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Authors: Ben Bova

Tags: #Science Fiction, #Fantasy

Mars Life (21 page)

BOOK: Mars Life
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DiNardo forced a smile. “God isn’t worried about what the scientists are doing. In reality, the scientists are trying to learn how God created the world and how He makes it run.”
“You think?”
“They may not know it,” DiNardo said, his smile becoming genuine, “but even the most stubborn atheist among them is working lo uncover God’s ways.”
She looked unconvinced, but she murmured, “I never thought about it that way.”
DiNardo got up from the chair and thanked her. He half expected her to ask him for his blessing, but she simply smiled, her fleshy face dimpling prettily.
DiNardo headed for the studio, where they would be recording the final sequence on the documentary about Mars.
She didn’t ask the difficult question, DiNardo said to himself as he stepped through the doorway into the big, barnlike studio. She didn’t ask how a loving and merciful God could create those intelligent Martians and then callously wipe them out, kill them all, with just a flick of His celestial finger.
That was the question that haunted Monsignor DiNardo: How could God be so cruel?

 

BOOK III
EXILES

 

The Old Ones prophesied that The People would live
in the blue world and prosper there.
Through many trials they endured, and learned the ways of the
blue world, and grew in strength and wisdom.
But always they turned their eyes to the red world and
wondered. Always their dreams were haunted by visions
of the red world and what it once was.

 

Dreams bear their own wisdom, and in time some dreamers

strive to bring them into the waking world.

