Someday, he thought, we will have to come up with a proper clock system for Mars.
He hurried off to help the rest of the group roll up the safety net and put it along one wall of the commons.
GUS LOOKED out at the small crowd that nearly filled the Boston Commons—most of the five hundred people in the main base at Olympia were there, spreading out blankets or blowing up inflatable hassocks. Toward the back, Gus could see the curly head of Chris Stoker sticking up out of the crowd of friends he always seemed to have around him.
There were some fifteen hundred more people elsewhere on Mars and its moons. They would watch the meeting on video. The population was roughly one hundred fifty each at Boreal Base and Austral Canyon at the north and south poles, another one hundred each on Phobos and Deimos, with the remaining thousand spread around the planet at various bases.
It took at least twenty-four jack-of-all-trades technicians just to keep a base operating around the clock, with more needed if the base was large or being expanded. The bases where there were significant potential resources, such as the moons, poles, and Solis Lake, had teams of exploration engineers taking detailed core samples and carrying out topographical, gravity, acoustic, microwave, electric current, and chemical surveys. These bases also had process engineers running selected batches of soil through pilot processing plants and scaling up the designs into full-scale plants.
Finally, sprinkled nearly everywhere, was the small group of scientists, less than twenty percent of the population, that went out to explore the regions of the planet that weren't obvious sources of useful resources. The scientists might find some new resources, but that wasn't their main objective. Their job was to understand how Mars formed some five billion years ago, what it was like originally, how it developed over the intervening billions of years, and why it had become the way they now found it in 2038. What that knowledge would ultimately be good for was unknown.
Gus looked at the video technicians at one side of his platform. He could see the side of his face in the monitor screen coming from a camera at the back of the commons.
"A few more seconds, sir, and Phobos will be over the horizon," one of the technicians said. Gus waited.
"We have a lock. You may proceed, sir."
Gus looked into the video camera in front of him. He gave a smile and his face crinkled up to form the two well-recognized crow's-feet that pointed arrowlike at his half-hidden steel-gray eyes. He dropped into his deep, resonant, speech-giving voice.
"Guds'l," Gus said, using the greeting that the small Australian contingent had made popular. A ripple of laughter ran through the crowd.
"As you know," Gus continued, "this meeting is to formally announce the end of martial law on Mars, and the start of a new independent territory of the United Nations, operating under the protection and the laws of the United States.
"As of the close of this meeting, I will resign as the administrator of Mars for the Reformed United Nations and will assume a position more to my talents and interests, director of the newly formed Sagan Mars Institute and chairman of its planetary physics department. With Fred Whimple as my administrative assistant, I hope to spend most of my time poking my nose into some of the interesting volcanoes around here.
"Since nearly everyone here, scientists, engineers, technicians, and service personnel included, is an employee of the Sagan Mars Institute, and therefore technically a civil servant of the United States, and nearly all our supplies come, at great expense, from the United States, and we operate under the laws of the United States, then you might well ask, 'What's all this nonsense about an independent territory?'
"Well, there are many here on Mars who are not employees of the Sagan Institute, and it is the intention of the UN and the U.S. that there be many more in the future. There are the foreign scientists, engineers, and technicians who are guests of the institute, but whose expenses are paid by their governments. There are those who are sponsored by major corporations seeking to generate major profits from space resources, such as the twelve scientists and engineers presently here from Rockwell International, Exxon Energy, Space General, Europlanet, and Rising Star. They can come and go as they like and stay as long as they like, provided their company covers their costs. We hope many more will come and that they will not only make a profit supplying the services that the Sagan Institute presently has to supply for itself, but that they will also find resources of value here on Mars and its moons that are needed on Earth or elsewhere in space. Then there are the group of Russian scientists, engineers, and technicians that remain. Technically, they are still prisoners of war, but at the conclusion of this ceremony, they will become guests of the institute. All of these people should have a voice in running their own affairs.
"Therefore, although U.S. federal law will apply, the people on Mars will have the rights normally reserved to the states and the local governments under the U.S. Constitution and laws. Each permanent base can set up its own city government, with a mayor and council if you want one, but I recommend a town meeting format as long as we're this small. There will be an elected governor of Mars, who will supply guidance to the director of the Sagan Institute on the disposition of the resources allocated for personnel maintenance and services. The election will be held in thirty days, so start campaigning if you are interested."
Gus paused and put a determined look on his face before proceeding in a dead-serious voice. "And ... for your information ... I am not running ... and I will not serve if elected."
A tall figure unfolded himself up off the ground in the back of the crowd.
"If you aren't going to run, then I will!" Chris said.
Immediately a chant started up around him. "Chris for governor! Chris for governor! Chris for governor!"
"Anyone else?" Gus asked, with a pleased smile. "Don't forget the people out at other bases. Some of them would make excellent candidates. Ernest Licon, director of Boreal Base, for example. They don't even have to be U.S. citizens ..." He leaned forward to look at Boris Batusov, the internationally known antimatter engineer who won the Nobel Prize for the theory behind the Batusov reactor that provided prime electric power for their larger vehicles. "How about it, Boris? Would you like to be governor of Mars?"
