“During the four minutes from the first EMP until loss of the ground station, there was no warning, but there was a sequential loss of data which we have analyzed. The data was lost from stations transmitting to the CERTS before the CERTS ground station itself was lost. The CERTS ground station was located in Omaha. The loss of broadcasting inputs to the CERTS stations were lost sequentially in two patterns from north to south and from the coasts in toward the interior of the United States. There was also a loss of signals from Hawaii and Guam, but they occurred early on. At plus four minutes and three seconds from the first EMP, we lost the CERTS ground station itself. This was the cause of our launch scrub – but the CERTS continued to receive direct EMP for an additional hour thereafter.
“One more analysis was done as well. The loss of ground based CERTS substations is also coordinated with the exact moment of individual EMP pulses." Gorteau paused. The crowd was considerably more subdued.
"So, was there a war or not?" Brinker asked.
"We cannot be sure without additional proof," Gorteau responded thoughtfully, "but the probabilities seem high enough to warrant serious concern."
"Typical egghead response," Brinker replied with complete exasperation. "I want an answer to my question: Was there a war or not?"
"I'm sorry, Sergeant, we cannot be sure. There is no way to be certain. All we have is this data."
"Okay, let's move on," Peter said, directing the conversation. "What else could it be, Dr. Gorteau?"
"If someone wanted to fly out directly to the CERTS satellites and transmit these signals directly to us, to deceive us into thinking there had been a war, they could do so. But I fail to see the point in that."
Brinker's eyes widened and he nodded. "Can you prove they didn't?"
"Not at the present, but perhaps we do have the ability to confirm the theory that the pulses were transmitted from the earth and not artificially originated at the CERTS satellites," Gorteau mused. "We can connect with a deep space probe or two and interrogate their memory. Perhaps one or two of them also recorded the pulses. But they would have to be turned on and receiving and recording data from earth at the time of the pulses. Since there are only twelve active probes, the chance that any were turned on at all is small. Yet, such data would verify the pulses were real. Of course, we are not authorized to interfere with the operation of those probes..."
"Save the thought, Dr. Gorteau," Peter said. "What else? Is there any other sort of proof possible?"
"None that I am aware of at this point," Jamie added. "But we’re still looking at ways to analyze the information."
"Of course," Gorteau added, "we can aim our telescopes at the earth in 30 to 60 sols or so when the earth is sufficiently far from the glare of the sun to ascertain whether there is any unusual visual presence..."
"Like the clouds of nuclear winter?" someone asked.
"Exactly."
"What have we done to establish communications with earth?" Ashley asked.
"We’ve set up a recording that transmits to earth continuously," Jamie replied. "We’ve received information back from the CERTS acknowledging that it’s received the message and that it successfully retransmitted it to earth, but no response has been forthcoming."
“And what about the Singleton?” Peter asked, referring to the next ship scheduled for launch to Mars with its supplies and new passengers.
“The Singleton is docked to the space station and is not scheduled to depart earth orbit for two more weeks,” Gorteau responded. “She is neither fully outfitted nor supplied. If there has been a disaster on earth that has disrupted any of the infrastructure to a significant degree, she will not even be able to leave earth orbit at all. Not only would she be inadequately prepared for departure, she would have no command and control and could not leave even if she wanted to.”
“Jamie,” Peter persisted. “Have you attempted to contact the Singleton directly?”
“Yes,” he responded softly. “Nothing. Just like the rest. Nothing.”
The conversation continued back and forth. It was revealed that the space stations of the RSE and the United States could not be raised. It was as if the earth had moved behind the sun and disappeared. For those on Mars, so dependent on the mother planet for life itself, the idea that their civilization had self destructed was a horrifying prospect.
The groups discussed their attempts to contact the Soviet base to the south for data corroboration, an attempt made by the colonists without Lipton's knowledge. The failure of the Little Kremlin to respond was not taken lightly by Brinker who suggested they were "up to something."