DEPEW, FLORIDA: LONGSTREET MIDDLE SCHOOL
The English class was watching 
The Return of Zorro 
on the big flat screen up at the front of the room. Bucky Winters sat toward the rear with his own notebook open on his lap, where the teacher couldn’t spot it. She was half dozing up at her desk anyway, Bucky saw.
If she catches me I’m toast, he told himself. But half the class was either daydreaming or furtively watching their own notebook screens. Only a handful of students were actually following the adventures of the masked swordsman up on the big flat screen. The sound track, in Spanish with English subtitles, was loud enough to rattle the classroom windows.
Bucky was watching a forbidden video on his notebook screen. He had the sound track muted because he dared not risk letting the teacher see him using the earplug. So he followed the documentary about Mars without the sound, using the Spanish subtitles that the program offered.
Some guy was holding a piece of bone in his hand. At least, it looked like a bone. Bucky’s understanding of Spanish was limited to street talk and restaurant vocabulary, but the words scrolling along the bottom of the screen seemed to be saying that this was once the backbone of a Martian animal.
Bucky wondered why this video was banned. He had recited the pledge in church along with his family and everybody else, but he thought it was stupid to promise not to watch any videos from Mars. So he’d kept his fingers crossed while he solemnly swore that he would not watch any documentary produced by the Mars Foundation.
This stuff is interesting! Bucky realized. He was fascinated by the gigantic valley on Mars, the red cliffs and the rocks that had tiny creatures living inside them. And the buildings up in that niche in the cliffs. Did Martians really build them or were they built by the explorers just to fool people? Bucky knew that Native Americans built dwellings in cliffs like that somewhere out west.
Now the explorers claimed they had found a whole village where real Martians used to live. Bucky wondered what it would be like to go to Mars and explore a whole world.
The class ended before the movie was finished, so the teacher promised they would see the end of it tomorrow. She turned off the screen and the overhead lights brightened. Everybody closed their notebooks and shuffled out into the corridor, heading for the next class.
One of Bucky’s friends, Jimmy Simmonds, sidled up beside him. “Know what I found on the Net?” he asked, grinning broadly. “Girls! Naked girls screwin’ their butts off!”
“You would,” said Marlene Chauncy, one of the brightest girls in the school. “I found a docudrama about Judy Garland.”
“Who’s she?”
“She was an actress,” Marlene said, trying to make it sound dramatic. “She led a very tragic life.”
“Never heard of her,” said Jimmy.
“What about you, Bucky? You didn’t watch that drippy 
Zorro 
show, did you?” 
“No, I-”
“You don’t have to ask him,” Jimmy said, laughing. “Bucky went to Mars again, didn’t you?”
Bucky nodded, while the other kids laughed.
“Mars boy.”                                                                                     
Even Marlene laughed.
TITHONIUM BASE: THE MISSION DIRECTOR
For several days Jamie looked for a way to tell Dr. Chang that Monsignor DiNardo would soon be arriving at the base.
“Why not simply tell him?” Vijay suggested. They were eating dinner in the crowded cafeteria, heads bent close over the table so they could speak without raising their voices above the clatter and chatter around them.
Before Jamie could reply, Vijay went on, “You’re the scientific director, love. You outrank him, don’t you?”
“It’s not a matter of organization charts,” Jamie said. “I don’t want this to be a confrontation. I’ve got to find a way to get Chang to accept this without feeling threatened or angry.”
Vijay smiled lightly. “He prob’ly already knows about it. He’d be a pretty poor mission director if he di’n’t.”
“Even so, I’ve got to tell him. I can’t let DiNardo just pop in here without telling Chang about it first.”
“Well, mate, you’d better break it to him soon. The resupply flight’s due to arrive in a few days, i’n’t it?”
“Four days.” Jamie nodded, tight-lipped.
Vijay looked past his shoulder. “There he goes now. Whyn’t you grab the chance?”
Turning, Jamie saw Chang weaving his way through the cafeteria tables, holding a loaded dinner tray in both hands. He spoke to no one and no one tried to speak to him.
“Looks like he’s heading for his office,” said Vijay.
“He spends most of his time in there,” Jamie said. “His fortress.”
“Go get him,” she urged. “I’ll wait here.”
Jamie took a deep breath, then got up from his chair and hurried after the mission director. He caught up with Chang halfway across the dome, well clear of the cafeteria tables.
“Dr. Chang?” he called. “Can I talk with you for a moment, please?”
Chang slowed his pace but did not stop. “Dr. Waterman? Is something wrong?”
“No, not really,” Jamie said. “I just need to speak to you for a few minutes. In private.”
Dipping his chin slightly, Chang said, “In my office, then.”
Jamie walked alongside the mission director and even slid open his office door for him. Chang placed his dinner tray on the low table in the corner of his office, then wordlessly gestured to one of the chairs next to it.
Once they were both seated, Jamie looked for a way to open the conversation.
“This is about the priest, I presume,” said Chang.
“Yes,” Jamie said, grateful that the subject was broached. “I wanted to tell you personally about his coming.”
“That is kind of you. DiNardo arrives on the resupply flight. I saw his name on the manifest that Boston sent.”
“Our decision to allow him to come was based on a number of factors.”
“He is rather old for such rigorous work. Almost as old as Dr. Carleton.”
“He’s been thoroughly examined. His health is fine.”
Chang nodded.
Jamie went on, “I don’t want you to feel that Monsignor DiNardo’s presence here in any way impinges on your authority as mission director.”