Boris grinned and shrugged. "We talk about it later," he said with some embarrassment.
Gus returned to his normal booming formal-speech voice.
"There is one other thing. I was able to convince the Reformed United Nations and the U.S. government that employment in the Sagan Mars Institute should have no strings attached. If you are not happy with your job and cannot find one that suits you, then you can quit at any time. After all, the last thing the institute needs is a disgrunded employee. If you want to go back to Earth, we will send you back on the next available ship. If you want to stay on Mars, you can stay as long as you support yourself by providing services that people will pay for. I will leave it up to the town governments how long they will tolerate nonworking spongers. Actually, we hope that you stay. It saves the institute the cost of shipping you back, and we will always need more people on Mars."
Gus reached into his pocket and pulled out some coins. He walked over to the technicians at one side of the podium and handed them down. Soon the video screen above the podium and similar video screens around the globe and on the moons showed the faces of five coins of graduated sizes and different colors.
"Speaking of paying for services, we now have money you can use to pay for those services. There will be a Mars currency, issued and controlled by the governor of Mars. We have chosen coins of hardened anodized aluminum, so they won't wear out. The one-dollar coin is yellow and has the Viking lander. The ten-dollar coin is green and has Mount Olympus on it, while the one-hundred-dollar coin is blue and has the distinctive pattern of the northern polar ice cap on it. We also have the red cent, a small red aluminum coin with the number one on one side and Deimos on the other, and the orange dime, with the number ten on one side and Pho
bos on the other. Since we are starting out fresh, the money will make some sense. The thickness and diameter of a coin is proportional to its value, and the colors of the coins follow the colors of the rainbow."
"Those who work for the Sagan Institute have a contract that provides for free room and board while on Mars, in addition to a salary. They can decide how much of their salary they want to draw for use here on Mars, and how much they want to have banked on Earth for use when they get back. We have set an artificially low exchange rate for the Mars dollar at one hundred U.S. dollars for one Mars dollar." There was a gasp from the audience.
"That's to keep people from importing unnecessary items," said Gus. "Don't forget, a kilogram of books, soap, junk food, or practically anything ordinary on Earth costs only around ten U.S. dollars. But to ship that kilogram of junk food to Mars costs over five thousand dollars, a five-hundred-to-one ratio. Thus, the true exchange rate should be something like five hundred U.S. dollars for one Mars dollar. However, if you create that kilogram of junk food, or whatever, on Mars, using Martian resources, then you have created something worth five thousand dollars and you can easily find buyers for it on Mars at one thousand U.S. dollars or ten Mars dollars. It will be one of the unenviable tasks of the governor of Mars to adjust exchange rates and the amount of money in circulation to keep the monetary system working smoothly."
Gus reached under the podium and brought out a large sheet of paper. He waited until the audience quieted and started reading.
"By the authority vested in me by the Reformed United Nations on the planet Earth and the United States of America, I hereby declare the end of martial law on the planet of Mars, and the formation of an independent territory, to be known as the Territory of Mars, with the status of a nonvoting observer at the deliberations of the Reformed United Nations. The Territory of Mars shall be a protectorate of the United Nations, with the protecting nation being the United States of America."
He put the paper on top of the podium and signed it with a flourish.
"I hereby declare sol three hundred and forty-five of Mars year twenty, previously known as the sol of the summer or apsolstice, to henceforth be known as Mars Independence Day!"
A cheer went up from the crowd in the Boston Commons, and he had to lean forward into the microphone to make his last sentence heard.
"Now let's all get to work and get this planet moving!"
He leaped off the platform and Tanya ran up to give him a hug. Then, her arm still around him, they walked together through the crowd to his office.
CHAPTER 5
Return Of The Hero
THE RETURNING portion of the invasion fleet was under acceleration, bringing the troopers back home to Earth and a hero's welcome. Alexander's flagship, the Yorktown, led the way, its antimatter plasma engine glowing an electric blue from inside its nest of white-hot superconducting magnet rings, its three-fletched tail a bright glowing yellow as the flowing stream of hot metal drops traversed their trajectory through empty space from spine to spar.
Inside, Alexander was just finishing his second holovideo interview of the day. This interview was a joint one with Lieutenant General Antonio Cabral, the head of the Brazilian contingent, for release over the Brazilian video network. General Cabral's three stars was one of the reasons it had been felt necessary to give Alexander a temporary promotion to that of a four-star general in the U.S. Space Force.
Because of the long time delay between Earth and the Yorktown, the interview was being conducted by the publicity officer of the general's staff, with Alexander and the general recording their replies. Later, Alexander's words would be translated into Portuguese and the program assembled.
"And what part did our brave Brazilian troopers play in this first-ever invasion of a planet?" the interviewer asked, reading the first question from the prepared list. Alexander let the general answer that one.
"I led our men in the attack on the Russian base at the North Pole, which they had provocatively called Novomurmansk," the general said in Portuguese. Alexander, listening to the simultaneous translation provided for his benefit, knew the general had really been up in space in his command post on the Brasilia, where he belonged.
