Now Becky had come back to help him. He had wrenched his mind back toward the pixilated screen, back toward Hellespontus, where a tiny thread like a faint pencil line could be glimpsed here and there among the hillocks, at least with the mask. There it was, crossing a dune crest, or coursing across an otherwise bare patch of dust between two boulder fields. Blue crosshairs were projected onto the stereo image, floating in space, shadowless, just above the surface. Each time he found a trail segment he moved them to the end points of the gossamer track. "Send them these positions, Becky. Make sure Braddock gets them."
He could hear Becky punching buttons.
Sometimes, he could pick up the next faint trace in a few minutes, a few hundred meters farther west. Other times, he had to scan for half an hour or more, until he found the next bit of track, a faint hairline, kilometers farther west.
Finally he called Braddock. "You getting all this? Have your people found anything?"
Braddock sounded moody, like someone who had not had enough sleep.
"Don't worry. We've already got one crew a hundred klicks west of the road. They've been to the first three positions you gave me. Found some tracks there. I s'pose we have to assume it's Stafford. They're just moving down the line from one of your positions to the next. In between, Stafford was on rocky ground. The places you're seeing tracks, that's where he was crossing softer dust." Braddock got a hopeful note in his voice at last. "Maybe we're finally getting somewhere."
Carter felt exhilaration.
He looked at his watch. Eight o'clock Wednesday night. A day and a half to go. Two days max.
Suddenly he realized he was exhausted. Becky brought him a sandwich and coffee. He spent another hour plotting positions, tracking Stafford a little farther, now a bit northwest. And at last something strange. Under the highest resolution, the highest contrast, the track seemed to break up, or dissolve into a confused tangle an area only a few hundred meters across, with a spider pattern of—could it be?—tracks heading out into the desert, but disappearing.
Some sort of disturbance.
Excitedly, he called the coordinates in to Braddock. "Get your people there. Fast. Call me when they've got something."
Now he was hours ahead of the field crew, who were racing along behind him, from position to position. He recorded the index numbers of the best photos on his 'corder. He told Becky to take a break. He wanted to be alone.
He raced to his room for a quick shower and change of clothes. He was running on adrenaline now, but he felt better, charged with the energy of discovery. There was no doubt in his mind. They were on the trail of Stafford. And it had been his doing. Not Braddock's. He had a strange feeling that he had triumphed over an adversary, although, God knew, he had no bone to pick with the hard-boiled head of Hellas Base. In fact, as he had looked around, he was impressed with the efficiency of the place ... the tight-lipped scientists scurrying around with great intensity, like ants, doing whatever it was that scientists do.
Even this short break to eat and shower made him feel guilty, as if he had abandoned Stafford, whose air was running out. He dressed quickly— his sweater and the comfortable jeans he had thrown in the bag—and headed around the corner to Philippe's room. He knocked hurriedly. No one answered his knock. At Annie's room he knocked twice, louder the second time. No one home there, either.
"Oh, hell," he breathed. He headed back toward the image processing lab.
Had she dozed off? Lying in the narrow bed, she was disoriented. Her tiny room had no window. God, what time was it? Who had been knocking? She had wanted to see no one. Her body did not know what it wanted. More sleep? A walk? The sound of rain?
Her screen glowed dully on the table beside the bed. Philippe had insisted on going to dinner with her. Then she had broken away to come back here to finish and file her story. Great reporter, waiting this long. Well, there was no competition and she had put together a good report. Then she had crashed after filing.
Time to face reality again. What was she going to do about Philippe?
And Carter?
She looked at her watch! Eleven P.M. local time. Maybe a day and a half left. God.
