4

Houston

The early afternoon sun slanted down Huron North’s light well and shone on the grass covering the bottom. John Hunter and his wife, Vanessa Smith, sat in chairs in the shade of the wall with Greg Harris and his wife, Anna Racan. The two couples had apartments facing the grassy floor and often shared it together on Sunsol afternoons.

“I hope you can take care of our flowers for the next few months,” said Greg, indicating a row of zinnia pots. “Anna and I leave for Dawes right after Easter and we’ll be gone at least three months.”

“You’re going away for three months?” asked John. “Greg, when have you ever gone away for that long before?”

“This is the first time. But Anna’s needed at Dawes because a construction team will be arriving starting next week to start work on the second biome; she’ll be the nurse and physical therapist on duty during that work.”

“What about mass?” asked Vanessa.

“I’ve consecrated enough host and wine for the entire trip, and Eammon, as deacon, can distribute it. I may give the sermon by video.”

“As much as he says he wants to stop, he never does,” added Anna. “In fact, we’re planning to organize a mass and an interfaith service at Dawes, with the help of Kimberly and Ananda.”

“But is that enough to justify your trip?” asked John.

“No! I’ll be doing religion on Sunsol. The rest of the time I’m there to set up chicken and tilapia production; Gaston has trained me how to do it. Neither Dawes nor Cassini have either; as a result, right now they incinerate or compost agricultural and cafeteria waste. Cassini may even ship its waste up to Dawes, since right now there’s a lot of unused cargo capacity between the two outposts.”

“So, Dawes will become a chicken exporter,” said Vanessa, smiling. “A funny idea.”

Greg shrugged. “As you know, Cassini’s slated to get a third biome next year, and after Columbus 8 both will grow about thirty percent in population. The new Meridiani Trail that will be built next year will provide a direct route from Aurorae to Dawes, making the round trip drive a bit faster, and the flights safer. There’s a lot happening.”

“Here, too.” Vanessa looked around. “Well, John and I will be here, so there won’t be any problem.”

“When do you plan to visit the Hellas Chimneys again?” asked Anna. Vanessa and Enlai’s paper had just appeared in the April 1, 2035 issue of Nature and now everyone on Mars knew about their research.

“Enlai’s going up in late June, just before the dust storm season hits. We may make another trip up in early 2036 right after it ends; they want to send an expedition from there southward into the polar terrain.” She paused a moment. “But I’m not going because I’m pregnant.”

“Really, Congratulations!” said Anna. She leaned over and kissed her friend.

“So, you beat us!” added Greg.

“You’ll have your chance,” replied John. “It’s going to be interesting.”

“As you can see, I’m wearing a radiation vest,” said Vanessa.

“I noticed, but that’s hardly a clue any more,” replied Anna. “Practically everyone has added attractive radiation vests to their outfits. It makes all of us look a fat, but it’s safer.”

“The new fashion,” added John.

“It’s so sweaty, though,” replied Vanessa, adjusting her blouse, which was covered by a vest filled with hydrogen-impregnated polyethylene pads five centimeters thick in front and in back.

“Of course, you’re always warm, now,” added John, putting his hand on her.

“This is not public information, yet,” Vanessa added. “It’s only been six weeks. We were surprised; we had planned to wait longer.”

“Don’t worry,” replied Anna. “God willing, we’ll be joining you next year.”

“Meanwhile, I’ll be at Aurorae for the next year,” said John. “I have some geochemistry to do, but there’s lots of industrial chemistry, and I may do construction as well; I enjoy it. And we’ll get a new flat after Columbus 8 arrives so we can accommodate a baby.”

“The new flats will be larger and they’ll have a lot more private outside space,” said Anna. “I think they’re talking about ‘lawns’ about fifty percent bigger than this, and not shared with anyone else.”

“That’s correct,” replied John. “And balconies. We’re looking forward to more space, too.”

“So, will the baby be Lakota, Maori, American, or New Zealander,” asked Anne.

“Marsian,” replied John. “Maybe I should say ‘hyphenated Marsian’’ part Lakota-Marsian, part Maori-Marsian, part other things as well.”

“Everyone is using the term Marsian now, since the President used it to criticize us and Will used it to defend us,” noted Greg.

“It still makes me think of ‘little green men’ not of me!” added Anna.

“Well, we need to call ourselves something,” replied John. “I no longer worry about that. We’re Marsians. There aren’t many of us, but we have a distinctive culture, a distinctive dialect, distinctive sports and arts, distinctive architecture, distinctive clothing fashions—” He pointed to Vanessa’s outfit with its radiation vest. “A distinctive social structure with collective meals. . . it will continue to change and evolve, but after fourteen years it’s already pretty distinct.”

