“Misdirection,” Mark said. “Buying time to control the message.”
“I’m not saying it was the best idea.” Hannah made a face and leaned out of frame to bark at someone off-camera. “I don’t care what she said about it. I know my job better than you do here, okay?”
Hannah settled back into frame and took a breath. Her cheeks were flushed with anger, and Mark wondered what life might be like on the other side of the Mars Ho cameras.
“The circumstances were not ideal,” Hannah said. “And not exactly a perfect simulation of what you might encounter on Mars.”
“So, no mystery junction box hidden in a Martian bush?” Dina deadpanned.
Hannah’s face softened. She even smiled a little. “Yeah, not so much. But I want to tell you how admirable you all were in some very stressful circumstances.”
Guillermo stepped in front of the screen and raised his eyebrows.
“You, too, Guillermo.” Hannah gestured to someone or something off-camera. “Our experts here agreed that a high percentage of Mars Ho applicants, the ones who didn’t make it in, would have had an outright meltdown in a habitat-wide, full-systems shut down. But all of you kept your cool and worked together and found—”
“That’s it.” Jacki smacked her palms down on the kitchen counter. She stepped across the floor to stand in front of Guillermo. “This is all bullshit, and you know it.”
Hannah seemed genuinely flustered on the screen. “I’m sorry?”
Jacki waved her arm toward Mark. “Like he said. ‘Misdirection.’ Five people are dead up there, Hannah. Five colonists, just like us.”
Lori rose from her chair. “No, Jacki, it’s a different program.”
Jacki turned sharply on Lori. “Oh, shut it, will you? You’ve been drinking their Kool-Aid more than anybody in here. You’re the last person I’d listen to.”
Mark stepped into Jacki’s line of sight.
“Now, hold on a moment. I think we’re all feeling the strain here, without any real rest and the stress of the challenge and then this terrible news—”
“You’re worse than she is!” Jacki mimicked shoving him away even though he was out of reach. She turned to the screen. “No. I’ve had enough. That rocket blowing up? I don’t care if it was Chinese or American or Chef Boyardee. This shit just got real. And I mean real. You tell your producers or whoever the hell you want that I’m coming out. I’m done.”
13
Now they were about to be twelve.
Jacki had marched directly from the kitchen to Women’s Bunk 3, where she stuffed her few belongings into her Mars Ho bag and headed straight for the airlock. Lori and the others had followed pretty much every step of the way, trying to talk her out of what seemed a rash decision.
Mark asked her to at least sleep on it, while Melissa tried to hide Jacki’s socks and toothbrush to slow her down. But Jacki’s mind was made up. She wanted out.
There were a few awkward minutes at the airlock while Jacki stood at the door and waited for the light to turn green so she could exit. She’d left her pressure suit behind. As soon as the Arizona air touched her skin, her quarantine and her candidacy would be voided.
But then Gary Nelson himself appeared on the screen opposite the airlock door. His attempts at persuasion delayed Jacki just long enough for the production crew to install a portable isolation chamber outside—the normal procedure to transport eliminated candidates who would remain in quarantine at The Ranch to await another chance at Mars. But Jacki was having none of that.
“Screw you, Gary Nelson!” Jacki dropped her bag and glared at the screen, the angry veins in her neck standing out. “I’ll rip this door of its hinges myself if you don’t open up and let me out right fucking now.”
Gary offered a mollifying smile from his place on the wall. Jacki turned her back on the screen and attempted to force the airlock door open with her hands. Dina and Trevor moved to stop her, but Dina got her feet tangled in the handles of Jacki’s bag and she fell to the floor. Trevor wrapped his arms around Jacki’s waist and tugged her away from the airlock, earning hissed expletives and a few swift kicks to the shins for his trouble.
“Jacki, I’m sure that if you took a few hours to calmly consider your decision, you might come to a different conclusion,” Gary pleaded from the screen, incapable of any action other than continuing to run his mouth—though Lori noted it was the first time the plastic-faced host displayed anything resembling a genuine personality.