She threw back the covers, trying to blot out ghostly imprints of the night before. The bed, with no headboard, butted against the wall. She propped herself up against it with two pillows and reached for her 'corder and screen. She fired up the screen to see if her story had made it onto Newsnet. The story, as she had written it, was there:
SEARCH CONTINUES FOR LOST SCIENTIST
(IPN) Hellas Base, Mars, Wednesday, Feb. 46 (Mars date). Well-known scientist Dr. Alwyn Stafford, famed "biologist of a dead world," is still missing in the Martian desert. Following his initial failure to return from a solo outing, as reported two days ago, search parties have been sent out. Today, satellite photos revealed apparent segments of his trail in uncharted desert west of this remote research station.
Background: Stafford set out from Hellas Base on Feb. 40 and was due to return on Feb. 43, according to the Martian calendar, with day lengths virtually the same as Earth's. Search parties have turned up no trace of him or his vehicle, a standard Martian "dune buggy" equipped with supplies to last eight Martian days. Searchers from Hellas Base hold out fading hope that Stafford may still be found alive before his air runs out two days from now.
In the 23-year history of exploration on Mars, there have been a number of fatalities, but this is the first disappearance, in which a vehicle and occupant simply did not return from a mission.
Alwyn Stafford grew up in California and studied biology at Berkeley. He is known for his research on the history of life on Mars. Although technicians here make black quips about Stafford being spirited away by hidden Martians, Stafford's research is widely regarded as proving that after life evolved here, it never went beyond the simple microbial level.
Search parties were sent out from Hellas Base along "Hellespontus Road," a bulldozed dirt trail known to have been traveled by Stafford. This road leads to an installation of robotic scientific instruments. Initially, the searchers on the ground were unable to distinguish Stafford's tracks from other tangled tracks in the area where the road ends. Stafford apparently left the road to travel into the deserts of Hellespontus, an area of ancient craters west of here.
A break in the case may have come from satellite images that reveal faint evidence of what may be Stafford's tracks across the desert. Steven E. Braddock, Director of Hellas Base, stated that navigation in that terrain is difficult, but that satellite photos may lead ground parties to Stafford's westward track.
Satellite photos have shown dust devils in the vicinity where Stafford was believed to have gone. These dust-bearing whirlwinds reach giant proportions on Mars. Mr. Braddock speculated here that his vehicle and its communications system might have been disabled by one of these storms.
Carter Jahns, Assistant Director of Environmental Engineering in Mars City, has been appointed to head an investigation of the entire incident. Jahns arrived at Hellas Base yesterday. Although satellite photographs were initially deemed too poor to show objects as small as a dune buggy on the surface, Jahns used special processing of satellite photography to detect hints of the buggy tracks many kilometers west of the position where Stafford was believed to have left the "Hellespontus Road." Searchers are now racing to the westernmost sites of those tracks, in hopes of following Stafford's trail into the desert.
More background: Jahns is being assisted by Philippe Brach, the well-known artist-in-residence on Mars, who used his graphic skills to aid in the image analysis necessary to conduct the search.
The search now faces a desperate time deadline only two days off, when Stafford's buggy will run out of air. Mr. Braddock and Mr. Jahns say they will carry the search directly to the area indicated by the tracks revealed in the photos by Jahns and Brach.
Aerial search is not possible, because the shuttles and lighter "hoppers," used for point-to-point travel on Mars, follow ballistic tra
jectories and do not have the ability to make repeated passes over areas or to land at unprepared sites in rough areas. Airplanes have not been developed here due to lack of funding. Dr. Natalia Petrova, who works with the cartographic survey program here, told this reporter that "We might have had a viable piloted aircraft by now if the developmental funding on the 'Marsplane' project had not been cut off in '25."
A question hanging over this incident is that irregular procedures have been allowed in the past when Stafford ventured out on his own. Normally, vehicles are allowed into the Martian outback only two or more at a time. Mr. Braddock stated that Dr. Stafford has made a number of solo forays, approved by Mr. Braddock himself. "Stafford knew more about the desert and desert vehicles than all the rest of us put together," Mr. Braddock told this reporter. Dr. Stafford had reached retirement status but continued his own unofficial research and collecting expeditions. Mr. Braddock stated that Stafford had gone out on short solo trips even before Mr. Braddock took over management of the Hellas Base. "Most people believed that after all the years he put in here, and with all the knowledge he had, he had the right to pursue his ideas," Mr. Braddock said. "It would have been impossible to take people off other projects to send along with him. We all felt that Mars would gain tremendous benefit from the discoveries he could make out there on his own time. Obviously, we are reevaluating that policy at this time."
