Aftermath

by Charles Sheffield

  "I'll live. I said you could trust me. How is it back there?"

  "All right," Jenny said, and Wilmer added, "Me, too, but the side wall has bent in. I can't move until Celine does."

  "Don't try." From the sounds, Reza was releasing himself from his harness. "Sit tight and I'll try to open the hatch. It's going to be tricky. We're in the middle of a snowdrift."

  Sitting tight was easy. Unable to move, Celine could do nothing but wait and listen to Reza's gasps and grunts of effort.

  "Good thing it slides," he said after half a minute. "We'd never have opened it outward against packed snow. And the drift is almost to the top of the door. Another half meter and we'd have to tunnel free. But I can get to you now."

  He kicked at the banked snow, enlarging the hole, and used the space he had made to crawl upward and free the hammock clamps on one side. Celine, Jenny, and Wilmer rolled together to finish in a heap near Reza's feet.

  "Anyone have some first words for our return to Earth?" he said. "The ones I'd been working on don't seem to apply anymore."

  "We made it," Jenny said shakily. "In that last few minutes, I felt sure we wouldn't." She reached out and put her arms around his neck. "I've always laughed at you when you told me what a great pilot you were. But you are."

  "You'd better believe it." Reza went on kicking at the snow, making a hole big enough to crawl through to the ground outside. "Celine, you first. You're the head of the Mars expedition now."

  His words brought back to Celine the memory of the crew members who were not with them. The sheer exhilaration of being alive faded. She eased her way feet-first into the hole that Reza had made, and the mound of snow crumbled and sank beneath her weight as she slid to the ground.

  She stood up, waited for the other three to join her, then said, "We, the surviving members of the first human expedition to Mars, honor the memory of Ludwig Holter, Alta McIntosh-Mohammad, and Zoe Nash. Without the lessons learned from their sacrifice, our own return to Earth would have been impossible."

  Jenny gasped, and all four bowed their heads. They stood shaky-legged and silent for half a minute in the long-awaited air and gravity of Earth. At last Celine looked up and made her first inspection of their surroundings.

  She stood at the end of a long stretch of tarmac about fifteen meters wide and three hundred meters long. By her side the orbiter was nose-down and buried deep in a bank of snow that had damped the force of its collision. The ship was ruined and might never fly again, but crazy Reza could take pride in his piloting. Even orbiter specialists expected a runway twice as long and wide as this one.

  Beyond the runway, hugging the ground and partly dug into it, Celine counted half a dozen wooden buildings. Gray smoke rose from the chimneys of three of them, and the snow had melted from their roofs. Around the runway, trees clad in the foliage of late spring stood bowed down by snow. More deep snow covered the bushes and ground between them. In the distance, white hills stretched to the horizon. The orbiter had landed in the deepest part of a valley. The air that filled Celine's nostrils was rich with strange but familiar smells, of smoke and pine needles and resin. She stretched her arms wide, luxuriating in wide spaces and open sky. The air was colder than she had expected.

  "And you told me," Jenny said, "that the temperature on Earth is higher because of supernova heating?" It was less a question than a skeptical jibe intended for Reza, but Wilmer answered.

  "Globally, and overall. But the effects you're most likely to notice are the fluctuations from normal weather. Like now. Much more chilly than usual for this time of year. Somewhere else, maybe down at the South Pole, it's one big heat wave."

  "Then take me to the South Pole," said Jenny. Her teeth were starting to chatter. Celine suspected most of that was nervous reaction. On the other hand, Jenny was thin and lightly built, and she had removed her jacket on entering the Clark to provide a little more padding to the hammock.

  "We have to get inside," Celine said. She gestured toward the buildings. "Inside there. They must have heat."

  "And a place to rest." Jenny took a trial step, then another. "If we can walk that far. Ooh, Earth gravity. My legs feel like spaghetti."

  Reza took her arm to help her. "Come on. Walk. We have to."