“It is,” agreed Greg. “But what worries me is the negative edge I hear. ‘We’re Marsians; they aren’t.’ President White’s repeated criticisms have given Martianness an angry side. He’s trying to take over the Mars Commission and has managed to alienate most of the population up here.”

“It’s not just that,” responded Vanessa. “The Congressional hearings have uncovered clear evidence the attack on the mosque was deliberate and there’s impeachment in the air.”

“We can do without the US, too,” added John. “The gold covers about half our costs. We could probably get grants from the Chinese and others who want to thwart the United States to cover the rest.”

“That would be a mess,” said Greg. “I’ve been thinking that we need a positive Martian event—or would it be a Marsian event?—right now to balance the situation. A big dinner and arts evening, for example.”

“One thing we still don’t have is a holiday,” agreed John. “That’s something we could use.”

“Well, the equinox is coming up,” noted Vanessa. “It’s about six weeks away, I think. I have wondered whether it’d make a good holiday. It’s something we can celebrate all over Mars, too. For Aurorae and Dawes, it’s midsummer because the sun’s overhead. For Cassini, it’s the vernal equinox.”

“That’s a great idea!” exclaimed Greg. He stood up to pace around, he was so excited. “We have two equinoxes per annum; we could celebrate both. We could make it a holiday kind of like American Thanksgiving, with big meals eating distinctively Marsian cuisine. And of course we have to have art! If it’s still six or eight weeks away, there’s time to prepare!”

“But how can we invent a holiday?” asked John.

“Holidays are not that hard to invent. The Governor declares a sol off and the Mars Council passes a resolution declaring a public holiday. The public does the rest. We could always have the Borough Councils appoint Equinox Committees, too.”

“That would work,” agreed John. “And you and Anna could plan the celebration at Dawes while Vanessa and I assist with Aurorae.”

“And we can find someone to spearhead the effort in Cassini,” said Greg. His eyes twinkled with excitement. “This is doable.”

----------------------------------

It was two sols before Greg could talk to Will about his idea. Meanwhile, he did further research. When he arrived at Will’s office for his appointment on April 2, the boss was busy on the phone.

“Sorry for the delay,” Will said, when he finally beckoned Greg in. “Lots of last minute changes with the cargo manifest and even with the passenger manifest.”

“I hear. Anna heard just this sol that her cousin’s coming.”

Yes, he’s the new addition! Another tourist pulled out because he’s suddenly broke. The Dow Jones is now down fifty percent and unemployment’s rising fast as Europeans and Japanese shift their investments out of a wounded U.S. economy to other economies.”

“Making it all worse.”

“Exactly, especially since the U.S. economy is now dragging down everyone else’s in a big way. Every time the economy weakens, governments contact the Commission and reneg on all or part of their annual subsidy, but the price of gold goes up and we have more gold income. It’s a constant balancing act.”

“And a headache. How are the negotiations going with the White House?”

Will shrugged. “I’m not involved. I gather it’s very slow and not much progress is being made. Meanwhile, they appear to be putting pressure on us in all sorts of ways. NASA has asked for double the payment for support services next year. The contractor that builds the Mars shuttle engines has asked for a big advance payment for work. The support contractor for the mobilhabs and conestogas has said it cannot continue without tripling the fee.”

“But some of that isn’t from the White House, right? Some of it must be economic necessity.”

“Correct. The economic crisis on Earth is unlike anything since the Great Depression of a century ago. The drumbeats of war make economic uncertainty even worse, and the aging of populations in Europe and Japan mean there’s no surplus in those places to do anything at all. We have to make some difficult choices because we don’t have enough money for everything. I’ve been urging Morgan to pool resources with the moon, since their economic crisis is worse than ours—tourism has collapsed—and they have some common equipment, but he has been concentrating on tough bargaining because working with the Lunar Commission would alienate NASA further right now. I suspect we’ll go without some support services. We have more experience with our ground vehicles than anyone on Earth, for example.” He sighed. “Never mind. Let’s not dwell on the negative. What can I do for you?”

“I have a positive idea for you, Will. We need a positive ‘national’ or Marsian holiday. Anna and I were talking to John and Vanessa the other sol and we hit on the idea of celebrating the equinoxes. They occur twice an annum, which is about once a year; every 334 sols or 343 days on average. On Earth, the spring equinox is celebrated in many societies, especially agricultural ones. The equinoxes are important to us because they drive our internal climates; when the sun is overhead the equatorial biomes have summer. Celebrating them would help us keep in touch with the planet’s seasonal cycles. I’ve talked to Madhu; she could have an artistic evening ready for the next one, which falls on May 28. We thought the best celebration would be to have the sol off, followed by a big dinner and an arts evening.”