"It seems real funny that they’re also silent in the face of the earth link losses. That makes me think they’re a part of it all," Brinker added.
"On to problem number two: get my lander into space," a loud, commanding voice said from the crowd. It was Commander Ian Cartwright walking to the front of the room. Cartwright wore his flight suit with his mirrored pilot's sunglasses strategically propped on his forehead. He was accompanied by pilot, Navy Lieutenant Sigourney Michner.
"We’re leaving tomorrow morning when the window opens at 0642, with or without Lipton's blessings."
"Now, see here, Commander," Hernandez said in an indignant tone.
"No, you see here," Cartwright said, driving his finger into Hernandez's chest. "We've had just about enough of all this bad ju-ju about nuclear war. We’re fed up with your local domestic disputes, dead Marines and deaf and dumb Soviets. We're out of here tomorrow, got it? Your theories have about as much credibility with me as little green Martians. We link with local launch telemetry and we're gone. You get your manna from heaven and we depart for MTSO in solar orbit. It's just that easy."
"No, that is impossible," Gorteau replied.
"What do you mean, it's impossible?" Cartwright replied, turning his wrath on Gorteau. "I don't remember having to take any crap from civilians."
"In the event your launch into orbit is successful; in the event the untested data link works; in the event you make it back to earth and there was a nuclear exchange, you would still die."
"Wrong, wrong, wrong... You geezer scientist types have a bad habit of chaining way too many events together. In a pilot's world, we like the more simplistic cause-and-effect system. Now, the cause is this: we're falling behind in our solar catch-up game. The effect is spending way too many days in a cramped ship making up for the lost distance which just happens to be growing at a non-linear, ever increasing rate of at least 400,000 klicks per day! Tomorrow morning... 0642... rocket ship lifts off... is that so hard?"
"One question, Commander," Hernandez asked.
"Go ahead; it looks like show and tell started hours ago."
"Why the sudden change in attitude? Just last night, you were refusing to leave without reestablishing the earth links. Now, you want to go immediately. What conditions have changed to so radically alter your judgment?"
Cartwright obviously mused that he was not about to be trapped by these intellectual cretins. He looked at the crowd around him and all were absolutely quiet, awaiting his answer.
"That was two questions, Hernandez. But good ones and deserving of an answer, so you'll get 'em. You let a serviceman die a horrible death here last night, your Director is mysteriously missing, and now you academic types have dreamed up nuclear war to explain a simple communications snafu on two deep space satellites, which just happen to go on the fritz all the time. As far as the Soviet Bloc is concerned, they probably instigated the whole thing anyway.
“Now, my main theory is this: you folks have been here so long you're losing it. Personally, I want out, now. I'd rather take my chances in deep space than in this zoo. At least in deep space it's still cause and effect, which my simple, non-Ph.D. brain can grasp. I also have another theory: if you don't let me fly soon, all of you are going to lose your chance to recover your precious cargo that still orbits over your heads. And no matter how irrational you've become, you’ll need those supplies
just to live through the winter. Any more questions?"
"No, but I do have a response to your proposal, Commander." It was the polished voice of Lassiter Lipton cutting the air as he pushed his way through the crowd. The assembled colonists and administrative personnel gasped and whispered together as Lipton approached the front of the room. He was back in full form, not a hair out of place, his voice strong and firm.
"You have my permission to leave," he said to the commander, casting an acrimonious look at Hernandez who immediately averted his eyes.
"In case all of you were wondering about the precision of rumors you've heard, they’re true. Some have made an attempt to unlawfully relieve me of my duties here, and I’m certain that those responsible will pay for that crime with long prison terms. And since their actions were unlawful, I still have the authority to grant you permission to leave, Commander Cartwright."