  "Maybe not." Wilmer pointed along the valley, to a building shaped like an A-frame barn. The front had opened to reveal three odd-looking machines. They were painted dark red and had balloon tires, and a handful of people stood clustered around each one.

  "We don't need to walk," Celine said. "They've noticed our arrival. We can relax. Thank God, we made it. We're home from Mars."

  20

  Saul was explaining to Yasmin the history of his relationship with Tricia. The facts were easy, though he didn't quite understand why he was offering them; and Yasmin did not ask.

  Did not ask that question, at least; she asked a hundred others. Did Tricia know of his political aspirations when they first met? Had he been in a relationship of his own at the time? How old was Tricia? Was he upset by her multiple marriages and divorces? Did he know her previous husbands personally? Her present husband? Did he know her family? Had she met his mother and his sister? Did she know how much he was worth? Did she, in fact, even realize that he was rich?

  As soon as they finished eating they moved into the next room, a small lounge with two old armchairs in front of a fireplace and a fake log fire. The room was heated by hot-water radiators that creaked and cracked as they expanded and contracted, so that Saul constantly glanced into the corners to see what else was going on in the room. He had come to the story of that final evening, when he had told Tricia that all thoughts of marriage must be postponed until after the election. At a critical moment, just as he was trying to recall his own exact words, the overhead lights flickered and dimmed to an orange glow.

  He looked at Yasmin questioningly and she shook her head. "Nothing to do with me. It's midnight, and they've gone to low power to conserve energy. I suspect someone is trying to tell us it's bedtime. Go on."

  The mood had changed as the hour advanced. Saul felt instinctively the shift in power dynamics. It was no longer a meeting of President and aide, but part of some undefined and evolving relationship. Differences of age and status were less relevant. Late at night, all cats are gray. And Yasmin's eyes were tiger eyes, glinting a yellow reflection in the half-light. She had drawn her legs up beneath her on the armchair and was leaning forward, crouched and ready to spring. He thought she looked too beautiful to be true; but that was not why he had come to Indian Head.

  "I told Tricia this didn't change the way I felt about her," he said. "And we didn't have to wait forever. We just had to avoid being seen together until after the election."

  "Did she make a scene?"

  "Not a bit. We were in a San Francisco restaurant, the Catch of the Bay. Tricia listened to me very quietly when I told her. Then she said she had to use the rest room. She left the table. And she never came back."

  "A shitty way to act, don't you think?"

  "I guess so." Saul was convinced that Yasmin was talking about his action, not Tricia's.

  "Did you call her?"

  "Of course I did. I was off on the campaign trail the next morning, but I called her as soon as I could. All I got that night was her message service."

  "Did you try to see her?" She rose from her chair in one fluid movement and came to perch on the broad arm of his.

  "Not at once. I was all over the country, they had my every minute programmed. It was three weeks before Tricia and I were even in the same town. Then she wouldn't see me. Four weeks later, when I was up in Vermont, I received a media report that she had married Joseph Goldsmith." He wondered if the bitterness showed in his voice. "My staff briefed me about him. Someone who was everything I wasn't, first families of Virginia, horses and hunting and estates and a pedigree back to the mid-1600s."

  "Was she seeing Goldsmith at the same time as she was seeing you?"

  Saul stared. "I don't t
hink so."

  "Don't look amazed. It happens all the time where I come from. Go with one, keep another in cold storage just in case."

  "I don't believe Tricia would do a thing like that."

  "That's your option. But what's your theory? You must have one."

  "I think she married on the rebound."

  "A woman scorned? But she wasn't scorned, was she? She had been asked to wait a while, that's all." Yasmin was staring sightlessly at nothing, her tawny eyes wide. "Something doesn't smell right. I need time to think about this."

  "I've thought about it endlessly."

  "Maybe. But you haven't thought as a woman."

  "Meaning what?"

  "Meaning you're like a lot of men, charitable when it comes to women's motives. Are you sure you told Tricia that you would marry her after the election?"

