by Ben Bova
Bee wrapped his arms around her. “But we have each other, Virginia. And once we get home, we’re going to build a wonderful life together.”
Her smile turned warmer. He said once we get home, Virginia thought. Not if. We’re going to make it. And he’s going to be all right.
December 23, 2035
Mars Landing Plus 48 Days
04:44 Universal Time
The White House
It was approaching midnight in Washington D.C. The black Mercedes sedan stopped at the White House’s west gate, where the passengers’ credentials were quickly scanned by the guard, then the car drove up to the West Wing portico.
Standing beside the Marine on duty there, Sarah Fleming held her arms tightly around herself. The December night was cold. Past the White House fence she could see the National Christmas Tree, ablaze with colored lights. The city was still buzzing, despite the hour. Most stores were remaining open until midnight to accommodate frenzied Christmas shoppers.
Feels like it’s going to snow, she said to herself.
The Mercedes pulled up and two men in dark suits got out, and hurried up the steps to where Fleming was waiting.
“Senator Donaldson,” she said, with a heartiness she did not truly feel.
“Sarah,” the senator replied.
“Come on in,” she said.
As she walked them along the corridor, Fleming said, “The president is waiting for you in the reception room.”
“Can you tell me what this is all about?” Donaldson asked, his voice hard, flinty. “A midnight call to the White House sounds pretty melodramatic to me.”
Forcing a smile, Fleming replied, “He didn’t want any publicity about this meeting. He thought it would be best if you two talked without the ever-present cyberworld watching. I don’t think a public figure can go to the bathroom without someone taking a movie, posting it and commenting on their bowel habits.”
Donaldson made a sour face; the young aide accompanying him looked shocked.
The reception room was small, quiet, elegant, private. President Harper got to his feet as the three of them stepped in. On the ornate coffeetable in front of the sofa, a small forest of liquor bottles stood waiting. The president already had a heavy-cut crystal glass in his hand.
“William,” he said cordially, extending his free hand. “Good of you to come.”
Donaldson made the smallest of smiles as he took the president’s hand. “What’s this all about, Mr. President?”
Harper smiled broadly as he pointed to the array of bottles. “What’ll you have?”
“Coffee, please.”
“Nothing stronger? Something to ward off the chill?”
“Just coffee.”
Fleming went to the phone and ordered a pot of coffee. Harper pointed to the sofa, then sat himself in the armchair at one end of it. Donaldson sat at that end of the sofa.
A butler wearing a dignified white tie came in with a tray bearing a silver coffeepot and three heavy-looking mugs bearing the presidential seal. Fleming poured for the senator and his aide while Harper sat back in the armchair and sipped at his whisky.
“All right, Bob,” Donaldson said, letting some crankiness show, “why did you ask me here?”
Harper ignored the deliberate impropriety. Leaning toward Donaldson, he said, “Bart Saxby’s had a heart attack.”
“When?”
“Earlier this evening. He’s in the Georgetown University Hospital, intensive care.”
Almost smirking, Donaldson muttered, “Another victim of your Mars program.”
Biting back the retort that leaped to his mind, the president said merely, “He’ll recover, they’re pretty sure.”
“Is this why you asked me here tonight?” Donaldson asked.
“No.”
“Then what?”
“Bill, it’s time for us to talk turkey.”
“About what?”
“About the party’s nominee for the presidency next summer.”
A light glinted in Donaldson’s eye, but before he could say anything, the president added:
“And the future of the Mars program.”
The light disappeared. “You know where I stand on that,” Donaldson said coldly. “Human spaceflight is too dangerous. And too expensive. And I don’t give a damn about life on Mars.”
Keeping his expression steady, Harper said, “No more dangerous than airplanes were, early on. In fact, spaceflight has a much better record than aviation, safety-wise.”
“One of your Mars people died. Another had a serious accident. And now Saxby.”
“Prokhorov’s cancer had nothing to do with his being on the Mars mission and you know it,” said the president. “And Connover’s recovering from his burns. I’d say the Mars team has done an admirable job of overcoming the problems they’ve faced.”
“But it’s so expensive—”
“It’s peanuts, and you know it! Less than one percent of the federal budget.”
“It’s one percent we could use elsewhere.”
President Harper put his glass down on the coffeetable and said slowly, “William, you’ve got to decide whether or not you really want the party’s nomination.”
“What do you mean? Of course I want it. I deserve it!”
Leaning back in the armchair again, Harper said, “If you want my support, you’ll have to reinstate the funding for the follow-on mission to Mars.”
“Reinstate . . . ?”
“And promise to continue human missions to Mars and elsewhere.”
“No!”
“Do you think you can get the party’s nomination without my support?”
Donaldson flashed a glance at his aide, who sat frozen, coffee mug halfway to his lips, his eyes riveted on the president.
Then the senator said, “Yes, I think I could win the nomination without your support.”
“Could you win it if I actively opposed you?” Harper asked, very softly, almost in a whisper.
Donaldson’s lean face flushed with anger. “You’d tear the party apart over this Mars nonsense?”
