Mars (65 page)

“There is the backup rover,” Vosnesensky said.

“But who’s going to drive it?” Connors asked. “You’re all just as sick as we are.”

“I will.”

“You can’t do that,” Jamie said. “You’re too sick to risk it.”

Vosnesensky’s grin reappeared, faintly. “I will drive the rover. I will gobble vitamin capsules by the kilogram. I will arrive in your vicinity in no more than thirty-six hours.”

Despite his exhaustion, Jamie understood the reason behind Mikhail’s smile. “Ivshenko and Zieman are at the dome now. You’ll take them with you. They’re both healthy.”

The Russian bowed his head slightly in acknowledgment. “Yes, I will bring Ivshenko with me. We will ride to your rescue like the Seventh Cavalry in your western cinemas.”

Connors muttered, “Wasn’t that Custer’s outfit?”

Vosnesensky had not made up his mind until he had seen their faces. Connors looked gaunt, dying. Waterman’s broad cheekbones were jutting out, the flesh of his face was pulled taut, his eyes were red and watery.

There is nothing else to do, Vosnesensky told himself. I will pilot the rover to them and bring them back here to the dome. I will carry a supply of vitamins and food for them. Ivshenko will go with me, and Zieman will remain here. It is all within mission regulations; no safety measures will be broken.

His mind made up, he called Dr. Li up in
Mars 2
and informed him of the decision.

Li looked startled. “You are in no condition to make such a traverse.”

Vosnesensky said stubbornly, “Ivshenko is. And I am quite capable of sitting in a chair and steering the vehicle. We will detach the middle section and take only the command module and the logistics module. I will be in constant communication
with Dr. Yang and Dr. Reed. I will take whatever medications they prescribe.”

“Kaliningrad will refuse to permit it,” Li’s image on the screen said. “They have decided that the eight of you in the dome are more important than the four in the rover.”

“The four in the rover have the specimens of Martian organisms with them,” Vosnesensky pointed out.

Li shook his head. “The decision has been made to evacuate you from the dome first, and then to see if it is possible to rescue the traverse team.”

“In that case,” Vosnesensky said, “I will go without Kaliningrad’s permission. Or yours.”

Li’s eyes widened. “Do you realize what you are saying?”

Feeling all the enduring strength of Mother Russia surging through his veins, Vosnesensky said, “Certainly I do, Dr. Li. But you must realize what you are saying. As expedition commander your responsibilities are huge, heavier than I would want to bear. But I would not willingly allow Kaliningrad or god almighty to write off four of my comrades.”

“The safety of your remaining team members is the most important issue now.”

“Perhaps so. I am merely the leader of this ground team. I do not have to worry about the mission controllers or the politicians above them. My responsibility is to the men and women here on the surface of Mars. All of them, including the four stranded out there in the canyon.”

“You would be risking your life and the lives of whoever you take with you,” Li said.

“Ivshenko will be happy to volunteer, doctor. I will see to that, never fear. We will observe all the safety regulations.”

“I cannot grant you permission for this!”

“Yes, I understand. That is your responsibility. Mine is to my comrades.”

“Let me discuss it with Kaliningrad.”

Vosnesensky almost laughed. “By the time the mission controllers finish arguing we will all be ready for our pensions—or our funerals. No, this must be done now, not two days from now.”

Li licked his lips. In the comm screen he suddenly looked to Vosnesensky like a startled rabbit staring at him, ready to
dart to safety. For long moments the two men stared at each other wordlessly.

Finally Li said, “Good luck.”

Vosnesensky gathered the eleven men and women together in the wardroom and announced his decision.

“Ivshenko and I will drive the second rover to the canyon and pick up Waterman’s team. We will be gone for three days—four, maximum.”

The others said nothing. Standing in a loose semicircle before the cosmonaut, they looked at one another uneasily, fleet shifting, eyes questioning.

Finally Dr. Yang said, “You are not in physical condition to make such a journey.”

“It is my responsibility,” Vosnesensky said. “Li and the mission controllers want to evacuate us back to orbit before trying to rescue the excursion team. I have decided otherwise. I must go. Me, myself.”