  "Absolutely. I mean, I'm sure I said it, I couldn't have been clearer. But she hardly seemed to be listening. She seemed preoccupied, even before we began to talk."

  "Did she have a key to where you were staying?"

  "Yes. We were staying together."

  "You were lucky. If you dropped me the way you dropped her, I'd have been over that same night and fixed you for life."

  Saul winced. She was leaning over him, and she made a vicious snipping motion toward his genitals with her fingers.

  He put his hands protectively in his lap. "You would never do anything like I did to Tricia, would you? You'd never treat a man so badly."

  "I feel sure I wouldn't."

  He sprang the trap. "Not even if you could be President if you dumped him? And if you had no chance if you stayed with him."

  "Jesus. I should have seen that coming." Yasmin stood up. She had removed her shoes, and she began to prowl silently up and down in front of the dark fireplace. "Nolo contendere, isn't that what crooked politicians usually plead? You're right. For a chance—for half a chance—I'd do the exact same thing you did. Though you say you didn't really dump her, and she ought to have known that. But if she thought you had, I'm still surprised she didn't come along one dark night and castrate you."

  Saul thought, Maybe she did. I've been no use since. He said, "So she was angry and disappointed and bitter, and she ran off and married someone else. I decided that for myself, long ago. What I don't understand is why she would call me, out of the blue, and say she wants to see me again."

  "God, men can be so naive." Yasmin approached Saul's chair and hovered over him. "Isn't it obvious? She's divorced again, and she's hunting."

  "Tricia isn't divorced. At least, she wasn't a couple of months ago. Since the supernova I don't think anybody could get a divorce no matter how much they wanted one."

  "So I'm wrong. Did you agree to see her?"

  "I'm having dinner with her tomorrow."

  "Without her husband?"

  "I suppose so."

  Yasmin stared at him steadily, until he went on, "I mean, I feel sure her husband won't be there."

  "And you still claim that she's happily married?" Yasmin spun away and went back to the fireplace. She rested her forehead on the cold stone mantelpiece. "You should ask Tricia what she wants from you. Don't ask me, because if I say something all you'll do is defend her. Why did you really come here?"

  "I told you. I wanted to talk to you, to make sure that you were all right."

  "Nonsense. You could have done that with a call. If I could contact the White House from here, I'm sure you could have reached me from there. You know why you came. It had nothing to do with my welfare."

  Saul could hear the pain in her voice. He knew he was causing it, but he didn't know how. He stood up and went to stand behind her. When she did not move, he took her by the shoulders and gently turned her toward him.

  "I didn't just call you, Yasmin. I came to see you. Why did I come? You say I don't listen, but I'm listening now."

  He put a hand behind her head and pulled it forward to rest on his shoulder. For a moment she stood rigid, then he felt her relax.

  "You came because you're scared of her." Her voice was muffled against his chest. "I don't know what that woman does to men, but it's quite a trick. Look at her track record. What Tricia Goldsmith wants, she gets. She didn't snag you the first time around, but only because you had one thing in your life, at that particular time, that you put above her." Yasmin straightened up and stared at Saul fiercely. "But damn it, I still don't understand. In fact, the more I think about this, the less I understand it."

  "About Tricia and me?"

  "About Tricia. Let's forget you just for the moment and concentrate on her." Yasmin stepped back. "I'm going to try to be Tricia. Tell me if this sounds right—and don't go out of your way to defend everything she has ever done. All right, here goes. I was born poor and a nobody. But ever since I became a teenager, I've been climbing steadily up the ladder of fame and fortune. True?"

  "I suppose so. Of course—"

  "I've reached the point where I have plenty of money. I've picked my husbands very well, so I'm also sitting well up on the social scale. You don't get much higher than the Chartrains. And now I've got Saul Steinmetz curled around my little finger. No, don't start denying it."

  Saul had been ready to speak, but he managed to hold back.