“The public is solidly in favor of this ‘Mars nonsense,’ as you put it. We’ve confirmed that organic chemicals are there. Some on the team are telling me that there are bound to be fossils too. This is the most important discovery in history and we can’t walk away from it. It’s too important.”
“Fantasy.”
“Then let’s talk about reality. You’d have a hard time winning the nomination if I opposed you, and even if you got the nod, you’d surely lose in November.”
“Because you’d split the party in two!”
“No,” Harper countered, “because you would split the party in two by your opposition to one of our most popular programs.”
“Mars isn’t necessary.”
“Yes, it is!” Harper insisted. “Don’t you understand? We have all sorts of programs for all sorts of needs. But Mars—human exploration of the space frontier—that gives people hope, excitement, something to be thrilled about, something to be proud of. And the technology we develop builds our economy better and faster than all the handouts we offer to the people. Who knows, maybe we’ll find out that Mars had more than bacteria in its history.”
Donaldson started to reply, then thought better of it.
“I’ll support your nomination with everything I’ve got,” Harper promised the senator, “and a united party will win the election in November. If you want the White House, you have to give the voters Mars.”
“I can’t do an about-face like that. I’m on record as opposing human spaceflight.”
“You can become a convert,” the president said, with a benign smile. “It’s been done before. You’ve changed your mind on other issues, over the years.”
“But . . .”
“You give me Mars and I’ll give you the White House.”
“I’ll lose my core!”
“You can persuade them. Only a small set of fanatics will hold out
. They’re noisy, but they don’t have the votes and the public’s getting tired of them.” The president leaned forward to tap Donaldson on the knee. “William, this is politics. You have to give something to get something. I’m willing to give you the White House. Seems to me what I’m asking you for is not beyond the realm of reason. Besides, the samples of Martian life will come back while you’re in the White House, not me.”
Donaldson didn’t look convinced.
“What if I told you that you’ll be able to take credit for creating whole new industries and keeping American biotechnology preeminent for the foreseeable future?”
Donaldson squinted, turned his head to the side, and leaned forward in a clear indication that he wanted to hear more.
Harper filled him in on the NexGenPro analysis of what could come from the Martian organic chemicals.
“What’ll keep me from going public with that information tomorrow?”
“Absolutely nothing. Except that I’ll withdraw my offer and you won’t have my help winning the next election.”
Donaldson muttered, “Let me think about it. I’ll have to talk to my people, and—”
“No. I need your answer now. Right here and now.”
The senator looked away from the president, his eyes scanning the room and settling on the painting of the Yosemite Valley hanging on the opposite wall.
Pointing toward the painting, President Harper smiled and said, “Once that was the frontier, Bill. Wild and dangerous. Men and women died trying to tame it. Now it’s a National effing Park. Oh, and do I need to remind you of all the money the robber barrons made by taking advantage of the resources they found as they moved west?”
Donaldson nodded. “I see what you mean.” He drew in a deep breath, then said, “All right, give me a few weeks to break this gently. But I’ll get my subcommittee to reinstate the follow-on mission.”
“And you’ll back future human space missions?”
“I guess I’ll have to, won’t I?” Suddenly the senator broke into a reluctant grin. “Hell, I might even name you as next director of NASA.”
Harper laughed. “No. No thanks. Saxby will recover and you’ll want some continuity at NASA.” Then, his expression turning sly, he added, “a Supreme Court appointment would be good enough.”
Donaldson looked as if he wanted to puke. But he kept his mouth shut and got to his feet.
They stood up. Shook hands. The president walked the senator to the door, one arm around Donaldson’s shoulders.
“I want to thank you, William. You’ve made a hard decision, but you’ve made the right one.”
Donaldson looked less than happy, but he managed to mutter, “Thank you, Mr. President.”
Beaming his best smile, Harper said, “Next year this time, I’ll be calling you Mr. President.”
Despite himself, Donaldson grinned.
Fleming led Donaldson and his aide out of the room. Harper went to the coffeetable, drained his glass and refilled it.
When Fleming returned, she asked the president, “Well, what do you think?”
“I think we’d better lavish a lot of praise on that sonofabitch once he reinstates the funding for the follow-on. We’ve got to make sure he stays bought.”
Fleming nodded knowingly.
December 24, 2035
Mars Landing Plus 49 Days
23:30 Universal Time
The Arrow
“Merry Christmas, Bee.” Virginia was smiling warmly as she handed Benson a folded slip of paper.
They were in the cupola, which they had turned into their private little nest. Beyond the observation ports, the stars hung solemnly in the infinite black sky. One of the points of light was blue and beckoning: Earth.
“Thank you, Jin,” said Benson as he carefully opened the single sheet and looked down at the paper.
Virginia had drawn an elaborate scene: a cutaway view of the Arrow with a Christmas tree prominently displayed in the galley, bright with lights. At its base, instead of gift boxes, was a scattering of reddish rocks: Mars rocks, he surmised. Standing around the tree were caricatures of the three of them, Benson, Virginia, and Taki. They were actually well done, he thought, looking happy and healthy with broad smiles on their faces. Even Prokhorov was there, floating above them like a Christmas ghost, smiling also.
