “Auden? I see Yasmin Silvers called. You spoke with her.”
“Yes, sir. Should I come in?”
“No need for that.” Saul detected a curiously cold tone to Travis’s voice. Had the two of them been arguing? “What did Yasmin want?”
“It was an information call only, sir, that’s why her message shows low priority. She had been heading south. She said that you had authorized her trip — to the Q-5 Syncope Facility at Maryland Point?”
“Quite right.” Saul ignored the implied question, why? “I did. She ought to be there by now.”
“She isn’t. She was not able to travel, yesterday or today. She says the roads to the south are closed because of high snowdrifts.”
“Where is she?”
“She is staying at a place called Indian Head. It’s about forty kilometers south of here.”
“What is it? The name is familiar.”
“It is an old Navy weapons center — very old, I gather.”
“Does she need help?”
“She did not ask for it, sir. It would also be difficult to provide it, because the roads from here are close to impassable.”
“Very good. Thank you, Auden.” Logically, that was the end of that subject. Yasmin Silvers was in a known location, and she was safe. Saul ought to get back to other matters, like the high-priority items on the list. But at some hidden level his brain was at work, linking Yasmin and Indian Head with the words and agenda of Nick Lopez. Whatever Mander and Lopez might be, they were not fools.
He walked over to the bureau in the corner of the office and pulled out a volume of large-scale maps of the local region. Finding a selected location in the atlas was harder work than the Query-and-Display system, with its instant map information for any point coded into the worldwide digital data base. But the Q-and-D was down, and would be until a version could be pipelined in from the intact Prospero-rated intelligence data center at Boiling Air Force Base. Maybe three more days, according to Grace Mackay. Meanwhile . . .
Saul found Indian Head. Naturally, the old Navy base was on the river. It stood at the point where the Potomac turned, broadened, and began a long sweep due south. It was easy to see how Yasmin had become stuck there. From Indian Head all the way to the deliberately isolated outpost of Maryland Point and the Facility for Extended Syncope, the only roads were second- or third-class highways.
And Auden Travis was right, too. With few plows available, the roads down to Indian Head would still be deep in drifts.
It would be difficult for Saul to drive there until the drifts were cleared. But other avenues lay open — if you were President.
He glanced over to the stately grandfather clock, imported a week and a half ago into the office. Three-thirty. There would be time enough.
He touched the intercom unit that sat on the bureau. “Auden? Please call Yasmin Silvers and tell her I would like to have dinner with her this evening at Indian Head. I have some matters that I need to discuss with her personally. And call General Mackay. I want a vessel ready and waiting to carry me downriver to Indian Head. I will leave here one and a half hours from now.”
He broke off the connection without waiting for a reply from Auden Travis. No matter how much the aide misread Saul’s motives and disapproved of them, he wouldn’t dare to say it. And it was just possible that he was not totally wrong.
An hour and a half. Saul walked back to his desk. The list of callers still sat there, staring at him accusingly. Eighteen hundred calls, an hour and a half to make them. Three seconds for each.
Saul closed the folder.
As one of his more easygoing predecessors was apt to say, before retiring for a couple of martinis and an evening of relaxation, “We have to be sure to leave some work for tomorrow.”
13
By six o’clock it was already dark. Outside, the snow fell steadily. President Steinmetz had been sent safely on his way, after a hectic hour and a half in which Auden Travis had tried to do two days’ work. Now Auden could take off his coat, roll up his shirtsleeves, and catch up on some of his other duties.
The emergency power system of the White House had not been designed for extended use. A week and a half was well beyond its intended lifetime, and now and again the lights flickered and dimmed. Each time Auden stopped, sat back, stretched, and allowed himself a moment of rest. If the power reduction lasted more than a few seconds, he would have to find out what was happening.
It was during one of those moments of power reduction that Nick Lopez quietly entered the little office.
Auden, flustered, sat up and took his hands from behind his head. “I’m sorry, Senator. I didn’t know you were still here.”
Lopez just grinned. “I wasn’t here. I left, and I came back. Any chance of a few more minutes with el Presidente?”
“Not tonight. He’s on his way to Indian Head — by boat.”
“Is he, now?” Lopez gazed at Auden shrewdly. Without being asked, he pulled up a chair and settled onto it. He moved easily, and with unusual grace. “May I ask why?”