“Hum. That’s a great idea; I like it. Of course, celebrating some holidays by the terrestrial calendar—like New Years and Easter—and celebrating others by the Marsian calendar will get complicated at times.”

“Nothing we can’t handle.”

“True. The Muslims have the same problem already with their religious holidays. We’ve tried to make the landing of Columbus 1 into ‘Mars Day’ but it hasn’t taken off yet, maybe because we were never sure which calendar to follow in celebrating it. Right now we could use an outlet for Marsian feeling.”

“We had exactly the same thoughts.”

Will nodded. “Okay, let’s do it, then. I suggest you ask the Mars Council for a proclamation. I’ll talk to my heads of staff about the holiday; they’re jealous of the time they have right now because we’re badly behind schedule since the computer virus hit us. But a sol won’t do any harm, and considering how hard everyone has been working, it might do some good.”

“Excellent.” Greg rose. “Anna and I leave for Dawes in two weeks, but we can get the ball rolling here, then get it started there as well. I’ll talk to the Mars Council about a proclamation and the Borough Council about appointing a planning committee.”

“Good idea. Thanks, Greg.”

Father Greg nodded, waved, then headed out of the office. Will turned back to his work. There was another email from Sebastian Langlais asking Will whether he could prevail on the Mars Commission for any additional business; Shackleton faced a fifty percent cut in personnel over the next six months otherwise. Will replied quickly that he had been trying, but was encountering a lot of resistance. When he hit “send” nothing happened for thirty seconds, then the message “communications with Earth interrupted” appeared on his screen.

He called to Mars control. “Rostam, how long has the link with Earth been down?”

“About two minutes, Will. It went down unexpectedly. The problem appears to be in Houston. Communications are still coming up via Paris, Beijing, Tokyo, and Moscow. Email and media are already being rerouted down there via the other ground stations and we’re rerouting things up here as well.”

“Their computer systems have not been robust, since the virus.”

“No, but this has never happened before. Previous instabilities lasted thirty seconds or less. I’m sure they’ll inform us of the problem once service is restored.”

“Okay. I just emailed the moon, but it didn’t go.”

“It will now because the Paris transfer point is functioning. Just send it again.”

“Okay. Thanks.” Will hung up and sent the message to Sebastian again. That time it went. He turned to Louisa’s latest email from Paris, where she was settled for the spring. It proposed public relations themes for the summer.

Before he finished his videophone was beeping urgently. It was Silvio DiPonte. “Will, the big screen here in Yalta has the BBC news on it. They’ve interrupted their regular program for a news bulletin about Houston. Something’s happened there.”

“What?”

“No one knows. The city has fallen silent; all communications are down. The crisis has dragged down the electrical grid as far away as Dallas and New Orleans, too.”

Will groaned. “Thanks, I’ll warn Rostam. I wonder if it’s another virus.” Will exchanged a few more words with Silvio, then closed the circuit. He turned on the BBC news on his attaché

There was nothing new, but he found it impossible to do anything; he felt a sense of dread, almost anxiety. In the last few months there had been way too much uncertainty; staring at the screen, he realized he had been under a lot of stress. No doubt it was effecting his blood pressure and cholesterol, not to mention he had been shorter with the kids, lately. And he worried about the dozens of people in Houston with whom he interacted daily; what might be happening to them? He looked at his chronometer program; it was 4 p.m. in Texas. Rush hour.

While he was contemplating the possible impact of the troubles on his own life, the BBC had a news break. “The Pentagon has just announced that the North American Air Defense Command’s early warning satellites have detected a nuclear explosion about twenty kilometers northeast of Houston, Texas. The explosion appears to have been in the 20 to 50 kiloton range, which means it was equivalent to twenty to fifty thousand tons of TNT. It is assumed that the sudden loss of communication with Houston, and the collapse of much of the electrical grid in Texas, is attributable to the explosion.

“Our experts tell us that such an explosion would produce a flash bright enough to blind people within a few kilometers. It would cause spontaneous ignition of fires. The shock wave would be capable of destroying buildings out a dozen or more kilometers, depending on the nature of the construction. There would also be radiation effects.

“The blast would also emit a powerful electromagnetic pulse. A person partially standing on the rails of a train track would be shocked. All electronics would be burned out; this means cell phones, computers, automobile engines, even household appliances with chips in them would have been rendered useless. We have no information yet about the quantity of injury to people and property that has resulted. It is likely that we will not find out for some time, because even electronics that were turned off almost certainly would have been burned out.”