"In fact, my brave men from Brazil were the first to strike a blow against the enemy!" the general continued. Alexander had to admit that what the general said was true, since the Brazilians, like all the other foreign troops, had been assigned to backup and support roles, such as the "heavy artillery" units that tore up the living quarters on the base to keep the Russians busy while the attack landers were getting in close with the U.S. shock troops.
"Yes," Alexander interjected, his politician's smile and crinkled crow's-feet drawing the attention of the camera and the potential viewers. "The troopers from Brazil were the first to land at the North Pole base and their rockets were the first to strike to free Mars from the domination of the atheistic Neocommunists. Their efforts made the work of the American troops all the easier."
"Wasn't there some trouble subduing this base?" asked the interviewer, switching to English as he directed his attention to Alexander. Alexander grew a little annoyed with the way the interview was going, but he carefully hid his annoyance and carried on.
"There were three individuals out on the glaciers that proved to be a minor problem," Alexander admitted.
"They caused many casualties!" the general blurted. "Those casualties could have been prevented if they had allowed my artillery unit to strike a blow against them." Now Alexander allowed himself to look annoyed.
"We would have called on the brave Brazilian troops to shoot their missiles at those three if it had been necessary, but one of them was the commissar of Mars, and we wanted him taken alive," Alexander said. His face returned to its pleasant politician smile as he continued. "Fortunately, I was able to catch them unaware and capture all three of them alive, thus personally ending the battle for Mars."
The interviewer departed from his list of questions to blurt out a question that had suddenly occurred to him. "I wonder what the Russian commissar was doing out on a glacier."
Alexander almost let his surprise show. What had Ivan Petrovich been doing out on that glacier? Going out on the surface of Mars, especially the North Pole during early spring, was what scientists did, and Petrovich was no scientist. An inspection visit to the base itself could be understood, but going out on the glacier? Also, Alexander now remembered that the Signals owlies had told him, just before the battle had started, that the ballistic transport that had carried Petrovich to the North Pole had carried only three passengers ...
The interviewer, getting no immediate reply, turned to the next of the prepared questions and the interview continued.
ALEXANDER sat in the flag chair on the small deck above and in back of the command chair of the spacecraft commander of the Yorktown and surveyed the busy scene below him as the Yorktown accelerated at a tenth-gravity, enough to allow walking and to keep people in their seats. The Sun shone through the side of the forward view window above his head, making it difficult to see the double-planet that was their target, as their nearly straight-line trajectory took them inside the orbit of Venus to the Earth on the other side of the Sun. There would be a free-fall period of flight around the turn-around point to save on antimatter, but they would be home in a little over a month.
There was a momentary turning of heads as the door to the spacecraft deck opened and shut with a pneumatic double-whoosh, admitting a fat man in a rumpled short-sleeve shirt, sweatpants, and Velcro deck shoes. He had a large bald spot sticking out of the top of a long mop of unkempt hair that made him look like a hippie monk. The door was normally silent, but the fat man had supplied the whooshing sound effects as he passed through.
He peered nearsightedly around the deck through trifocal glasses, tilting his head up and down, trying to choose the right lens, then noticed Alexander on the flag deck above him. His flabby arms and belly jiggling in the low gravity, he made his way up the ste
ps like a dancing elephant. On the rear of his sweatpants, right where it would be sat on, was a cloth patch with an embroidered silver oak leaf, the insignia of a lieutenant colonel in the space force. Alexander looked at him with a combination of anticipation and annoyance. Although the man was technically a lieutenant colonel under his command, the military had long ago learned that the only way to keep their bright scientist "owlies" in the service was to give them all the toys they wanted to play with and tough problems to solve, but otherwise treat them as civilians and leave them alone.
"Jerry Meyer, head of Signals Group, General Armstrong. I thought you might want to have this information kept confidentially, so I brought it up on hardcopy rather than blatting it out on your screen." He handed over a piece of fax-erase paper and Alexander read it.
"So ... the passengers on that urgent trip to the North Pole were the same ones that went out on the glacier—and incidentally loused up my invasion. Ivan Petrovich, Tanya Pavlova, and Viktor Braginsky. Did you find out why they were on the glacier?"
"Nothing obvious came up in the records," Jerry answered, pushing his glasses back up on his nose. "And I have holocube copies of all the computer records from all the bases. Viktor Braginsky is a permafrost and glacier expert. He had been engaged in research at the North Pole base for some months, and he and his technicians went out on the ice cap about twice a week to take deep core samples of the ice. Then, according to the vehicle and personnel logs from the North Pole Base, he cancelled his standard requisition for a crawler and caught the next ballistic transport to the main base. He must have gone straight to the commissar and told him something important, because within a few hours after he arrived, he and the commissar were on their way back to the North Pole, with Miss Tanya tagging along. They wasted no time at the base, but immediately commandeered a crawler and took off over the ice. We attacked shortly after."
"Where did they go?" Alexander asked. "One of your imaging satellites must have had them under surveillance."
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