The Martian Race (39 page)

“What if Chen has a gun?”

“Who'd take a gun to Mars?”

“Chinese, I wonder.”

Raoul said rapidly, “You and me,
we
take the two slots. Leave the two biologists here to work over the Marshroom or whatever the hell it is. We fly home, got a woman apiece.”

“My God.”

“Y'know, I just thought it through,” Raoul said carefully, his diction more precise. “It makes some kind of sense, right?”

“Well …”

“We get what we want. Axy does, too. Sure we're using the Airbus nuke, but we're running things. We fly back your rocks, Julia's samples—dead, sure, but the real stuff. With thirty billion bucks in his pocket, Axy can do the legal for us.”

“Good Lord, I dunno.”

“You just think about it. That's all I am saying.”

“They'd maybe throw us in prison.”

“You know who runs Earthside? Not laws—no, just lawyers. And those Axy can provide.”

“For the boys who bring home the bacon.”

“Right. With Marshroom sauce.” Raoul chuckled.

“I… I really dunno …”

“Look, we're tired—”

“And drunk on cheap tequila.”

“Best tequila there is.”

“That's
the best? Whoosh.”

“Look, point is, you sleep on it. We talk some more tomorrow.”

“I … okay.”

Scraping chairs. Closing doors.

Julia looked at Viktor. He got up and silently closed the door, securing it with the lever that would make a good vacuum seal if necessary.

“My God,” she said. “What…?”

“Drunk talk. It may go no farther than this.”

“But if it does—”

“I will stop it.”

“How?”

“I do not know, but there are tricks.”

“What tricks?”

“Captain tricks.”

“Like?”

“Raoul did not think anyone would take a gun to Mars.”

31

JANUARY 30,2018

J
ULIA BRACED HERSELF BEFORE ENTERING THE COMMON AREA FOR BREAK
fast.

She felt as if she were walking on eggs. Not only unsure of what Marc and Raoul would be like, but suddenly aware of the camera. She and Viktor had agreed that, as a fallback, she would claim “lingering effects” from the near-vacuum run for her hoarse voice. Best thing would be to talk as little as possible. That she was prepared to do.

Viktor and Raoul were already at the table, reading their electronic newspapers and trading items of interest. She was momentarily startled to see Raoul drinking his coffee from one of the generic plastic mugs before remembering that his special ceramic one was gone. He appeared tense and withdrawn, as he had since the engine test failure.

The psychological support team had insisted that the crew receive daily news summaries from Earth to reduce their feelings of alienation. This was in addition to the mission-relevant news summaries prepared for them by Axelrod's communications people.

So each had picked a newspaper, and the features they wanted to see. Raoul got the
Los
Angeles
Times,
with augmented coverage of South American soccer. Viktor read the London
Times,
and was deeply into European geopolitics and soccer. He and Raoul had spent most of the time they were fixing the ERV happily comparing and arguing soccer minutiae.

Marc stuck with the Dallas
Times,
the paper of his birthplace. He followed most traditional American sports, especially volleyball, of which he had an encyclopedic knowledge. Only a minor knee injury at a critical time in college had turned him away from a pro career in the game. Julia had found it was possible to be utterly bored in conversation with Marc if he got going on stats, spiking versus blocking, and arcane rule changes. But he was a bright and well-read scientist, so she tried to keep their conversations on a professional level. Still, she genuinely liked Marc. He seemed to be a more cautious version of her much-missed brother Bill.

Julia had opted for the Sydney
Morning Herald.
It was partly a lark, to see the world again through Aussie eyes, and it helped her keep in touch with Harry and Robbie in Adelaide. It carried a diffuse piece about her—pride of Aussies, on Mars!—the life discovery, and endless speculations. This one had not made it into her “filtered” personal news summary. There were probably thousands like it, long on imagination, short on information.

She cleared her throat and tried a tentative “Morning.” It came out as a croak. Raoul looked up with a frown and stared at her.

She tried a smile and a half shrug, and went over to make herself some tea. Glancing furtively at the camera, she was relieved to see that its little ruby light was dark.
Makes sense.
At some point last night, Raoul and Marc must've turned it off. She wondered briefly how much of their conversation had been beamed Earthside before they remembered about that ever-roving eye. The psych team would be busy this morning if anything had gotten through. In any case, it was a lucky break for her.

