He shook his head, then looked back at the display. It did look destructive, he had to admit, but the icy asteroids would melt within Mars’s scant atmosphere and increase the water content of the dead world. The water would match up with seeds the terraforming crews had already scattered, starting the slow development of a breathable atmosphere. Brute-force terraforming, as the aliens called it, would still take upwards of a hundred years, but by the time it had finished Mars would live again. The only real problem was warming the planet long enough to develop a proper greenhouse effect.
I wonder if the environmentalists will stop screaming about the asteroids long enough to start screaming about the greenhouse effect, he wondered, nastily. That’s another evil buzzword for them.
But it was necessary, he knew. Mars was a cold world. The heat of the sun was already diluted by the time it reached the planet, forcing the engineers to develop an ozone layer to keep as much heat as possible trapped on the planet. There was a perfectly natural version of the greenhouse effect on Earth, after all, and it had worked very well for thousands upon thousands of years. Duplicating it for Mars was an urgent requirement.
The small crowd fell silent as the first asteroid plummeted into the planet’s atmosphere. Even though the atmosphere was thin, it left a fiery trail as it fell downwards and eventually slammed into the planet’s surface. Steve sucked in his breath sharply as the display pulled out, revealing the atmospheric patterns slowly spreading out over Mars. They were oddly beautiful, even though he knew that anyone within a hundred miles of the impact would be very unlikely to survive. He couldn't help wondering if they had created a new art form.
We should have learned from the asteroid that wiped out the dinosaurs, he thought, remembering one of Keith Glass’s impassioned anti-NASA rants. Nothing NASA could have done would have saved humanity, if a large asteroid had plummeted towards the Earth and smashed into the planet. Indeed, reading between the lines in the alien files, it seemed that asteroid impacts were often used to depopulate worlds, with everyone involved swearing blind that it wasn't actually deliberate genocide. Not that the victims would have cared by then, he suspected. Anyone lucky enough to survive the impact would die soon afterwards, killed by environmental change or the destruction of civilisation.
Hell, the environmentalists should have gotten behind NASA and pushed, he thought, dryly. Or is it only bad if humans are responsible for environmental change?
The second asteroid had a longer trajectory through the planet’s atmosphere before it finally struck the surface and exploded. Steve watched, staring in awe, as the next few asteroids slammed down in quick succession, each one adding more water droplets to the planet’s atmosphere. Time seemed to slow down as the atmosphere changed, great clouds of dust rising up into the higher levels, then slowly drifting back towards the planet’s surface. The engineers had predicted that, Steve knew, and they’d welcomed it. Dust in the atmosphere would help trap the heat from the explosions.
He heard a cheer as the final impact slammed home, then relaxed. He’d known that nothing could go wrong, yet he’d worried endlessly. Mars wasn't quite as important, economically, as the asteroids, but humanity needed a new home that wasn't dependent on life support. If the aliens came calling before Earth was ready ... he shook his head, dismissing the thought in irritation. They wouldn't stand a chance if someone more advanced than the Horde turned up, not for several years. If that happened, Steve’s only real option was to run.
Shadow Warrior could keep a small human population alive for centuries, if necessary. They could make their way to a far distant star system and start again, using the vessel’s technology to rebuild human society. They could make it ... but he didn't want to abandon Earth. It would be the ultimate failure of his long-term plan.
“The spectacular part is over,” he said, as the ripples from the last asteroid slowly faded away. “But, right now, it’s raining on Mars for the first time in eternity.”
He accessed the interface, then displayed the view from the sensors they’d placed on Mars. Droplets of water were falling from the sky and splashing on the ground, then slowly sinking into the planet’s soil. The drones were already deploying the first seeds, seeds that would take root and start producing oxygen as well as bringing life back to the soil. Given ten years, Mars would look green rather than red as the plants spread rapidly. But that would only be the start of the terraforming process.
Smiling, Steve looked towards the members of the Mars Society. They’d drawn up endless plans to colonise Mars, plans that had never been put into action ... until now. Steve had seen some of their work and admired it, even though he knew that alien technology and communications would fundamentally change some of their plans. But it would be interesting, he told himself, to see what sort of society developed on Mars.
It will still be decades before proper colonisation can begin, he told himself, as he stepped over to meet them. And by then, the world will have changed beyond all recognition.
“We wanted to thank you in person,” the leader said. Steve hated being mobbed, but the society members didn't seem to care. “What you’ve done today is remarkable.”
“Thank you,” Steve said. “And your work is pretty impressive too.”
“But not quite in the same league,” the leader said. “When can we begin actually settling the planet?”