“He has a meeting there with one of the staff.” Auden was going to say no more, but Nick Lopez was staring at him with quiet sympathy. “With Yasmin Silvers.”
“Ah.” Lopez winked at Auden in a knowing way. His broad, good-natured face showed understanding and no hint of censure. “Well, I’m sure Saul has earned it. You know what they say, all work and no play . . .”
“It may be a business meeting.”
“It may.” Lopez smiled at Auden. “Then again, it may not. Your loyalty does you credit. Meanwhile, you are left here, to work and work and work. What time do you stop?”
“When I feel I’m not being productive anymore.” Auden gestured to his desk, piled high with notes and folders and clipboards. He knew Nick Lopez’s reputation, but it was flattering to have so important a man take a personal interest in what he was doing. “There’s always plenty of work — especially now, when the support systems don’t function.”
“Of course. Work is important. But you are young, it ought not to be all work. You should have some social life.”
“Is there any? I thought the city was at a standstill.”
“In some ways. But life goes on, even now. As a matter of fact, this very evening—” Lopez paused. “Look, a couple of my friends are having a little party. I told them I couldn’t make it, because I knew I would be coming here and I hoped to spend some time with the President. But now I can go. It’s not far from the White House, across Lafayette Park and a few blocks north. The streets are dangerous, but I’ll get a security escort. Why don’t you take a break and come along with me?”
It was tempting. Auden was tired to the point where he wasn’t sure he was getting anything useful done. On the other hand . . . “Senator Lopez, thank you for the invitation. But I don’t think I should. I don’t know your friends. They don’t know me.”
“It’s quite informal, and there will be a fair number of people there. I suspect you will know some of them already.” Lopez moved his chair closer. “I’ve been close to Jeremy and Raoul for years, you don’t need an invitation if you arrive with me. And they are nice people. I’m sure you would like them.”
“I wish I could. But I have a lot of work to do.” Auden stared at Lopez’s big, brown hand, with a thick gold band on its index finger. It was a contrast to his own forearm, white and freckled and golden-haired and just a couple of inches away. He withdrew his arm a little, trying to make the movement look natural. “It’s really nice of you to ask me.”
“I think you would enjoy yourself.” Nick Lopez pulled his hand away and smiled warmly at Auden. “Look, this is going to sound peculiar. But are you scared of me?”
“Scared? Well, no, not scared, I wouldn’t say that.” Auden did his best to smile back. “But you have a — well, let’s say, a reputation.”
“Auden, for Christ’s sake.” Nick Lopez laughed aloud. “I’m a politician, and this is Washington. The original city for, ’Unless you’ve got something horrible to say about him, I don’t want to hear it.’ Remember Harry Truman’s advice? ’If you want a friend in Washington, get a dog.’ Sure, people say things about me. They say things about your boss, too. One day they’ll say things about you.”
“But there was — well, that court case . . .” Auden couldn’t bring himself to be more specific.
“Raymond Silvers, and his attempt to kill me? That’s a perfect example of what I mean. If you want to know what really happened, you should read the actual court hearings. You’ll see that I didn’t do a thing except reject his unwanted advances. But the media all hate me, I’m much too patriotic for them. They distort everything. I can’t let their rumors and lies control my life. Or yours.” He moved his hand again, this time placing it lightly onto Auden’s forearm. Auden felt the goose bumps rise, as unwanted and as uncontrollable as a blush.
“Look,” Lopez went on, “I’ll make you a promise. You arrive at the party with me, but after that you’re on your own. You talk with anyone you want to. You do whatever you want to. You leave anytime you want to. What do you say?”
“It sounds very interesting. I’ve hardly left my desk for two weeks. And I haven’t been out to a party in months. My clothes—”
“ — are fine, just the way they are. I told you, this is informal. One question, though. Do you have anybody at the moment?”
“You mean, anybody, like—”
“Yes, that is exactly what I mean. Look, Auden, I’m not being nosy, but I know one thing for sure. When I show up at the party with somebody looking like you, and people realize that the two of us aren’t an item, that’s the first question I’m going to be asked. So I’m asking you ahead of time. Do you have someone?”
“Not right now, Senator. Last year.”