Lipton played his final card with an exquisite flourish. His reasoning was impeccable. His hand was a powerful one. The laws concerning the relief of a standing administrator with ambassadorial status were ambiguous, at best. No one but a staff of trained legal experts could have tested the actual act itself and it would probably have ended up entangled in the courts for a decade. The upshot was that no one really knew for absolute certainty who had the authority to act under what circumstances. It was that uncertainty that Lipton seized upon. He could claim to be in charge to manipulate differences in opinion, then declare he had been relieved to side step responsibility if anything went wrong. And the final certainty was that Hernandez was not about to stand against his boss, especially now.
Peter, Francis, Ashley, Toon and Gorteau all looked at one another with confusion. Hernandez and Freidman had assured them this issue had all been taken care of. But they sat in stunned silence, ensnared by their own pact of secrecy.
Lipton was no amateur in these political avocations. Indeed, he was a master and careful student of them and knew how to convolute and confuse the enemy with their own carefully crafted plans.
"I thought they had you hog tied in some closet," Cartwright said truthfully.
"They don't have enough courage for that," Lipton replied provocatively, eyeing each one of his staff individually. What time would you like to lift off, Commander?" Lipton asked.
"Zero six forty two."
"Granted," Lipton replied without a pause.
"Wait...," Gorteau said blinking his eyes several times to quickly formulate his thoughts. "Give us one more sol to reestablish communications with the earth."
"I thought you said the green hills of earth were toasted by now, Dr. Geezer. Change your mind?" Cartwright said accusingly. "Are we going to wake up tomorrow and find out this was some kind of joke?"
"Pray to God in heaven it is," Gorteau replied, then abruptly left the room.
Peter had had enough. "Just in case the rest of you haven't heard," he stated, "Dr. Lipton was relieved by Mr. Hernandez last night in accordance with procedure, for medical reasons. It was by the book. As for you, Commander Cartwright, if you want to go on your way, then so be it. We do need those supplies and I suspect we’ll be compelled to go after them sooner or later. You might as well continue on for earth if that fulfills your mission objectives and your own personal desires.
“However, I must warn you that the ascent navigation program you’ll be using when you fly has never been employed before. It’s an untested, emergency program to be relied upon only as a last result after liftoff has already been initiated."
"Don't try to tell me my business," Cartwright glowered.
"You won't be taking passengers, of course." Peter continued.
"Oh, yes I will. I'll be taking the passengers manifested for this flight. I doubt seriously whether any of them want to stay back here any more than I do."
"Whups... hold on," Sergeant Brinker interrupted walking slowly up to the front. "I won't be on your rocket, Commander."
"If you’re on orders, Marine, which you are, then you'll be on the ship because I'll ensure your compliance. If you'll look on my collar, you'll notice that I’m a commissioned officer, and you will follow my orders."
"With all due respect, sir," Brinker shot back evenly, slurring the "sir", "my seat and the seat of Corporal Hiraldo will be unoccupied. The Marine in command of this unit who came in to take my place is dead. I can’t be relieved of duty unless I’m replaced by a commissioned officer or another NCO. In case you need a set of orders to stay here and take my place, sir, I'm sure Dr. Lipton will be glad to sign you up." Then he stuck the omnipresent cigar back into his mouth and walked away.
"We’re going back, Traynor!" yelled a voice from the crowd. Peter saw Stephan Hicks, who desperately wanted out and had occupied a seat on the outbound lander on the previous launch attempt. He inched his way forward. "I have a ticket out, and I'm using it. The rest of us on the manifest all agree. We're leaving and you can't stop us. We did our time here, and it’s over. Lipton’s in charge, not you or Hernandez or Friedman. Lipton – he’s the boss. He calls the shots. Any more questions from the geek section?"
"Let the moron go, by all means. Good riddance!" a colonist said from the crowd. “Strap him to the outside of the rocket!”
"They're all leaving according to the manifest," Lipton agreed.
Peter whispered to Francis who nodded then said, "Very well, but you fly out at your own risk. I only have one last request, for your safety and that of your passengers," Peter asked of Cartwright.
"What now?" he asked sarcastically.
"Give us one more sol to reestablish communications or determine a cause. Your window will open at 0744 sol after tomorrow."
