The Martian Race (8 page)

Then Axelrod called them into another astronauts-only meeting in his office, with thirty minutes notice. He sat on his desk again, carefully arranging the creases in his dark blue tailored suit before beginning.

“We're a team, right?”

Nods all around. Julia nodded enthusiastically. She liked these conditions. The NASA Astronaut Office had been a perpetual playground of primate rivalry. Pilots looked down on mission specialists. Veterans lifted eyebrows at the newbies. Military thought the civilians were soft. Doctorate holders felt themselves above all others; they were in it for the science, not the ride.

“I've got something to tell you that will
demand
that you pull together.” Axelrod was savoring this, for some reason she could not detect. Then she saw:
he
was in the team, too. As close as he would ever get to being an astronaut. Luckily, he was more important than just another team element. He knew how to cut through layers of NASA fatty tissue.

The special demands of going to Mars with just four astronauts had disrupted the NASA style. Ideally astronauts were supposed to be interchangeable. That broke down somewhat under the space station's pressure for detailed specialists, and disintegrated under the work specs for Mars. Crews of four or six could not explore a whole world without a lot of special knowledge and techniques. So this team had few overlapping abilities.

“This is entirely top secret. Not even a hint to the press or anybody else, even inside the Consortium. Clear?”

They all nodded. Axelrod's assistants all left the room as if on signal.

“Remember that Mars flight gear I tried to buy? One-of-a-kind hardware? Well, NASA turned me down, then the ESA people. So I put some industrial espionage people onto tracing where it had disappeared to.” He lifted eyebrows. “Guess.”

Nobody did.

“I always like mysteries, just about the only kinda book I read. I go for the real detection stories, with clues you piece together. So let me give you an intercept my spy guys decoded. Engineering stuff.” He arched eyebrows, apparently to warn them of approaching jargon. “It says, ‘Configured in bi-modal, we can run after launch in ‘idle mode’ with thermal power output of one hundred kilowatts. Therms are removed and routed to a turbo-alternator-compressor Brayton power conversion unit using a helium-xenon working fluid. A finned radiator system (expendable on aeroassist braking) rejects waste heat. This also reduces decay heat propellant loss following propulsive burns.’ Whew!”

Viktor said very quietly, “My Lord.”

Axelrod took no notice. “So that clue led us to—”

“Someone is building a nuke,” Viktor said.

Axelrod blinked, and for the first time in Julia's experience an uncertain smile flickered. “How'd you know?”

“That is describing how to use a nuclear thermal rocket to give electrical power,” Viktor explained slowly. “After boost phase, still have solid core propulsion system. There is plenty more energy left in the Uranium-235 plates. Run it at low level, circulate water or some other fluid, make all electricity ship needs.”

The others nodded. To Julia it made sense. But Axelrod stared at Viktor, startled. “Damn it all, you're right. My spy guys took another three weeks to work that out.”

“Do not know rockets.”

“Well, they
said
they did. My staff thought so, too.”

“Get new spies. I know couple Russians could do this job better.”

“Y'know, I just might.” Axelrod breathed in sharply and started with fresh momentum. “Maybe Viktor can guess who's behind that message.”

Viktor frowned. He was not the kind of engineer who speculated, much less made guesses. “I smell some Russian work, but that makes no sense as only player.”

“Right, kinda,” Axelrod said. “They got some old Russian gear. A set of plates to lodge the U-235 in, plus a containment vessel.”

“From old Soviet program? I heard the team at Semipalitinsk ran a nuclear thermal rocket in fixed mode for a thousand hours.”

Axelrod nodded. “That checks. No environmental controls then, I guess.”

Viktor snorted. “Was when people not scared of anything nuclear—bomb, rocket, or nuclear family, too.”

Axelrod smiled uncertainly at this little joke. “My background report says that Soviet job worked just fine.”

“Ran it underground, like nuclear test.” Viktor tilted his head, in his typical thoughtful pose. “No venting of exhaust gases to surface. Not much radiation count in the exhaust anyway.”

Axelrod gazed around at his team, obviously liking his guessing game. “So who's doing it, guys?”