The reporter turned to a coanchor and they filled time by calmly discussing the news. Will stared at the screen, partially shocked by their demeanor and partially by the implications. The Hiroshima and Nagasaki bombs were equal to 21 kilotons of TNT; this one was as large or larger. The Mars Commission was located southeast of Houston, probably thirty or more kilometers from the explosion. The altitude was an important variable; if the bomb exploded high, the flash and EMP would reach the Commission, blinding persons outside, lighting many structures on fire, and destroying electronics; if it exploded low or on the ground, the horizon would shield the Commission from the flash and EMP, but there would be fallout and possibly a large shock wave that would blow over many structures, convert windows into a rain of shards, and expose possibly millions to radiation far worse than the Martian surface.

In addition to a thousand Mars Commission workers and their families, there were cousins, close friends, and even a few spouses of Marsians living in the area.

Will’s videophone beeped. It was Rostam Khan. “Will, have you heard the latest?”

“I have the BBC on. We’re talking about a major tragedy, Rostam.”

“I know, but I wanted to be sure you knew.”

“Thank you. Was Houston monitoring anything for us, this sol?”

“They were providing a second set of eyes on preparations for the launch of the Pavonis and Arsia. They were monitoring Aster 1 and 2 so we had more time for other tasks. They were watching all our biomes, but that work was mostly being done in Seville and Paris, so that’s ongoing. And of course they were providing a constant set of second eyes for all our Prospectors and all our expeditions.”

“Of course. Our work on the new 75-meter class biome is being monitored in Moscow, at least.”

“And there’s the vast amount of support work they were doing, paying the bills, issuing research grants to geologists and biologists, handling human resources matters, engineering updates to everything from fuel cells to low-flow toilets, keeping track of our inventories, investing our retirement monies, finalizing Columbus 8, etc.”

“I know. All that’s blown away for several months at least. Thanks, Rostam. I’ll draft a statement for the Mars operation right away.” Will closed the connection and began to draft a short list of points while keeping one eye on the television image flickering on his attaché. Finally, he was ready.

“Attention all Mars personnel,” began his voice mail. “Just minutes ago we lost all communications via Houston, including email, telephone, and media. We have verified that communications continue to flow through our up and down links on other continents, however. Since then we have heard on the British Broadcasting Corporation’s all news channel that a nuclear device has exploded twenty kilometers northeast of the city of Houston. We are currently assuming that the flash, blast, and electromagnetic impulse have knocked out all services at the Mars Commission headquarters. However, there is no confirmation of a nuclear explosion from sources other than the Pentagon and no information currently is flowing from Houston itself.

“We can infer that a tragedy of great but still unknown extent has unfolded in Houston. It is essential that crucial personnel in environmental management, shuttle support, and deep space exploration remain at their posts. Personnel in Prospector support must be shifted to the above functions to replace support no longer coming from Houston. We recommend that other personnel remain at their posts if possible. There will be a special brief meeting after dinner in the patio, and I urge the interfaith committee to plan a service for 7:30 p.m.

“Dear Friends, this will be a difficult experience for all of us. Possibly some of us will lose friends and relatives. But we will get through this tragedy just as we have weathered many other storms, and the spirit of Mars will be manifested to all as a result. You are all in my thoughts.”

Then he sent the message. He immediately looked at the clock; 4:15 p.m. in Houston as well as at Shackleton Station, moon. Sebastian Langlais, Director of the Moon Commission and commander of all lunar operations, had just flown from Houston to Shackleton last month, from which he ran the Commission about half the year. Will looked up his old friend’s videomail number and recorded a message.

“Sebastian, this is Will. It’s 4:15 Houston time and 10:37 a.m. here. We just heard about Houston about fifteen minutes ago. Can you please confirm the situation in Houston, preferably by transmitting to us a telescopic image of the city. My calendar says the moon is at first quarter right now; that means Houston will be visible another five or six hours. We plan to open a line of communication with Paris, but it’s heading toward midnight there and we won’t have any support staff on duty there for several hours at least.

“Also, Sebastian, the moon stations, the Mars outposts, and Columbus 8 all need second sets of eyes that we can’t get from Houston any more. I assume the Lunar Commission is out of service as well. Let’s open some direct communications channels. You can help our people monitor Aurorae and we can help monitor Shackleton. You can help out with Gateway and Columbus 8 as well. It may take a few sols to get the systems talking to each other well, but I doubt we’ll get ground support that fast. Let me know what you think. Bye.”