“But you are still ill,” said Yang. “The effects of scurvy will linger for many days. You will be weak and debilitated. …”

“Dmitri Iosifovitch will do all the work; I will merely take the glory.”

They laughed, nervously.

“I’ll go with you,” said Tony Reed.

“You? No.”

“I must,” Reed insisted.

“There is no need for you to come,” Vosnesensky said. “It is an unnecessary risk.”

Reed stepped up to confront the Russian. “It is my responsibility to go,” he said quietly, “just as it is yours.”

Vosnesensky shook his head stubbornly. “We will not need a physician on board the rover. You will be in touch with us over the comm link.”

“Don’t you understand?” Reed burst out. Turning to face the others, “Don’t any of you understand? It’s my fault! The reason you all got sick is my fault! My doing! I fouled up the vitamin pills. Then I failed to see what was happening to you.”

It was the most difficult thing Antony Reed had ever done in his life. The others stared at him in surprise.

“I’ve
got
to go with you,” Tony pleaded, turning back to Vosnesensky. “Jamie and the others … they’ll need a doctor once we get there.”

Vosnesensky’s mouth was open, as if he wanted to reply but did not know what to say. The others began to look embarrassed, uncertain of what to do.

“He should go,” Yang said firmly. “He is right. The four in the rover will need immediate medical attention once you reach them.”

Vosnesensky stroked his broad chin. “I see.”

“So will you,” Yang added.

The Russian grinned weakly. “My personal physician?”

Yang did not smile back. “If you insist on making this traverse in your condition, you will need a physician with you.”

“Very well,” Vosnesensky said reluctantly.

“Thank you!” said Reed. He saw the look on Vosnesensky’s face, on all their faces. He had expected anger, or perhaps disgust at his stupidity. Instead they all seemed sympathetic, even the sickest of them. They don’t blame me, Reed realized with a surge of gratitude that nearly buckled his knees. They don’t blame me!

For the first time in his life he had admitted a shortcoming, accepted the consequences for his own actions, bared his guilt to the men and women around him. He had thought it would be more painful than slicing open his own guts. And it was. But he had survived the pain. Like a man facing suicide he had confronted the worst he could imagine and come through it alive.

Vosnesensky sank gratefully into the nearest wardroom chair. His legs were so weak he could not stand any longer. A good thing that I will be able to sit all the way out to the canyon, he told himself. I only hope I will be able to drive the damned rover without collapsing like a weak old woman.

Jamie was sitting in the cockpit again, Joanna beside him. Connors was stretched out on his bunk, moaning softly in his sleep. Ilona was also trying to sleep, on the bunk above the astronaut’s. None of them had possessed the strength to fold the cots back. They had eaten their gloomy breakfasts sitting
on the edges of the lower cots, heads bent low to avoid bumping the uppers.

“Vitamin deficiency,” Jamie mused. “Of all the things that could have gone wrong with this mission, we come down With scurvy. Talk about Murphy’s Law.”

Joanna seemed barely awake. But she said, “Knowing what the problem is, somehow it does not seem so bad. It was the unknown that frightened me.”

“It can still kill us, whether we know what it is or not.”

She smiled wanly. “You won’t let us die, Jamie. I know you won’t.”

Why is she putting this load on me? he wondered, half angry. But aloud he said to her, “There’s not much any of us can do now except wait.”

Joanna’s weak little smile widened slightly, as if she knew something that Jamie did not.

The comm unit buzzed. Jamie flicked the switch and Abell’s froglike face appeared on the control panel screen. He looked just as sallow and gaunt as the four in the rover, his sunken cheeks making his protruding eyes seem to pop out even more than usual.

“There’s a message coming in for Joanna from Kaliningrad,” Abell said. “Is she up and about?”

“I am here,” Joanna said, leaning enough from the pilot’s seat so that Abell could see her even though the miniature camera built into the control panel was aimed at Jamie.

“Oh, good. I’ll tell them up in
Mars 2
to pipe it right down to you.”

“How are you doing?” Jamie asked.

Abell swung his head back and forth. “Reed’s pumping so much vitamin C into us that I feel like I’m turning into an orange grove. I can shake my head without getting woozy, but I still feel like canned dog food.”