“You want to see me consider something?” Jacki broke away from Trent and took a menacing step toward the screen. “How about I consider my fists right into that manufactured smile of yours?”
Lori clapped a hand over her mouth and tried not to laugh. Trent, Leah, and Dina weren’t as successful.
Oskar and Cecilia stepped forward, their hands clasped and fingers entwined. “We would like to announce that after deep discussion, we have elected to remain in the competition,” Oskar proclaimed loudly. “Cecilia and I feel—”
“Damn, you guys,” Trent cut him off. “Nobody cares right now.”
On the screen, Gary lifted his hands in a placating gesture. “Jacki, there’s really no reason to get so worked up. You know what? Why don’t you and I sit down together, face to face, and talk about this?”
Jacki spread her arms wide. “Sure thing, Gary.” She spat his name like so much salmon surprise from the food printer. “Just let me out of here, and we’ll go paint the town red.”
Gary laughed and then nodded to someone off-camera. “Okay, Jacki. That’s sounds great. It’s a date. We’re ready to open up the door now and let you out—with your quarantine intact, in case you change your mind later. So if you’d like to say your goodbyes . . .”
“I’m not changing my mind. There are better ways to realize a dream.” Jacki made a quick scan of the surrounding faces, then turned her anger back at Gary. “You know what? Fuck this shit. You think a freaking reality show is getting anyone to Mars in one piece? And then not just leave you there to rot, on live television? Good luck to anybody stupid enough to get on that rocket.”
The status panel by the airlock door turned from red to green, and there was a soft thud as the locking mechanism released. Jacki picked up her bag and slung it over her shoulder.
“So long, suckers.” Jacki yanked on the heavy door, trying to make it open faster.
Lori sat in the dark quiet of the confessional booth. With only four of these private spaces inside the MHCH, the other candidates were standing in line and awaiting their turns. Lori had only a few minutes to scroll through her messages and perhaps send a quick video of reassurance to her friends and family.
On Mars at least, the colonists would have individual workstations and semi-private quarters. If they made it that far.
If they made it that far. After the deaths of the Chinese crew, the phrase had taken on new meaning. Lori understood Jacki’s freakout and departure.
Six men and six women remained inside the Mars Ho Candidate Habitat. Lori took a deep breath and closed her eyes.
Any space exploration was dangerous, but now there were concerns of competence. The Mars Colony Program was run by the United Nations, with the Mars Ho reality show raising money and providing the colonists. It was easy to blur the lines between the two programs, and Lori was no longer certain how much she could trust Mars Ho to prioritize safety ahead of ratings.
Did she still want to be one of the finalists, winning a seat on a spacecraft that would take her permanently away from the world she’d known, to face a hostile and uncertain future?
Yes.
Lori opened her eyes and turned to the screen. There were emails and videos from just about everyone she knew. She scanned through them quickly, pausing to type a quick reply here or to record a short video there that could be sent in response to multiple queries. Everyone wanted to know if she was okay, if she was going to tough it out, if she’d really thought through the life-altering commitment she made ever
y day she remained active in the competition.
She saved the messages from her sister, Marcia, for last. Lori was a little hurt that there was still nothing from her mother, not since right after the airlock challenge on the first day.
A gentle knock on the door reminded Lori that her time was almost up. She opened Marcia’s most recent message.
I’m afraid she’s going downhill fast now. The doctors have done everything they can. And we got turned down by both clinical trials . . .
Lori’s jaw dropped as she read, her eyes filling with tears. She read the message again three times, absorbing the details of her mother’s sudden cancer diagnosis, the failed treatments, the grim prognosis—and the desperate, heartbreaking entreaty for Lori to reply as soon as possible. The message ended with a single question:
Lori, are you even getting these messages?
“HANNAH!” Lori’s voice was shrill and piercing to her own ears.