He hit send, and thought a lot about the moon. The personnel there rotated back to Earth—mostly back to Houston—half the year, and they had their families there. Lunar gravity was too low for long-term human health and raising children, the month-long solar cycle made agriculture difficult even at the poles, the lack of nitrogen meant that a lot of food had to be imported, and the three-day flight back and forth every month made transportation much easier. On top of the near collapse of lunar tourism from the economic depression sweeping the Earth, it was a crisis of unprecedented proportions for the moon.

It was also a serious crisis for Columbus 8, which was taking shape at Gateway. Will looked up the voice mail number of Seiji Takada, who was also serving as Commander of Gateway; Gateway was only intermittently inhabited, and when Columbus cargo and passenger missions were about to depart, it was essentially “taken over” by the Mars Commission. The rest of the time the Lunar Commission ran it.

“Seiji, let me know how things are going there and whether you need backup,” he said. “We can provide some of the support Houston gave you. Bye.”

Will sent the message, then sent one to Louisa, then picked up his attaché and walked to Mars Control, located one floor below his office. Ruhullah was there and had already redeployed Prospector operators to provide environmental management backup. He was talking to Emily Scoville, Commander at Cassini, just as Will arrived, about mutual monitoring of systems. It had become a standard practice to have two groups of people monitoring systems and having the backup team auditing the other’s performance periodically. Will called in a few others to help as well and began drawing up the second and third shift schedules. Then Sebastian’s reply arrived.

“Will, thanks for the call. We’ve already yanked both six-meter telescopes from their research schedule and have them pointed at Houston at fairly high resolution. Unfortunately, there’s a line of thunder storms just north of the city and it’s marching southward, so we’re going to lose the view in two or three hours. The picture’s being broadcast on various media outlets, so you should see it soon, but we’ll add a live feed to Mars. There’s a large circular area of darkish discoloration about fifteen or twenty kilometers around and it’s rapidly becoming obscured by clouds; the latter appear to be smoke from fires. There’s a massive fire developing, and without communications it will be hard to fight.

“As for reciprocal monitoring, we’d be delighted to do it. We have LeMonnier Station providing a backup to Shackleton and vice versa, but the sort of detached monitoring Houston provides is hard to duplicate. We’re recalling all surface expeditions in the next twenty-four hours; it’s much easier for us to do that than you, since they’ve all been deployed via hopper. We’re delaying a flight to Gateway scheduled for three days from now until we have a better sense of the situation. We can also provide ground support for Columbus 8; we have the facilities for it. I suspect most of us won’t be working tomorrow because of the worry. My wife’s down there, after all. Most of us have family in Houston.

“But we’ll start transmitting the backup data to you right away. Feel free to do the same. And keep in touch; let us know what you learn from Paris. Bye.”

On the heals of that message was a video from Seiji. “Will, we’re fine and awaiting a response from Houston. We’ve also contacted Johnson Spaceflight Center, but there’s no response at all yet. We already have three quarters of the cargo here, with two more ion freighters on their way and scheduled to arrive in the next two weeks. One last interplanetary hab is on its way up from LEO as well. One Mars shuttle is sitting on the moon, but it’ll fly up in another month. We already have twenty of the Columbus 8 crew here, with twelve more scheduled to arrive every two weeks as we prepare the cargo flight and set up Columbus 8 for departure. We could use support monitoring if mission control doesn’t come back up soon. We could also fly some folks down to Shackleton and use their backup facilities for monitoring. Bye.”

Will acknowledged the response, then called Rostam and Ruhullah over and replayed the two messages. They assigned two personnel to monitoring the lunar systems and two others to monitor Columbus 8, and Rostam redirected to Shackleton the usual Mars control data transmission that was sent to Houston. Then Louisa responded.

“Will, I can’t get through to anyone in Houston. I’ve called Pierre Messier, head of the Commission’s Paris office. We’re both heading into the office and will be there in fifteen minutes. He plans to call in as many people as possible, in spite of the hour. I’ve also called David Alaoui and he’s looking into whether the Mercury-Venus Commission can provide some limited ground support for us, but they’re concerned about LeMonnier Station in particular, since it’s a European Union station. Fortunately it has always been supported from Darmstadt and Toulouse, and those facilities can probably help Shackleton and maybe us.

“Keep in mind that if Doug Morgan is killed or incapacitated, or even if he is unreachable for a long period of time, as Assistant Commissioner you would become the acting Commissioner. No one ever anticipated the possibility that the Mars Commission would be run from Mars, but that may be necessary if we can’t hear at all from Houston for a lengthy period of time. Until we hear from Doug, we’ll take orders from you. Bye.”