Jamie realized that he felt like
used
dog food. And that Abell refrained from asking how he felt.

“Dmitri and Ollie are outside rerigging the spare rover. Mikhail’s straw-bossing them over the TV link and making their lives miserable. He’s too weak to go out there himself so he’s giving them hell every inch of the way.”

“How long before they get under way?” Jamie asked.

“Another hour. Two at most. Mikhail’s taking Dmitri with him. Ollie’s sore as hell.”

“No sense risking more skins than you have to,” Jamie said.

“Reed’s coming, too.”

“Tony? Going outside?”

“Yeah. He says you’ll need a medic by the time they get to you.”

That’s a comforting thought, Jamie said to himself.

Abell said, “Okay. I’ll tell them to shoot you the message from Kaliningrad.”

The screen cleared briefly, flickered; then the image of a tired old man took form. His red hair was rumpled, his sharp little Vandyke beard messy, his shirt collar unbuttoned. He identified himself as the chief of mission control.

“My message is for Dr. Joanna Brumado, and it is of a personal nature. It is a question, actually, that Dr. Brumado must answer for us.”

Jamie swiveled the little ball-mounted camera on the control panel toward Joanna while the mission controller hesitated, as if waiting for him or expecting a reply. Then he took a deep breath and plunged onward:

“Dr. Brumado, this question concerns your father. As you know, he has been quite close to the day-to-day operations of our mission. Naturally, he has been informed of your … predicament. He is already heading for Houston. I have given strict orders that no one outside mission control is to know about the problem we are now facing until the situation has been resolved. This is to forestall the media from sensationalizing the situation, you see.”

Jamie thought, I sure as hell see that they don’t want the media to know the fix we’re in. They’d be buried alive by reporters.

“However,” the chief controller went on, “apparently your father is being accompanied by a representative of the American news media, a young woman television reporter. We have not been able to learn her affiliation, although we have her name.” The Russian looked down, obviously reading from a piece of paper. He pronounced stiffly, “Edie Elgin.”

Joanna frowned. Jamie felt a jolt of surprise. Edith? With Brumado?

The chief controller looked distinctly uncomfortable. “Your father will want to speak with you, of course. Apparently
this newswoman with him wants permission to tape your conversation for possible broadcast—after this crisis is resolved. The tape would not be released, of course, without the permission of the Mars Project administrators. And your father’s permission also, of course.”

She’s hooked up with Brumado, Jamie realized. Son of a bitch! And she wants to make a tape of their conversation. What a cold-blooded piece of genius that is! If we die she’ll have terrific footage of the last tender moments between father and daughter. If we live, it’ll still be great human-interest material for her.

And she hasn’t asked to contact me. She doesn’t give a damn about me. Why the hell should she? She’s got Brumado now.

The chief controller was asking Joanna, “Will you be able to conduct a brief conversation with your father—allowing for the time lag between transmission and reception of messages, of course.”

Joanna glanced at Jamie, then seemed to draw herself up taller and straighter in the cockpit seat.

“I appreciate your solicitude toward my father and myself, and I thank you for it. But please do not bother to arrange a special transmission for us,” Joanna said, more firmly than Jamie had ever heard her speak before. “I repeat: do
not
set up a link with Houston. I want no special privileges. If you have chosen to maintain a news blackout about this problem we are facing, then please do not consider me to be an exception.”

Jamie cut off the transmission switch. “Wait a minute,” he said. “Doesn’t your father have a right …”

Her red-rimmed eyes flared at him. “I am not a little girl who must talk with her papa when she is in trouble. I want to be treated just the same way you and the others are treated.”

“But he’s Alberto Brumado,” Jamie said. “It’s not you that they want to give special treatment to; it’s him.”

Joanna tried to shake her head. The effort made her grip the edge of the control panel with a white-knuckled hand. “No. I would not be able to keep my strength in front of him. I would break down and cry. I will not have that put on videotape.”

“Oh. I see. I guess.”

“Jamie—if we … if it becomes certain that we are going
to die here, then there will be plenty of time to speak to my father. Each of us will tape messages for our families, I am sure.”

“I guess so.” And Edith will get it all for the goddammed prime-time news.