Nervously, Annie wondered if the story had made it into the wider Earth media. She accessed the New York Timesnet, where she found it buried in a sublist under science. She mistakenly punched up an op-ad piece titled "Now you can own one of the last fur coats." Then she got her own piece on the screen, somewhat edited:
SCIENTIST DISAPPEARS ON MARS
Procedures at Mars Base Criticized (IPN) Well-known scientist Dr. Alwyn Stafford, christened the "biologist of a dead world" by Timesnet in 2025, has been reported missing in the Martian desert. Stafford was reported several days overdue on a solo jaunt, with only two days of air remaining in his vehicle.
Under questionable circumstances, Stafford was apparently given a unique privilege of taking equipment into the desert by himself. Mr. Steven E. Braddock, recently appointed Director of the Hellas Base research station, from which Stafford departed, justified Stafford's trips on the basis of his years of experience and the lack of manpower to send support for Stafford's missions. However, Professor Guido Mclntosh, of Cornell's Institute of Scientific Sociology, stated, "I find it incredible that they would let someone out on Mars alone. It adds one more doubt to the many questions that have been raised about the efficacy of the whole program on Mars."
Dr. Robert Washington, chief scientist on UNSA's Newton Pluto Mission project, echoed these feelings. "When you think of the billions we are spending to keep people on Mars, and then find out we're losing them ... it's crazy. Why risk people on Mars when we could do so much more with robotic instruments?"
The Times version had been picked up around the U.S. She found it in the Arizona Starnet, buried after a lead story headlined TUCSON DEVELOPERS SAY DRY RESERVOIR IS NO PROBLEM.
SCIENTIST OVERDUE ON MARS
Procedures Questioned (IPN) Well-known scientist Dr. Alwyn Stafford, famed "biologist of a dead world," has been reported missing in the Martian desert. Stafford set out from the remote research station Hell Base, and was due to return several days ago. Scientists have called for an overhaul of procedures at the controversial base.
Annie snorted at the typo and the muckraking slant. No telling what they had done in other markets. She punched up the Planetary Inquirer Net and found it as a lead.
ALIENS KIDNAP BIOLOGIST!
Officials at Mars City Cover Up Mystery Disappearance! Proof of a lost civilization on Mars was one step closer last week when officials admitted that Alwyn Stafford, the famous biologist, disappeared on the mysterious red planet, leaving no trace. Staff sources at Mars City have been overheard admitting that the mysterious Martians, who have remained hidden in the Martian desert, may have kidnapped Stafford while he was on a secret mission.
This journal has been telling you for years about the scientific cover-up of alien life on Mars. Mars is the next planet beyond the moon, and the one most like the Earth, according to astronomers contacted by our reporters.
The fact that the Martians, like Bigfoot, have continued to escape clear detection in photographs confirms how clever they are at keeping their civilization hidden. California astrophysicist Prof. Alan Adamski, descended from a long line of famous space scientists, in an interview at the Barstow Cosmic Institute, stated that he believes Mars is laced by a network of underground volcanic tunnels, and that the Martians moved their civilization into underground hiding during the last century, when space probes first were sent to Mars.
"The Martians had canals that were visible until the 1950s," says Adamski. "Many famous astronomers, including Percival Lowell, recorded them. It's in all the books, but there's a conspiracy to cover up what was known about Mars in the last century. The canals disappeared in the 1960s. The first space probe, Mariner 4 in 1965, took only a few fuzzy pictures that could not show the Martian cities and canals. But that alerted the Martians to our interest, and they went into hiding. They destroyed everything they had built on the surface."