Julia made her tea and gratefully slurped the hot liquid down her aching throat. She sat at the table and scanned the comics.

Recently Viktor had been following closely two minor brush wars being put down by the German army. Despite the traditional Russo-German enmity, he approved heartily of their role as the policeman of the New Europe. “Let ‘em pay the price of being big shots,” was how he put it.

Julia managed a few grunts at appropriate moments in their onesided conversation, and picked away at her crossword puzzle. The painkillers and tea began to kick in. She started to feel human.

When Marc finally appeared, unshaven and bleary-eyed, Raoul and Viktor were well into their second coffees. This was normally a very pleasant time for the crew. For all of these highly motivated people, the morning was an optimistic time. With plans for the day, and energy levels high, they would trade funny bits from their respective newspapers. Julia hoped desperately today would be the same.

“G'day, Marc,” she said with feigned cheeriness.

He grunted something and shuffled over for coffee.

Raoul drained his mug and joined him at the food prep center. They talked, their words drowned out by the noise of the microwave. Julia shot a quick look at Viktor, but he was absorbed in his electronic news. She felt a gathering storm in the air. To give herself something to do, she grabbed a deck of cards—the fourth they had worn out on this mission—and started laying them out for solitaire.

For a while after Marc and Raoul returned to the table, the loudest sound was the gentle slapping of the cards. Viktor resolutely stared at his slate.
He's not going to give them any openings.

The silence stretched between them.

Finally, Raoul looked at Viktor and said, “We want to talk about who goes back with Airbus.”

Viktor looked up. “Who is ‘we’?”

“Marc and I.”

Viktor shrugged. “What is there to discuss? Axelrod is making deal with Airbus for space, but I have final decision about who goes.”

“We don't agree with that.” Raoul frowned. “We want a more equal shot at that berth.”

“Look, Viktor,” Marc cut in hurriedly. “You've been very fair so far on workloads, assignments, and all that. You haven't favored Julia, everyone knows that. But this is different. There's no way you could make this decision without personal considerations coming into it.”

“Yeah,” said Raoul. “This could mean life or death. But we're not in the military, and we're not gonna stand for a battlefield command decision. Each of us has an equal right to that slot.”

“I remind you that Airbus captain thinks
he
will pick,” said Viktor mildly.

“I'm not worried about Chen,” growled Raoul. “And I don't want to have a fight about it here. Let's just draw straws. That way I have a one in four chance to get home and see my son.”

“I agree,” said Marc. “It's the fairest way.”

“I agree with Viktor. We should use other criteria than the luck of the draw to pick,” said Julia.

“Figures,” said Marc.

Julia steamed. “May I remind you that I was offered that berth, and I turned it down.”

“So you say,” said Raoul.

“Yeah, why did you?”

“What?” Julia was furious. “Are you implying that I didn't?”

“I just find it hard to believe, the way you described it,” said Raoul. “You sure there wasn't more to it?”

“Like what?” she demanded.

“Like some kinda agreement to say no publicly, and then have Viktor pick you.” Raoul shrugged.

“Or Axelrod,” said Marc. “You're his favorite. He kicked me off when you asked him to.”

“Either way, you go home, but you look noble,” said Raoul grimly.

“I can't believe I'm hearing this!” said Julia. “I said no to Chen without thinking a lot about it. It just seemed wrong, that's all. Anyway, what he wants is the Marsmat, not me. I suspect he'll ask each of you in turn the same thing. And from what I hear, neither of you would hesitate to sell the rest of us out.”

She glared at them.

“Okay. Let us draw straws,” said Viktor's calm voice.

“What?” Julia looked at him in astonishment. “Viktor, what are you doing?”

“Uncertainty is tearing us apart. Is better to know.”

“That's more like it.” Raoul smiled and visibly relaxed.

“Anyone have any spare broom straws?” asked Julia bitterly.

“Yeah, what do we use?” asked Marc. He looked around. “We don't actually have any straws.”

“We play Russian Roulette with cards,” said Viktor. “Is old Russian military tradition for settling disputes.”

“Huh?”