Nobody spoke. Julia knew that Axelrod thought in financial terms first, so she said, “Someone who thinks they can beat us to Mars and not spend thirty billion doing it. With all the new work a nuclear rocket requires, I don't think they can keep prices down.”

Raoul said carefully, “There is enormous development work required. Nobody ever actually flew a nuke, y'know.”

“Politically impossible to vent into atmosphere, these times,” Viktor said.

Raoul nodded. “So they'll have to fly it to low orbit on a booster. Maybe a big Proton IV?”

Viktor nodded. “Is cheapest way up, sure.”

Katherine said, “I don't know anything about the U.S. and Soviet programs, but I do know orbital mechanics. Surely they can't do all this development work and lift for Mars when we do? So they miss the window, and the energy price to catch us gets huge.”

Axelrod slapped his palm on his desk. “Exactly. So they have to fly later, much later. We can't really guess what trajectory they'll choose. My spy guys haven't picked up anything about that.”

“They could go for a smash-and-grab mission,” Katherine said. “Miss our window and make the next one, twenty-six months later. Land, grab something, then fly home fast to beat us by a few days.”

Axelrod obviously liked watching his team perform. “So what's stopping them?” he coaxed.

Katherine said, “It can't work. They wouldn't have time to gather all the samples, do the geology. Without a pretty detailed set that meets the Mars Accord standards, they won't win, even if they do get back first.”

“You all agree? It seems impossible?” Axelrod swept the room with his concentrated gaze.

They all looked at each other and nodded. Julia wished they had time to hash this over, do some figuring on paper, but it sounded right to her. They could check it all later, of course, but Axelrod liked this seat-of-the-pants style. “So how can they win?”

“If we lose,” Viktor said. “Fail. Blow up. Crash.”

They had all thought of this, and only he had the courage to say it out loud, Julia realized.

Axelrod pressed them further. “So it's a big gamble for them, right?

Nobody throws down maybe twenty, thirty billion on a toss of the dice like that. So there's gotta be a backup motive.”

Julia was getting a bit tired of this teasing, but the man must have some point. How could he be so sure there wasn't somebody on this planet more foolhardy than Axelrod himself?

Raoul said suddenly, “If they lose, they still have the nuke.”

A murmur of agreement as it dawned on them. Raoul said with zest, “A whole new kind of rocket. One that's two or three times more efficient than our boosters.”

Axelrod beamed approvingly. “A ship they can sell to anybody who wants to do deep-space work. Plenty of money to be made in the next couple decades, opening up high orbits.”

Viktor said, “Going to asteroids. Prospecting. Mining.”

“Who has enough vision,” Katherine observed thoughtfully, “to do that?”

“Too big for company?” Viktor asked. “Seems to me.”

Raoul said, “Must be countries, sure—and they must be using Russia's old Soviet work. The U.S. wouldn't sell anything they have in storage from their old nuclear program, Nerva.”

Viktor smiled dryly. “The mob at the top of Russia now, they will sell their grandmothers.”

“Sell is the word,” Katherine said. “They need the cash. But invest? I doubt it.”

Raoul smiled. “What major players are left out of the Consortium? China. Europe. India. Probably not anybody from South America— they do not have the technology.”

Axelrod laughed. “You all get A-plus. Right! Point is, I couldn't include the whole damned planet in the Consortium. So now some others are ganging up on us. We've got a European-Chinese collaboration on our tail. Call themselves the Airbus Group.”

“It takes courage to leapfrog us,” Katherine said. “A nuclear rocket. What are they using for shielding?”

Axelrod said, “It looks like they have liquid hydrogen as their initial fuel. After that, we don't know.”

The room dissolved into cross talk as the crew speculated on the Airbus approach. Axelrod let it run for a few minutes, then waved for silence. He was a master at commanding a room, Julia noted, but could not see how he did it. Charisma was always in essence elusive but still apparent.

He grinned, a confident, tanned man with the budget of a small nation riding on his decisions. “My spy guys confirmed that Airbus bought some Soviet nuclear propulsion gear. Plus discarded U.S. government stuff done with contractors. Equipment we traced to an assembly building in South America, which turned out to be a blind. It's now in China.”

“Makes sense,” Viktor said. “They have big launch facilities. Buy Proton stages from Russian agency. Assemble there.”