Will hadn’t expected that situation to develop, but it was inevitable. He hit reply. “Louisa, you are quite right. Until we hear from Houston, the Paris Office must assume the role of terrestrial coordination and I’ll advise through it. It’s the second largest office. I’d prefer to work through you and Pierre, assisted of course by Pavel Rudenkov in Moscow, whose work is excellent and who is completely reliable. The Tokyo and Brazil offices are much smaller. The Seville and Milan facilities provide direct support to specific aspects of the operation and that will continue. Seville can probably expand their monitoring of the biomes, since they already provide biological and ecological management advice. Please find out how soon they can expand their support for the Shackleton biomes as well. You know what Houston provides better than anyone; Paris does some of it for our European personnel and will have to scale up in this emergency.

“I’ve already talked to Sebastian Langlais and we set up backup monitoring of each other’s facilities and vehicles. The moon can help a lot for now, and we can help them, but we’ll need more in-depth assistance from you.

“We also need to think about the media implications. I’ll work on a statement about the tragedy to release in a few hours. Please send me talking points, and work on the media contacts from there. Bye.”

So many things to deal with; one moment it made his head spin and the next moment it energized him to wade in and salvage the situation as best he could. He quickly drafted a statement for internal purposes: “I am sure I speak on behalf of all personnel in the Mars Commission, on Earth as well as on Mars, when I say that our thoughts and concerns are focused on our colleagues in Houston, who appear to be facing a very serious situation. While they overcome their own personal tests and rebuild our Houston operation, they can be sure that we will stay the course and continue our vital work of exploring and settling the Red Planet.” He signed it “Assistant Commissioner” so as not to imply any usurping of the authority of Morgan. He sent it out to everyone; he had access to an operation-wide email distribution list. Then Silvio called. “Will, the Patio’s beginning to fill up. Thought you’d like to know; people feel the need to gather together and talk through the situation.”

“Thanks, I’ll be right down.” He closed the circuit and headed to Yalta.

He was surprised to see that about a third of the Outpost had gathered together. Everyone was listening intently to a new announcement from the BBC. The screen had been split; a small image in the lower right showed greater Houston from the six-meter telescope at Shackleton.

“What are they saying?” Will asked.

“Oh, it’s the Pentagon again,” replied Skip. “A large cargo transport plane left Turanistan for central Texas about twelve hours ago carrying heavy equipment back to the States. It had been diverted southward by the line of thunderstorms across Texas and was flying through the northeastern Houston suburbs at the time of the explosion. The speculation is that somehow a terrorist group managed to smuggle one of the missing North Korean nukes on board, possibly built into one of the humvees or armored personnel carriers it was transporting.”

“If that’s true, this terrorist act against Houston is accidental?” asked Will, dumbfounded.

Skip nodded. “Of course, if the U.S. hadn’t stirred up all this trouble in Turanistan in the first place, there wouldn’t be this incident, or the computer virus. The evidence that Khalistan was involved in the French nuclear terrorist incident is stronger than the Turanistan connection, but Khalistan’s an ally and has vast oil wealth, so they are ignored and a poor, isolated Central Asian nation gets targeted instead.” He said the last sentence with bitterness in his voice.

“That’s not a fair or reasonable interpretation of the situation at all,” responded Brian, quietly but with anger in his voice.

“Let’s not argue right now,” replied Will immediately.

“What are we going to do?” asked John Hunter.

“We’re going to get our work done, explore this world, and expand our settlement base,” replied Will. “We did without Houston for a week back in February and we managed fine under much more difficult circumstances. I’ve already contacted the Paris Office of the Commission about increasing their backup, and Shackleton has already made a mutual agreement with Aurorae to back up and audit each other’s environmental management procedures. The moon has surplus staff and can help us a lot right now, especially with monitoring Columbus 8. Their staff has the right training and equipment, too.”

“What about Columbus 8?” asked Silvio.

“Maybe we’ll have to delay the launch, but we’ll do everything we can to get it under way. It’ll be a priority. As for the seventy new people scheduled to leave Earth for Mars in two months, I suspect twenty or thirty of them were in Houston, and some will be injured. Maybe we’ll have to replace some of them. But we’ll get some sort of flight underway if we have to run the launch from here. We’ve got two months.”

“Shackleton could handle the launch,” noted Neal.

“Exactly, and they will for a reasonable fee,” replied Will. “It’s premature to worry. This isn’t the end of the world, nor is it the end of Mars exploration. We’re here and we’re staying.”

That seemed to encourage the others. Will looked around the crowd. Then he and everyone else turned back to the big screen because the President of the United States was suddenly announced.