  "And now Saul is running for President. I'll be First Lady! There's only one condition: I have to wait a few months, until after the election, before we can be married. But that's no big deal. We'll still be having sex, though we'll have to do it more discreetly. And when he sees how sweet and reasonable and understanding I'm being about this, he'll love me more than ever. So I've got it made, if only I'm a little bit patient. And what do I do?"

  "If Tricia—"

  "I screw up and throw away my chances completely—at least for the time being—by marrying another man. He's rich, but so is Saul. He's part of the old monied set, but I've been there, done that. I've never been First Lady, though. And that's something I would really love. So what happened, to make me mess up so completely?"

  "I don't know."

  "Neither do I. But it makes absolutely no sense, psychologically. Do you mind if I, Yasmin, try to find out what really happened?"

  "I wish you could."

  "Can I say this is for the White House?"

  "N-yes, all right. Look, if Tricia did decide she had made a mistake when she ran away, why did she wait two years before she contacted me?"

  "I don't know, but I'll make a guess. It's the Virginia Property laws. There's more than one way to screw a husband."

  "You hate her, but you never even met her." And when Yasmin did not respond, "Look, I don't want to go on talking about Tricia all night, and what you're saying doesn't make sense. Even if I were scared of Tricia—I'm not, I'm going to dinner with her tomorrow—how would my coming here to see you change anything?"

  "You don't want to talk about Tricia anymore? All right, let's talk about you. You're not scared of her in the usual way. You're scared in a different way, because you know quite well, even if you won't admit it, that one crook of her finger at you and you'd hop into bed with her again."

  "I don't think that would work."

  "Why?"

  "There are . . . reasons."

  "Well, I'm damn sure it would." Yasmin stepped back again, so that they were at arm's length. "How much honesty can you stand? You already told me tonight that you might have to fire me. Well, I'm going to give you a good reason to."

  "You haven't said or done anything offensive."

  "Just give me a minute. I know you weren't born rich, but you weren't born dirt-poor, either, the way I was—the way Tricia Goldsmith was, from what you've told me. She's come up a long way, but she'll remember. She learned to read men as self-protection. When you're poor they all assume you're available. Ever since I was a teenager I've watched men look at me, and I've heard them talk. They say, I'd like to help you with your career. But their eyes say, I'd like to fuck you."

  "You think that's why I came to see you?"<
br />
  "I asked you, how much honesty can you stand? I wish that had been why you came, it's so much better than the alternative. Sometimes in your office I wanted to grab you, but I didn't dare. When you said you were coming here I thought things might be different. There, now I've shocked you. Didn't you feel anything between us before this?"

  Saul reached out and ran his finger along the smooth line of her jaw. "I felt it, of course I did. But there are things about me that you don't know."

  "Like what?" She shivered. "Jesus, you'd better stop touching me. You're giving me chills and I won't be able to think. Things about you that I don't know? Well, I know you've not been able to get it up since you became President."

  Saul froze, his finger still on her chin. "Where did you learn that?"

  "From your doctor. No, Dr. Singer didn't tell me. But he's been in a terrible state since the gamma pulse wiped out the recording equipment. If he ever knew how to write anything but prescriptions, he's forgotten. He can be a pompous ass but he's conscientious, and he wants to keep full records of his meetings with you 'for posterity.' He used to dictate from his rough notes into his computer until it died. I told him I'd try to help. I said I'd take his recent scribbles and write them out properly and put them in order. He jumped at the offer. So I know that you've been impotent for over two years—since Tricia, in fact. No coincidence."

  "You read all his notes?"

  "Everything in the notebooks."

  "About the tests he did? About my sex life?"

  "Yes, I read all that." She laughed harshly at Saul's expression. "Oh, come on, I found that reassuring. Most women would. We're not looking for sexual freaks. And you have regular nighttime erections."

  "When I'm sleeping."

  "Yes, but it shows that everything's in working order. The problems aren't physical, as Dr. Singer pointed out. He mentioned three women in his notes."

  "They were a long time ago, over a year. I thought you were only using his notes for the period since the recording chips stopped working."