Feeling guilty, he mumbled, “I didn’t get anything for you. I’m sorry.”
“You’ve given me love and joy, Bee. Every day, not just for Christmas.”
He felt his cheeks warm.
Taki’s voice on the intercom broke into their moment. “Hey, you guys, front and center! We’re getting a call from the President of the United States!”
Benson blinked with surprise, then pushed against the cold observation port to move away from the hatch. With a sweeping gesture, he said, “Ladies first.”
“The president?” Virginia marveled. “Must be a Christmas greeting.”
They floated up to the command center, where Taki was hovering in midair, facing the communications screen. A redheaded woman was saying, “The president will be with you in a minute.”
“We’re here,” said Benson, as he and Virginia coasted up on either side of Taki.
“Relax. They won’t hear you for at least half an hour,” Taki reminded them.
The screen now showed the presidential seal, nothing more. Taki muttered, “Take your time, Prez, we’ve got nothing better to do than—”
A male voice announced calmly, “The President of the United States.”
President Harper’s heavyset, silver-maned form filled the screen. He was smiling, and to Benson it didn’t look like the plastic smile of a professional politician. Harper looked genuinely pleased.
“Good evening and Merry Christmas,” he said. “I want to give you my personal best wishes and tell you that the whole nation—the whole world—is praying for your safe return home.”
Standard political fare, Benson thought.
“I have some good news for you. Bart Saxby is out of danger, and it looks as if he’ll make a full and speedy recovery.”
The three of them smiled appreciatively.
The president went on, “This is a private message, people. No news coverage, nobody else in the loop. Even the technicians who set up this communication have left the room. Just you folks on the Arrow and the Fermi habitat. I want to give you all a sort of Christmas present.”
President Harper’s expression was somewhere between delighted and ecstatic. “I wanted to tell you personally that we’re going to reinstate the funding for your follow-on mission. We’re not going to leave your teammates stranded on Mars. We’re going to go back and rescue them, and we’re going to continue exploring.
“That’s the important point,” President Harper emphasized. “We’re going to continue exploring. Your mission to Mars is only the first one. There will be others.”
Taki clapped her hands. “Wonderful!”
“I know that you won’t be able to reply for another half-hour or more,” the president was saying, “but I couldn’t resist giving you the good news in person. Merry Christmas to you all! And when you return to Earth, I’ll be there to personally shake your hands.”
The screen went blank.
For several heartbeats neither Taki, Virginia, nor Bee said a word. Then they all started to speak at once.
Laughing, they finally said together, “Merry Christmas to you, Mr. President. And thanks for the good news.”
Ted Connover’s bandaged face appeared on the screen. “Did you just hear what I just heard?”
“Yes!” Benson said. “Looks like you’re going to get rescued.”
The time-lag between Mars and the Arrow was less than a minute, but still the seconds ticked slowly.
Hi McPherson poked his bearded face into the camera’s view. “Well, I always figured they wouldn’t leave us stranded here. At least, I hoped so.”
“The president seemed very excited about it,” Virginia said, from behind
Benson’s shoulder.
“His Christmas present to us,” said McPherson.
“Damned nice of him to call,” Taki said.
“Yeah, it was.”
Benson asked, “How’re you guys doing out there?”
“We’re fine,” Connover replied.
Amanda said, “We’ll take the bandages off Ted’s face in another day or so.”
Benson hiked a brow. “Oh, I don’t know. I think Ted looks better with part of his face hidden.”
“He might at that,” Catherine agreed. “It makes him look more mysterious.”
“Maybe you ought to cover up the rest of his face,” Benson joked.
“Yeah, yeah,” Connover groused. “And a Merry Christmas to you, too.”
“What do you want Santa Claus to bring you?” Virginia asked.
All four of the Fermi team answered as one voice, “Water!”
December 25, 2035
Mars Landing Plus 50 Days
10:00 Universal Time
Elysium Planitia
To McPherson, the novelty of going outside the habitat and walking on Mars would forever be exciting, filled with wonder. Even on Christmas day, he and Catherine had suited up and gone out onto the plain of Elysium.
But there was more than the thrill of adventure motivating them now. They had to find water. The Fermi’s water supply was running low, even with their reduced consumption and recycling.
Still, McPherson was especially excited as he and Catherine stepped out of the Fermi’s airlock and onto the rusty-colored, rock-strewn sands of Elysium.
“We’re going to cross the path that the old Curiosity rover took when it explored Gale crater.” He was practically humming with glee.
Pointing to the hills rising in the distance, Catherine said, “It’s more than a two-hour walk.”
“A long way from here. We’ll barely get there before we have to turn around and start back.”
They both knew why they were heading out on such a long walkabout. The geology team back at Mission Control had picked that location as the best place to dig for water. According to their latest analysis, there was a shallow crater just to the east of where Catherine and Hi would be crossing the old rover’s track. The east wall of the crater had been in shadow for ages, raising the possibility that there might be ice close enough to the surface for their core sampler to reach it.