President White walked into the White House press room. He looked a bit shaken, but angry and determined. “My fellow Americans,” he began. “Today will go down in history for one of the most tragic and cruel events in human history. A group of terrorists appear to have smuggled a nuclear device into the territory of the United States of America and have detonated it in the air over the northeastern side of Houston, Texas. The possibility that the bomb was flow in from Turanistan inside a United States military transport is being carefully examined. Once the sponsors of this dastardly act have been identified, you and they can be absolutely assured that the United States will capture and bring them to justice or kill them in the attempt. If any government linkage to this act can be demonstrated, a reciprocal response at the appropriate level can be expected.

“While the Pentagon is hard at work to secure our safety and protect our freedom, emergency teams are streaming into Houston from all directions. Their preliminary reports indicate horrific destruction of the city, with extensive fires burning out of control and thousands of persons suffering from terrible burns, temporary or permanent blindness, and injuries from collapsing buildings. I have declared the entire region a disaster area and have authorized mobilization of the National Guard in Texas and all surrounding states. You can be sure that Houston will be rebuilt.

“There are a number of important national and international facilities in Houston, among them the control centers for NASA and various commissions. I have signed an order taking over emergency control of all these operations and directing the United States military to provide immediate support to them. This act of cowardice on Earth will not cause the loss of life in space.

“Finally, Beatriz and I are praying for the victims and will do everything we can to help them. We will not rest until this injustice has been righted. God bless the United States of America.”

The President ended his remarks and walked out of the press room. The audience on Mars looked surprised or even shocked. “Have we just been taken over?” asked Yevgeny.

“I don’t know,” replied Will. “We haven’t been so informed. But the President’s effort, besides being unnecessary, is not in conformity with the Mars Commission Treaty, which does not offer any circumstances when control over the Commission can be vested in one nation, even temporarily.”

“So it’s illegal?” asked Anna.

“Most definitely!” replied Silvio, the lawyer, responding before Will could. “There’s no question about it, either.”

“I defer to Silvio’s judgment,” replied Will, with a smile.

He remained in the patio another ten minutes, watching television with everyone and chatting. No one asked additional questions; he apparently had assured them for the time being. So he promised to return later and walked back to the control room in Riviera Biome.

Data had begun to flow between Shackleton and Aurorae. LeMonnier Station in Mare Serenitatis had agreed to reciprocate with Cassini and Dawes; their data exchange had begun as well. Dozens of email messages had started to flow back and forth about various details, since the procedures on the moon and Mars were not identical. Shackleton spaceport had started auditing the oversight of the Mars shuttles at Aurorae and was providing ground support for Gateway Station, located at the lagrange point where the gravity of the Earth and moon balanced each other. Aurorae had started receiving data from Columbus and the cargo flight as well, auditing Shackleton’s efforts.

“We’ll need at least six people on duty continuously,” said Ruhullah. “Eight would be better; ten optimal.”

“I know,” replied Will. “Press into service everyone you can. There were one hundred auditors and some pretty powerful computers watching everything in Houston, and no one can replace that.”

“Over the years, the new computers and software could have automated a lot of that oversight anyway,” said Érico. “Frankly, the Commission should have reduced the ‘mission control’ facility more. With the time delay, we have to run everything here. Their backup and auditing really doesn’t catch that much, and by the time they catch a problem and inform us, we’ve usually spotted it anyway.”

“I know, but the auditing feature keeps everyone on their toes. If our people are switching back and forth between our systems and Shackleton’s, they won’t get bored. I think Shackleton may need us more than we need them because they have never been as autonomous; they didn’t have to be.”

“This is a good plan,” agreed Ruhullah. “And the moon personnel are the only ones who can back us up. No one else has the computers and software.”

“Let’s cross our fingers we don’t have an accident of some sort right now,” added Will. His attaché beeped; he lifted it from his belt. “Oh-oh, a videomail from some General. Érico, Ruhullah, let’s look at this together.” He pointed to an empty meeting room. The three of them walked in and closed the door. Will put his attaché on the table in front of them and pushed “play.”

“Commander Elliot, this is General Bart St. Pierre, United States Air Force, NORAD headquarters, Cheyenne Mountain.” The General spoke quickly, matter of factly, calmly. He was in his fifties, with short, prematurely white hair, a wiry face, and perfectly pressed uniform. “Pursuant to the President’s orders, we are assuming overall responsibility for oversight and guidance of your operations. We have a team ready to begin assisting you immediately and over the next twenty-four hours the personnel and computers available should increase considerably. We will need a database of computer protocols immediately, followed by operational support specifications. A file is attached to this message with a software filter to install on the lead computer there. I’m copying Major Chester Silk at Canaveral, who will be our point man for this operation. Please acknowledge immediately with an estimate when data will begin to flow.”