Steve shrugged. “When we get more transport organised,” he said. The Americans, Russians and Europeans had started producing spacecraft for the Earth-Mars journey, they just needed to be lifted up into orbit. If some of the ideas about duplicating alien antigravity technology actually worked – and could be done with purely human engineering – the whole process would expand rapidly. “And then you can start organising the first colony mission.”
It would be a more controlled process, he knew, than the plan to settle the asteroids. Mars was a whole planet, after all. And there were more legal issues; technically, settling Mars was also illegal under the Outer Space Treaty. But Steve was not inclined to care about a piece of ill thought out legislation he hadn't signed ... and nor were the other developed countries, now. They were more interested in getting all they could from the lunar settlement and its monopoly on alien technology.
“We look forward to it,” the leader assured him. “And thank you for the space station.”
Steve had to smile. The space station in question was purely human technology – and inflatable, much to his private horror. Combined with a small amount of alien technology, however, it had rapidly proven a viable concept. The Mars Society would be able to maintain a watch on the planet and the automated sensors on the surface indefinitely. But if the Horde decided to use it for target practice, he knew, it wouldn't stand a chance.
“You’re welcome,” he said. Actually, all he’d done was provide transport. “And I wish you the very best of luck.”
He moved through the compartment, exchanging a few words with each of the people, several of whom had paid through the nose to be allowed to watch from the starship. It still perplexed him that people, even sensible people who had made their own fortunes, were willing to throw so much of it away on a whim, but he’d stopped complaining. If nothing else, it helped fund the endless demands of the lunar colony.
“I've got plans to move most of my plants to the moon, if you will have me,” one computer tycoon said. He’d built up several plants over the last few years, trying to ride the cutting edge of computer development. “We think we can use the lunar gravity and the planned stations in space to improve the technology remarkably.”
Steve nodded. It would bring more industry to the moon, which was always important, but it would also allow them to continue researching alien technology. One secret, at least, had already been cracked. It was incredibly difficult to produce a perfect room-temperature superconductor on Earth, but it was quite possible in zero-gravity. It was also possible to produce perfect diamonds, which were likely to cause their own problems. The diam
ond cartels would probably start hiring assassins when they realised that they were about to be fatally undercut.
Not that we would waste our time on it, he thought. We need the diamonds for industrial processes.
He smiled at the tycoon, then moved on to the next couple of viewers. One of them was an extraordinarily successful romance writer, who was a millionaire despite her books being – in Mariko’s opinion – little more than glorified pornography. Steve had taken a look, purely out of scientific enquiry, and decided the woman was a hack. But she got paid for it, so she must have hundreds upon thousands of fans. Maybe, the cynic in him added, the outfit she wore helped. It was supposed to be a spacesuit, he guessed, but it was so tight that he could see her nipples quite clearly.
“This is quite inspiring,” she gushed, as she took his hand and shook it, firmly. Steve was hard-pressed to place her accent. “I really feel someone could write an extraordinary story on Mars.”
“I’m sure someone could,” Steve agreed, deciding not to mention just how many writers had set books on Mars without actually setting foot on the planet. “Do you plan to move here?”
“I think I will stay on the moon, for now,” the writer said. “It has great atmosphere – and besides” – her face suddenly hardened – “the tax is minimal. And far less confusing.”
Steve couldn't disagree. Tax forms were one of his pet hates.
“But this is really romantic, in a way,” the writer continued. “Do you think your partner would be interested in an interview?”
“I’m sure she would,” Steve lied. He had barely seen anything of Mariko over the past week, despite the teleporter. She was busy with the medical clinic in New York. “Now, if you will excuse me ...”
“But there’s so much room for a story,” the writer said. “Just imagine it; two people find love and romance among the asteroids. Perhaps two people who hate each other have to mine an asteroid together. Or perhaps they’re trying to be together, despite their parents ...”
“I’m sure I saw a movie like that once,” Steve said. “But if you put two people who hate each other into the same tight space, they’ll probably wind up killing each other instead of falling in love.”
“But if they were smart enough to realise that they would only get arrested,” the writer said, “wouldn’t there be a chance then? There could be all forms of sex in it as they slowly grow accustomed to each other ...”
Steve felt his temper snap. “You can write whatever stories you like, provided they are about fictional people,” he said. “But I don’t think it would be very realistic.”
The writer looked offended. “I’m just trying to get ahead of the curve here,” she said. “I thought there were already applications for sex in zero-gravity. Or isn't it as good as it sounds?”
Steve glowered at her, then stomped off. He'd tried sex in zero-gravity with Mariko, but it hadn't been quite as interesting or exciting as space opera pornography had suggested. It was more of an exercise in orbital docking than anything else. But if someone wanted to try it ... the writer was right, he had to admit. There were no shortage of requests for private compartments in the planned space hotel.