“He is a fine geologist. I know his reputation and have studied his curriculum vitae. I met him once, at a conference in Taipei.”
“Good,” said Jamie.
“He will make fine addition to our geology group.”
“Yes, but the reason we decided to allow him to come here is that he can be a powerful voice against the fundamentalists who are opposed to our work on Mars.”
“I understand. You are struggling against those who wish to stop our work here and force us to return home. A geologist who is also a priest can be useful against them.”
“That’s why we decided to let him come,” Jamie said, thankful that Chang was being reasonable.
Chang’s usually impassive face worked itself into the beginnings of a smile. “I welcome a fellow geologist,” he said, as if he actually meant it. “There is much work for him to do here.”
“I’m delighted that you see it this way.”
“How else would I feel?”
Jamie hesitated, then plunged, “I was afraid you’d be upset, unhappy perhaps, because we didn’t include you in the decisionmaking loop.”
Chang shook his head slowly. “It was not my decision to make. You are the scientific director. I am the mission director. Once Dr. DiNardo is here, he will report to me.”
“Yes, of course.”
“That is as it should be. I will ask Dr. DiNardo to participate in heat-flow studies. He can coordinate measurements of satellites and ground instruments. He need not leave this base.”
“That will be fine,” Jamie said gratefully.
“He will 
not,” 
Chang went on, emphasizing the negative, “work with Dr. Carleton. Not at all.”
And Jamie suddenly realized why Chang was being so cooperative. He wants to use DiNardo as a counterbalance to Carleton, Jamie told himself. He’s a pretty crafty politician, underneath it all.
TITHONIUM BASE: THE RESUPPLY FLIGHT
Jamie could barely concentrate on the map displayed on the lighted stereo table. He kept glancing at his wristwatch, mentally counting the minutes until the resupply flight was due to establish itself in orbit around Mars.
Billy Graycloud stood beside him at the edge of the table, tall and gangling, his silent face focused on absorbing every word that Dr. Chang was uttering. Carter Carleton was on the other side of the table, beside Chang, looking almost amused as the mission director pointed out features on the map with his stubby fingers.
“We have traced the course of the ancient river bed up to this point,” Chang was saying, indicating the spot where Rosenberg and Hasdrubal had reached weeks earlier. There was no mark on the map display to show where the hopper had exploded.
Sweeping his hand down the winding track of the buried river bed, Chang went on, “Detailed imagery of cliffs along this part of the valley shows no additional structures in the cliff face.” The mission director looked squarely at Jamie. Almost accusingly, Jamie thought.
“The imagery doesn’t show any large niches in the cliffs, does it?” Jamie asked, trying to make his voice sound conversational, not confrontive.
“Small niches,” Chang answered, still bending over the table. “None as big as here, where the buildings are.”
Carleton nodded and said, “I’m willing to bet we’ll find other dwellings in the cliffs farther up the river.”
“You told us they were not dwellings,” Chang said. With a grin, Carleton said, “Touché. I misspoke, for lack of a better word.”
“Dwellings or not,” said Jamie, “it seems clear that the Martians lived in villages along the banks of the river.”
“Agreed,” Chang said, straightening up and squaring his shoulders. “Question: should we put more resources into tracing the buried riverbed farther along valley, or concentrate on excavating the village here, by our base?”
Jamie glanced at Carleton, then said, “I wish we had the resources to do both.”
“We do not.”
Tapping the lighted map display with a forefinger, Carleton said, “I say we put everything we have into excavating the village here.”
Chang did not turn toward the anthropologist. Still focusing on Jamie, he said, “Dr. Waterman, you are the scientific director. This decision you must make.”
Jamie remained silent for several moments, even though he had known this question was coming and knew what his answer had to be. Yet he hesitated, hoping to mollify Chang at least a little.
“As I said,” he began at last, “I wish we had the resources to do both. But we don’t, as you pointed out, Dr. Chang.”
“So?”
“So I believe we should use our available manpower to excavate as much of the village as we can, and continue mapping the riverbed and seeking evidence for other villages with the deep radar imagery from the satellites.”
Chang seemed almost to be standing at attention, eyes still riveted on Jamie.
“Very well,” he said. “That will be done.”
The mission director pivoted and strode back toward his office, hands at his sides clenched into fists.
Carleton let out a low chuckle. “He didn’t like that, let me tell you.”
“Neither did I,” said Jamie. “Neither did I.”

* * * *

Jamie started back toward his own cubbyhole of an office, checking his wristwatch as he went. Graycloud walked beside him, slouching slightly.
The public address speakers set up in the dome’s rafters announced, “RESUPPLY FLIGHT OH-EIGHT-ONE HAS ESTABLISHED MARS ORBIT.”
A ragged, halfhearted round of cheers went up across the dome. Whoever was in charge of the PA system put on the “Going Home” movement from Dvorak’s
New World
symphony.
Jamie grimaced as he stepped into his narrow cubicle, Graycloud was right behind him.
“I guess some of the guys are happy about leaving,” the younger man said as Jamie slid around his improvised desk and sat down.
“I guess so,” Jamie replied absently, thinking about DiNardo’s arrival and the departure of twenty-six needed men and women. There would be four new people arriving with the priest: two from Selene and two from Earth. Twenty-six leaving, four coming in. We’re shrinking, he said to himself.
BOOK: Mars Life
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