Axelrod folded his arms. “That's about all I know, except one more little mystery. Who will fly their mission?”

“Uh-oh …” Raoul said. Julia could see they had all thought of the same, obvious solution.

Axelrod grinned. “Right again. None other than your old crewmates—Marc and Claudine. Must say, I didn't think that when I rejected those two from this program, they'd turn up flying for a competitor.”

“They'll need some others,” Katherine said. “Probably Chinese, maybe Euros.”

Axelrod agreed. Julia ground her teeth. “I would like to confront Marc. How can he betray his country by working for a foreign group, after all the years at NASA?”

She regretted it the moment she said it. He's there
because you got him bumped …

“He's a private citizen and this is not a classified project—it's a public competition,” Axelrod said, smiling grimly.

“We all know Marc fairly well,” Raoul said. “He's like us. He dreamed of going to Mars all his life. And look, Julia, you didn't hesitate to have him dumped in favor of Viktor.”

“I didn't! That was not my decision to make.”

“It got made at your instigation,” Katherine said mildly, not looking at Julia.

“I was going to quit—”

“So you say,” Katherine shot back. “It sounded a little Machiavellian to me and—”

“I just didn't want to leave Viktor,” Julia sputtered. “You have no right—”

“I'm only saying what a lot of people around here—”

Julia jumped to her feet. “Damn it, I had no idea—”

“Oh, come on—”

“Quiet!” Axelrod's booming voice cut through. “Sit.” Julia sat.

Viktor held up both hands, palms out, and said to all, “We do not run this show, remember.”

Axelrod sat back, watching the strained faces slowly rotate toward him. “Right. I take responsibility. At the time I sure didn't think I was making things easier for a competitor, but that's how business works. There's always somebody coming in on your blind side.”

Julia seethed inwardly at Katherine's remark. She felt guilty enough about her part in Marc's dismissal, but to be accused of having planned it… Still, her training told her to put the conversation back on a less emotional plane. “Marc is determined to get to Mars any way he can. They can't possibly carry out the trials we would have to just getting a nuclear rocket to a reliable state. He and Claudine and whoever else—they're risking their lives, big time.”

Raoul sat back, folded his arms. “We all know that the Chinese have been cutting corners on space for decades. This is new, cutting a corner nobody else has before.”

Viktor's mouth twisted into sour agreement. “They are good. Skipped building space station, gained a lot of advantage. But nuclear!”

Axelrod's incisive gaze momentarily rested upon each astronaut in turn. “So you all think this is a credible threat?”

They all nodded.

“Dangerous,” Katherine said, “but credible.”

“Could work. A big advance, if it does,” Raoul said.

“But we get to Mars first,” Viktor said. “Tell Airbus, fine. We will leave a light on the porch for you.”

They all laughed, but to Julia's ear there was a hollow ring to the sound.

7

JANUARY 11,2018

A
FTER DINNER IT WAS TIME FOR THEIR REGULAR VIDEO TRANSMISSION
. No groaning allowed.

They pulled Consortium logo shirts over their waffle-weave long johns and prepared to look presentable. In fact, they wore as little as possible when in the hab—loose clothing didn't aggravate the skin abrasions and frostbite spots they suffered in the suits. They kept the heat cranked up to compensate, but then nobody had to pay the electric bill, Marc pointed out. Competition was keen for creams and ointments for their dry skin rashes.

“My turn, I think,” said Marc.

Julia smiled. “Janet on the other end tonight, then?”

Janet Conover was a former test pilot who had trained with them, and clearly had hoped to make the trip. Janet was a good mechanic, but Raoul was better. The Consortium had made a careful selection: individual talents balanced with strategic redundancy. The crew of four had to cover all the basics: mission technical, scientific, and medical. They fit together like an intricately cut jigsaw puzzle.

Tonight's broadcast was going to be somewhat sticky. They were going to have to describe Viktor's injury while reassuring their millions of regular viewers that they were okay and the mission was still on track. A considerable feat of bravado would be required. Maybe they would reassure themselves at the same time.

“Let's play up the water angle, not the ankle,” Viktor said.

“Drama plays better than science,” Julia said.

“So we must educate, yes?” Viktor jabbed his chin at Marc.