"Can you give me one good reason? Can you give me any reasonable assurance that this place won't unravel between now and then?" Cartwright asked earnestly.
"The good reason is to ensure the maximum safety for you and your crew. And, no, I can't assure you of anything at this point," Peter replied, looking directly at Lipton who returned his stare. "Surely the aspect of flight safety must mean something to you. If not for yourself, then at least for the innocent passengers you insist on dragging along with you."
Cartwright looked at his pilot, then back to Peter. "I know I'm going to regret this, but you've got one more sol. That's it. Then I'm leaving, come hell, high water, dust storm or flock of little green geese, I'm lifting off that launch pad at 0744 in two sols.
“And another thing. If you and Lipton start chasing one another around the base again, stay away from my ship. Siggy and I are going out there to sleep. The first person that comes near my ship without my permission joins the Marine in the meat locker."
"I'll verify the ascent navigation program," Toon offered.
Cartwright, who had already turned to leave, pivoted sharply to face Toon, barring his teeth, "Don't touch the program... don't touch it!" Then he and the pilot thrust their way through the crowd to leave.
Peter whispered to Toon, "Verify the program, every line of it."
Toon nodded, "I'll do what I can."
t was a toss up as to what killed the spirit of the morning, the appearance of Lipton or the revelations of what may have happened on earth. Lipton left the meeting just behind the lander crew. Several administrators followed closely on his heels. Hernandez convened his group for an urgent meeting which left mostly colonists milling about the dining hall. Instead of a general meeting, Peter sent teams out to investigate the key questions: to interrogate the deep space probes for possible earth links, to attempt to communicate with the Soviet base and to verify the accuracy and adequacy of the emergency ascent navigation program.
Later, Peter and Ashley visited with Gorteau in his office. The senior scientist was busy at his desk, humming quietly to the music of Bach’s Fantasia and Fugue.
"Ah, yes, my friends, please come in," he acknowledged as soon as he saw Peter's face at his door.
"Now you know why I would not make such a great leader," he said to them as soon as they entered, leavin
g the impression of some residual embarrassment.
"Oh, please, Dr. Gorteau. No need for...."
"No, I admitted early on that I had no aptitude for the patience required to deal with the simpletons who play the so-called power game. Now it is apparent to all."
"No need to apologize, Dr. Gorteau. I, for one, understand," Ashley offered.
"And I," Peter concurred. "Sometimes I feel like Lipton is so adept at manipulating the process that we'll never be able to solve our problems. Just look at the difference between the way the meeting was going before he showed up and after."
"Don't let that fool you, Peter," Gorteau replied. "The feelings of frustration were there long before he appeared. The others had no advocate before Lipton made his appearance."
"How... who is going to control the community now?" Ashley asked, almost to herself.
"That is it, precisely," the senior scientist replied, "Control is the issue. Control is power. We, the colonists have voted Peter to control in our best interests. Hernandez is in control by administrative default and Lipton controls by an odd analogy to a physical precept called the Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle. Do you know what that is?"
"Well, if memory serves me correctly, it’s an idea in quantum physics that relates to the state of subatomic particles," Peter replied with a curious smile and a glance at Ashley.
"Exactly. Excellent! Lipton's control follows the same rules. Just as it is impossible to know the state of a photon's position and momentum at the same time, Lipton has deftly engineered his status so that one never knows whether he is in charge calling the shots, or just riding on the train to disaster. He is in a position to destroy the colony or dismember it and shift the blame to others. He is more dangerous now than before."
"What do we do?" Ashley asked in a quiet, pensive voice.
Gorteau did not answer. He shook his gray head and looked to the collection of glowing screens arrayed across his desk.
"I’m afraid we’re all passengers on the train," Peter finally said. "But I hardly think his terms are going to be acceptable much longer. The thing that troubles me most is that I can’t see what lies ahead around the next dark corner and this train is traveling awfully fast for us not to know who sits at the controls."
Mars Wars - Abyss of Elysium Page 14