He shook his head, tiredly, as he approached the porthole and peered down at Mars. The red planet looked tired and worn, not unlike how Steve himself felt. There were just too many things that needed his attention, even though he’d started to build up a staff and hand as many responsibilities to his subordinates as possible. Recruiting newcomers, placing orders for technology and supplies on Earth, keeping an eye open for possible trouble from the planet ... and ducking requests, pleas and demands that he share his technology with everyone. He couldn't help wondering if this explained why so many bad ideas had been allowed to enter the American system. The idiots who wanted them had just kept whining until the sensible people had given in. And then the ideas had been very – very – difficult to remove.
It had been much easier managing a ranch, he told himself, sourly. Or even commanding Marines in combat. Instead, he found himself signing papers, making deals with governments and corporations and trying desperately to find some time for himself. No matter how capable his staff was becoming, he was still overwhelmed.
Maybe this is why CEOs keep fucking their secretaries, he thought, dryly. They’re so stressed by their work that they really need the sex.
He let out another sigh, wishing that Kevin was back in the Sol System. But it would be another two weeks, at the very least, before he could return. Steve had no way of knowing what was happening outside the Sol System, or just what the Horde was doing. Were they considering another attack on Earth? Or were they still unaware that they’d lost three ships, instead of just one? There was no way to know.
Shaking his head, he strode back towards the bridge, avoiding the remainder of the guests before they could speak to him. Let them wait, if it was urgent; he didn't need more prattling congratulations. Did the President ever feel this way, he asked himself; did he ever feel like just walking away from the job? It would have seemed absurd, years ago, that he would have anything in common with the President. But he understood, now, the sheer weight of power that the President had assumed. It would be easy, far too easy, to make mistakes ... and then refuse to accept failure. When someone was so powerful, every little failure would feel like a complete disaster.
On the bridge, the sensor crews were monitoring Mars. Everything was proceeding according to plan, he noted. There might be a need for more asteroids in the future, but not for several months at least. They’d also have to unlock the water in the ice caps ...
His interface buzzed, reporting an urgent message from Earth.
“Steve,” Mongo’s voice said, “you have to get back here urgently. The shit has hit the fan.”
Steve blanched. It took seventeen minutes for a message to travel from Earth to Mars. Not long, by Galactic standards, but far too long by humanity’s standards.
“Take us back to Earth,” he ordered. The Mars Society was already onboard their space station, monitoring the planet below. “Best possible speed.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
New York, USA
Mariko had always wanted to be a doctor. It had been an obsession of hers ever since her father had introduced her to Doctor Who, even though she hadn't been entirely clear on what a doctor did at the time. As she grew older, her enthusiasm had refused to fade, even after she discovered that actually working as a doctor brought unpleasant risks in ligation-prone America. Sometimes, someone died, no matter what the doctor did to prevent it. And then the doctor would be sued by the grieving relatives. It had been a relief to leave the big cities for the countryside, where people were generally more sensible, and fall in love with a man who didn't mind her working as a vet rather than a doctor.
But she’d never lost her desire to help people. The alien technology worried her – an autodoc could become the most effective torture machine in history – but it also galvanised her to use it to save lives. She’d had to watch too many people die through untreatable injuries or incurable diseases, both of which could now be handled by alien technology. It did irritate her that she didn't have a clear idea how most of the technology worked, but in the long run she had faith in Steve and his friends to solve the mysteries. For the moment, all that mattered was that it did work.
The clinic had once belonged to a doctor who, like her, had abandoned the city in the wake of soaring healthcare costs and laws written for the benefit of the lawyers, rather than doctors or their patients. She hadn't been too surprised to discover that it had been shut down, rather than the city finding another doctor. It was just the sort of stupid decision that came from having more concerns about money than public health. Or control, for that matter. The medical authorities hated it when someone challenged their control.
She smiled to herself as she watched the next set of patients entering the waiting room and take a seat. Some of them were wealthy enough to pay the fees – she’d
had bankers, lawyers and politicians pass through her clinic over the past two weeks – and others were children, unable to comprehend what was happening to them. Her heart broke a little every time she saw them and, despite the suggestions she should concentrate on paying clients first, she tried to make sure the children were healed quickly and efficiently. Few dared to complain, at least openly. The last time someone had, she’d ordered him flung out of the clinic and told never to come back.
“All right,” she called. “Send in the first patient.”
A young girl entered, half-carried by her mother. The AMA hadn’t quite finished running through its stockpile of delaying tactics, but it didn't really matter. Alien tech could scan a body quicker than Mariko could read a medical file, allowing her to both diagnose and cure the disease in one fell swoop. Mariko examined the girl, decided she was about eight years old, then motioned for her to climb up on the bed and lie down. Judging from her appearance, her father was either white or Hispanic. The mother was very definitely black.
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