“Not ’Senator,’ please. Call me Nick, or Nicky — you’ll have to call me that at the party; everyone else does. And last year was last year, it doesn’t count. We all have pasts. Now the New Year, reviving old desires . . . Ah, my beloved, fill the cup that clears, today of past regrets and future fears . . .” He took Auden’s hand and squeezed it. “Now, I’m really in your power. You have a secret of mine that all Washington would love to know, something you must never reveal. Nick Lopez, quoting old poetry — and not even good old American poetry. It would ruin my reputation. Let’s go.”
And, as Auden rolled down his shirtsleeves and picked up his jacket, Lopez added softly and in a different voice, “There’s one other thing I have to say, Au-den. You can make what you like of this, forget it or ignore it or use it any way you choose. But so far as I am concerned, I’m really thrilled that you don’t have anybody now.”
14
When would the orbiters leave the space station to make their reentry?
Where would they land?
Who would be on each one?
Zoe Nash had taken total responsibility for those three decisions. “I’ll tell you, when, and where, and who.”
Zoe was confident, if not casual, and for that Celine was profoundly grateful. Thinking about the situation as she made her way through the silent interior of ISS-2, she knew she would have agonized endlessly and never been able to come up with answers. She was a natural procrastinator, able to see a hundred roads to failure.
How much preparation was enough? To Celine, two days was a ridiculously short time. On the other hand, you could check instruments and programs forever and still miss something. How did you divide the group in two? It was absolutely necessary, but how did you decide the mix of skills to place on each orbiter? The whole point of the Mars expedition crew was that it worked best as a single integrated unit.
Fortunately, Celine had a practical task to occupy her mind. She had been told to search the derelict for a dozen of a particular type of bonding clamp, needed in the orbiters, and she had located a whole cabinet of them in the central supply room of ISS-2. Now she was heading back through the desolate corridors. The previous two days had not hardened her to the sight of the frozen corpses, but she knew where they were and she had learned not to look at them.
At the open airlock she paused. In front of her, framed against the backdrop of a sunlit Earth, hung the Schiaparelli. It had been home for so long, the very idea of leaving it was frightening. To leave it in one of those - she glanced to her right, at the tiny, vulnerable orbiters — was doubly daunting. The interiors, even with the padded seats pulled out, were impossibly small. They were definitely one-person ships.
If everything went well, Lewis and Clark — Reza Armani’s off-the-cuff names for the twin orbiters had stuck — would return to a torn and battered planet, whose peculiar cloud patterns and high dust clou
ds were evidence of the physical trauma that the world had suffered. What would the crew find when they landed? The radio signals remained sparse and weak, with some countries and continents totally silent. The Schiaparelli had sent calls for help and information on all frequencies. It had received not a word or a beep in reply.
Celine floated her way across to Clark, the nearer orbiter. She confirmed that the clamps were the right size and style to attach the hammocks to the walls, and performed the simple installation. The hammocks were tough, made of Mars tent materials that by good fortune had neither been landed on Mars nor discarded before the return trip. Without seats, hammocks would be the crew’s only cushion against the high accelerations of reentry.
Celine tested that the bonds would hold for body loads up to thirty gees. Beyond that, humans would not survive even if the clamps could. She moved across to Lewis and performed the same task of installation. Then she headed to the home ship — home, at least, for another few hours — and passed through the Schiaparelli’s airlock. She removed her suit, rubbed her itching eyes, and floated on to the main cabin.
The other crew members were already there. Zoe gave Celine an inquiring glance, and she nodded.
“I found them. They fit.”
“Good. Jenny?”
Jenny Kopal was crouched over a diagnostic pad. She shrugged. “I can only debug to a point using simulated inputs. According to every test routine that I have, the chips we put into the orbiters from this ship will perform identically to the dead ones they replaced. I loaded them all from the general program library for single-stage orbiters. But you know what they say. No matter how much testing you do, every program always has one bug left in it.”
“Let’s hope it’s a bug we don’t encounter before we’re down on Earth.” Zoe leaned back. “Alta?”
“I don’t know.” Alta paused and thought for thirty seconds. “I guess the orbiters are as ready as they’ll ever be. I’m still worried about center-of-mass changes because of the unusual loading. But I think any one of us could fly one.”
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