Viktor reached for the deck of cards, still laid out on the table for solitaire. He hunted around, pulled out the ace of spades, held it up. “This is short straw. I bury it in the deck,” he said, demonstrating. “Shuffle it, person to pick cuts deck, takes card. Wrong cards are not replaced. Shuffle after each pick. Finally, someone finds ace.”

“Sounds okay to me,” said Raoul.

“Me too,” agreed Marc.

“Julia?” Viktor looked at her. “All must agree.”

“This is crazy. It's like a bad old movie.”

“Julia doesn't have to play if she's already refused the berth,” said Raoul. “That betters my chances.”

“All must pick, or no deal. If all are equal, all have same chance,” said Viktor.

“Well, Julia?” asked Marc.

Damn. What does Viktor want me to do? Am I supposed to refuse, or go along? I just can't read him on this one. It's like when we play poker—I can never tell when he's bluffing. Still, he suggested it.
“All right,” she said reluctantly.

Viktor ceremoniously showed each of them the ace, put it in the deck, shuffled it, and placed it in front of Raoul. “Cut, then pick.”

Despite herself, Julia was fascinated.

“Seven of diamonds,” said Raoul. “Shit card.”

“All same, but one.” Viktor reshuffled, passed the deck to Marc. “You next. Cut, then pick.”

“Jack of clubs. No good.”

It was Julia's turn.
Ohmigod, they're serious. We're really doing this crazy thing.
With a sense of unreality, she cut the deck, hesitated, turned over the card. It was a black ace. Her heart leaped.
No.
“Ace of clubs,” she heard herself say. She placed it in the reject pile and sagged back in her chair.

Viktor drew the four of spades.

They played as if nothing else in the world mattered.

Two rounds in, the comm chime sounded.

Julia made a move to get up.

“Forget it,” growled Raoul. “It's probably the eavesdroppers wanting to know why we turned off the vid.”

She shrugged and sat down again. It was her turn anyway. Earth could wait.

The reject pile grew steadily.

Three rounds. Nothing. Raoul cursed more violently at each failed pick.

Four.

Five.

“Fuckin’ thing isn't in here,” Marc muttered under his breath.

Julia couldn't see how this would all end. She felt exhausted by the tension. She tore her eyes away from the cards and looked at her fellow crewmates. Who were these two frenzied, ragged men?

They seemed like strangers, suddenly.

Viktor seemed very tense. He cut the deck, flipped over the card. Stared at it for a long moment, then closed his eyes and sighed with relief. “Ace. Of. Spades,” he said slowly, turning it so all could see.

32

JANUARY 29, 2018

A
FTERWARD, THEY SAT FOR A FEW MINUTES, TRYING TO UNDERSTAND
the implications. Raoul frowned into his plastic mug, rubbing it absentmindedly. Julia wondered how he was going to last for more than two years without seeing his family.

“So, Viktor, you won,” said Marc in a flat voice. “You'll get to see how a nuke flies before I do. That's a turnabout.” He laughed, a short bark.

“I will not leave Julia here. But the seat is mine to decide.”

Raoul sighed. “Yep, so it is.” He looked at Marc. “Time for us to get moving. You about ready?”

“I want to pack a bag, is all.” He shuffled slowly off.

Julia raised her eyebrows. “Where are you going?”

“Moving to the ERV,” said Raoul.

“What for?” Julia was dumbfounded. This she had not anticipated.

“Safeguard the fuel, Axelrod's orders,” said Raoul.

Julia's brief hopes for normalcy shattered.

“I don't think is necessary,” said Viktor. “Boss has funny ideas of what can happen here. Is not bad sci-fi movie.”

“Well, we're not gonna sit here on our asses wondering when Chen makes his move.”

“You really think he's going to try for the fuel?” Julia was dazed.

“What I said is I don't wanna worry about it. We stay in the ERV, there's no question of him trying anything funny.”

“And Marc is going too?” asked Julia hoarsely. “But his samples, his work, everything's here.”

“We're not exactly moving out of the neighborhood, although God knows we tried.”

Julia struggled to clear her throat.
They're serious.

Raoul looked at her coldly. “And there's another reason to go. This place is so small we'll catch whatever she has. And I don't want it. Especially if it turns out to be a Mars bug.”