Adamski also noted that early space probes revealed mysterious giant sculptures of faces and pyramids on Mars, carved into hillsides. But later probes showed the same hills had been changed to look natural! "It's just one more proof that the Martians have been disguising the huge edifices that they built centuries ago," says Adamski. "It's criminal that our activities are forcing them to destroy these great monuments to civilization." In support of Adamski's theories, scientists on Mars admit that Mars is sterile today, in spite of hundreds of direct observations of the canal system only one hundred years ago. "The astounding thing is that they could have destroyed all detectable traces of their global civilization so fast, even the organic residue," says California psychiatrist Dr. April Crystal-Luna. "This alone shows how far advanced their technology is!"
In the face of this overwhelming evidence, officials at Mars City continue their cover-up, denying that there have ever been any Martians. Asked how Stafford and his vehicle could have disappeared without a radio SOS, the officials claim he may have been a victim of a giant dust devil, a theory that Dr. Adamski brands as preposterous. Search parties have been sent out to look for him, Officials once again denied any evidence of Martians, but their story is wearing thin. The fact that even Stafford's vehicle has disappeared shows that the Martians may have begun a more aggressive approach to the human presence on their planet.
In an exclusive to this journal, one technician on Mars says that Stafford has been known to make several solo trips into the mysterious Martian desert during the last few years—a privilege granted only to him because of his senior status. "No telling what he does out there; he's kind of eccentric. Everyone says he's discovered incredible treasures." Others speculate that Stafford had already made contact with the Martians, and may be negotiating with them on behalf of the human race.
This possibility is supported by Stafford's status. He is one of the oldest and most respected scientists on Mars, having come there in 2010. Does our future in space hinge on the delicate negotiations that this famous scientist is carrying out on our behalf? Be sure to read our forthcoming issues, as we follow this amazing story.
Annie disconnected in disgust.
9
OUT OF THE PAST FEBRUARY 47
Thursday. One day left. Carter had gone to sleep at two A.M. and set his 'corder for dawn. Its morning message said that the field team was still following the tracks he had found. They were progressing only slowly, but they were confident that they were on Stafford's route, since no one else had been known to venture this far into the desert. The search party was now heading toward the westernmost disturbance that Carter had identified.
One bit of news. Experienced field hands said that the pattern of the c
law marks, and the fall of dust along the road, proved they were following Stafford's outbound leg—not an inbound path. More news: there was no inbound path, no evidence that Stafford had ever returned along this route.
The waiting was impossible. Carter could not stand it. Even his dreams were contaminated. He realized he had been dreaming about Stafford, about the air running out. What do you do if you know the air is running out? Sit at the controls of your buggy until the last breath comes, until the air becomes fetid carbon dioxide and your mine reels and your lungs scream? Or do you end it all at once? Crack the seal on the buggy and listen to the deadly hiss, and become the first to hear the real music of Mars with your own ears; the last music you'll ever hear...? Or do you dress for death? Dress formally in your suit, step outside into the impassive desert, and then crack the helmet seal? The Martian desert has hungered for organic material for a billion years....
He had a nightmare vision of the story his mother had told him of the three Russian space pioneers who had died on their way home when the valve of their capsule stuck open, and all the air hissed out into the stratosphere even as they were parachuting back into the loving arms of Earth's atmosphere. She had told Carter that he was distantly related to one of them, through one of her cousins.... There is always danger in exploration, she told him. That was the moral to the story. There was always the unexpected circumstance just when you thought you were safe....
Part of Carter was desperate to be out there in the desert, looking. He was like a parent whose child is lost in the mountains, and the county sheriff says "wait at home, wait for a call." Part of him couldn't stand to wait at home; the other part recognized that he had to stay, otherwise there would be no directions for the searchers in the desert. Strange, how he was the only one who seemed to be able to locate or follow Stafford's tracks, though he had to admit it had been with Philippe's help.
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