“Lori? Lori, are you okay?” Trent’s muffled shout barely penetrated the door’s soundproofing.
Lori smacked her first on the desk. “Hannah? Somebody, answer me! You’ve been hiding my family’s messages from me!” She paused to catch her breath. She tasted salt as her tears ran down her face and onto her lips.
“What is WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE?!” Lori shrieked. The screen was still, her sister’s message blown up large. “My mother is dying. She’s dying! Why would you keep that from me? Why would you leave them hanging like that?”
She paused again, and waited for the screen to produce a live image of Hannah or even an intern. She didn’t care who picked up her distress call. It only mattered that someone was listening, that someone on the other side of the camera would do something. That someone would find a way to fix this.
But the screen remained static.
“Lori?” Trent was still knocking on the door, but there were other voices now, too. April and Leah and Trevor. Then Guillermo, and Dina. Even Cecilia was there, outside the door, attracted by the commotion.
“Answer me!” Lori’s plea deteriorated into anguished sobs. She sank forward, her tears spilling onto the keyboard. “Mom. Mom, no,” she muttered between ragged breaths as the chair rocked beneath her.
“That’s simply not good enough.” Alone in the booth, Mark stood in front of the screen, arms crossed over his chest in defiance.
Rufus Day, president and CEO of DayLite Syndicate and Executive Producer of Mars Ho, stared out at him from his end of the connection at The Ranch. The man was visibly annoyed, though he was doing a respectable job of keeping himself in check.
The negotiation had been going on for a couple of hours, while Lori sat in her bunk and wept—and maybe even slept a little, Mark hoped. April had volunteered to stay with her, leaving Mark to rally the troops and stage a Mars Ho strike.
Since then, the contestants had done little but mill around in the corridor outside the booth where Mark was confronting the head honcho. Trent stood in the open doorway, monitoring the conversation and relaying the progress—or lack thereof—to the others.
“I don’t know what you expect me to do here,” Rufus said with an air of almost bored earnestness. “My hands are tied rather tightly on this one. You know the rules. If any candidate, for whatever reason, leaves the habitat in the midst of the competition, then that candidate is considered scrubbed and is no longer in contention for Mars. It’s as simple as that. Certainly, Lori’s circumstances are difficult, and we’re not unsympathetic to her or her family’s plight.”
Rufus nodded at someone off-camera, then turned his attention back to Mark. “That’s why we are making arrangements for a live video connection, straight from the hospice where Lori’s mother is staying.”
“And you think that’s enough?” Mark asked. “Lori Ridgway has committed to risking her life on a faraway planet for the good of everyone on Earth, and you’re just going to—”
“As you know, all candidates are encouraged—no, required, to say their goodbyes to families and friends before entering Mars Ho medical isolation. Because for the successful candidate, those farewells will indeed be their last.”
“You sound like a goddamned brochure.”
“I think our proposal for the live video call is more than generous—”
“And no doubt you’ll broadcast that, too, right? The tearful, heartbreaking, final goodbye between a mother and her Mars-bound daughter?” Mark glared at the screen, and the corners of his mouth curved up into a cold, cynical smile. “Then you’d have to send her to Mars, wouldn’t you? After garnering worldwide sympathy and lots of sponsorship dollars by exploiting her dead mother.”
Rufus flushed with anger. “That is not our primary concern, Dr. Lauren. The Mars Ho program is designed to select the best candidates for an off-world colony—”
“To provide the best entertainment money can buy for audiences back home,” Trent offered from his place by the door.
Mark glanced back at him and gave the younger man an approving nod.
“Sorry, I just . . .” Trent raised his voice to address Rufus on the screen. “We all stand with Lori on this one. Just so you know. You want any kind of a show from this point forward, you do what he says.” He gestured toward Mark, then stepped back to his post in the doorway.
Rufus folded his hands neatly on his desk. “May I remind you that you are all under contractual obligation—”
“Yeah, we know.” Mark was surprised when Rufus fell silent. “We’re obligated to allow the cameras to record our actions and speech in designated areas, which accounts for pretty much everywhere. Are you going to have cameras in the toilets on Mars? For scientific research and general audience amusement?”
“I don’t, well, I can’t see how that . . .” Rufus stammered.
“That’s a conversation for another time. The immediate question is, what are you going to do when you don’t have anything to show your viewers? And your precious corporate sponsors?”
The tight-lipped smile made Rufus look like a snake closing in on a blind mouse. “I don’t see how any such circumstance could come to pass. If you fail to perform inside the habitat, you will be eliminated from the competition—as stated in your contract. You will lose your opportunity to go to Mars, and you will be banned from further consideration by the Mars Colony Program.”
If you fail to perform. Mark looked into Rufus’s shrewd, blue eyes and felt a cold prickle in his spine. Mark wasn’t under any illusion that Rufus considered the Mars Ho candidates as anything more than a band of circus monkeys.
Hadn’t that been how humans first breached the boundary of space? By strapping monkeys and dogs atop temperamental rockets?
“Yes, we’ve had that discussion.” Mark tried to keep the excitement out of his voice. He wasn’t someone who enjoyed confrontation—in fact, he usually avoided it, even though it kept coming back to bite him. That’s what had gone wrong with Sarah, long before her betrayal.
And if he’d gone after Lori when she stormed out of the fitness center instead of slinking off like a wounded cat, maybe he could have mended that injury, too, while still honoring April’s confidence.
Rufus was correct; Mark had signed a contract. And he had always been an honorable man. But he was discovering that sometimes doing the right thing was more important than keeping his word.
“You do have my signature on your contract.” Mark’s stomach turned when he saw the smug smile growing on Rufus’s face. “Mine and everyone else’s.”
“Indeed I do.”
“And I imagine you’d have a very large problem if every single candidate was forced out of the program due to failure to uphold our on-camera duties, or what-have-you.”
“I’m afraid I don’t understand. You can’t all scrub out.” Rufus looked to someone off-camera and made a few sharp gestures with his hands. Evidently not receiving the assistance he expected, Rufus scowled and lifted his hands in a small gesture of “I don’t know.”
“Oh, no, of course not.�
�� Mark tried to mask his growing amusement. “Not one of us would dream of foregoing the truly once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to go to Mars.” He looked over his shoulder at Trent. “Would we, Trent?”
Trent shook his head, his shaggy blond hair flopping back and forth. “Nope. Not at all.” He paused for effect. “Not without a very good reason.”
Mark made a subtle slicing movement in the air, hoping Trent would catch the hint to not go off-script. Trent closed his mouth, and Mark turned back toward the screen.
“We’re committed to remaining within the Mars Ho Candidate Habitat.” Mark saw Rufus relax. Mark smiled. “But that doesn’t prevent us from going on strike.”
Rufus’s eyebrows shot high enough to rival his receding hairline. “On strike?” He laughed aloud and clapped his hands together. “That’s beautiful. And how do you propose to do that?”
Mark glanced again at Trent and gave him a single nod. Trent’s face broke into a grin and he ducked out into the corridor.
“I think you’ll find there’s quite a bit we can do, or not do, to make your broadcast rather boring. Unwatchable, even.” Mark tipped his chin toward the screen. “Check your monitors.”
Mark waited while Rufus turned aside and surveyed the numerous video feeds from the habitat. Rufus’s face cycled from disinterest through confusion and finally, explosively, into rage.
“You, you can’t do this!” Rufus erupted.
“I believe you’ll find that every one of the remaining candidates is facing away from any and all cameras, sitting or standing silently, without conversation or activity. And we will start disabling the cameras, one by one, beginning in thirty minutes.”
“We’re set.” Trent stepped inside the booth and faced the wall, where the camera couldn’t record his facial expressions.
Mars Ho! (Mars Adventure Romance Series Book 1) Page 18