Will looked at the other two men. Érico was angry. “This is just an excuse to take over the Commission. There’s no way a bunch of Air Force techies can provide meaningful assistance to us. They’d have to install our software on their machines—which we will have to send them—and they’ll have to learn procedures.”

“It will take us more time to train them than we have right now,” added Ruhullah.

“I agree, and this is illegal as well. Silvio just said so. If we need it, we can probably get Judge DiPonte to issue a restraining order. But for now, I had better be nice and stall them.” Will turned back to his attaché. He hit reply, blind copied Sebastian, and began to record.

“Thank you for contacting us, General St. Pierre. We just heard the President’s remarks a half hour ago and are immensely grateful for all the effort he is coordinating to assist the people of Houston, many of whom are friends, loved ones, and colleagues of us. I can report that up here, so far, all is well. The Mars Commission has a longstanding emergency plan that covers the current contingency. We immediately initiated mutual auditing of each other’s environmental management systems among the three outposts on Mars, and that system was quickly extended to include the various stations on the moon as well. As you probably can imagine, the lunar facilities are ideally suited to back us up and vice versa because of similar crew training, equipment, and procedures. We have already started to train each other’s personnel in the details of the systems.

“For this reason, we see no reason to accept the President’s kind offer at this time. But we are simultaneously examining it very closely and examining our own capacities up here to deal with any potential difficulties. Our judge has already expressed the opinion that it would be contrary to the provisions of the Mars Commission Treaty for us to turn over the control of the Commission to a national government, but he is doing further research into the issue. Our environmental management personnel are considering contingencies when we might need your assistance and we hope to have a report for you and Major Silk in a few hours. We are also pursuing all avenues for contacting Dr. Douglas Morgan, the Commissioner, in whose hands any final decision still rests. We will get back to you as soon as possible with the results.”

Will added a blind copy to Silvio DePonte and Louisa Turner, then sent the message. He looked at the other two. “Those are our priorities. I want a preliminary report about ways personnel at Canaveral might be able to help us in two hours. We have to make the preservation of life a priority. I want Silvio to issue a detailed legal opinion; that’s something the General won’t be able to deal with very well until he engages his lawyers, and that buys us time quite legitimately. I want an effort to contact Morgan, however futile; I doubt more than one percent of the population of the metropolitan area has been killed, so Doug is probably alive. That legitimately buys time as well.”

“What about our. . . independence?” asked Érico, struggling for the right word.

“We will be dependent on Earth for decades. We need to keep the United States on our side as much as reasonably possible. But unless there is an authoritative legal judgment giving the U.S. control over the Commission, they won’t get it.”

“Will, we don’t have anyone to spare to write a report about ways they might help,” exclaimed Ruhullah, who seemed irritated by the plan.

“Then I’ll put it together. It’s a big picture sort of issue,” replied Will. He nodded to Ruhullah and Érico, who headed out of the room and back to their tasks. He turned to the Outpost’s Emergency Plan, an enormous document sitting on their internal website, with which he was reasonably familiar. He began to jot down notes.

Then a videomail arrived from Sebastian. Unable to resist the temptation, Will activated it. He was startled to see it was a conversation between Sebastian and General St. Pierre. “Good evening, Commander Langlais,” he began. “No doubt you have heard the President’s orders that we assume overall responsibility for oversight and guidance of all lunar operations. We have a team ready to begin assisting you immediately, with an anticipation that our capacity to provide ground control should expand with great rapidity. We will need a database—”

“I beg your pardon, General? I apologize if I have to correct you, but I am not Commander Langlais; I am Commissioner Langlais.”

“Sir, the Lunar Commission is now under the emergency control of the President of the United States, so you are the Commander—”

“General, the terms of the Lunar Commission Treaty are quite clear. The United States does not have the authority—”

“Sir, this is a wartime situation and your headquarters has been attacked, so—.”

“General, what sort of support do you really think you can provide? Do you have anyone who understands the workings of a D-40 Biome? How about an Artemis interorbital passenger shuttle? A Korolev lifter? A lunar truck or conestoga? An SCN-100 reactor?”

“You need auditing and backup from somewhere, and we can provide people able to be trained faster than anyone else on Earth, Commander.”

“I’m sure that’s true, but I already have auditing and backup from Mars, where they know our equipment. Almost everyone up there has worked here, after all, and some of my folks have worked up there.”

“Commander, I have my orders from the President of the United States. We need a database of your computer protocols immediately, followed by operational support specifications. I will send you a file with a communications RAS to install on the lead computer in Shackleton—”

“General, the President of the United States cannot claim emergency jurisdiction over the Lunar Commission anymore than he can over Buckingham Palace, and you know it.”

“If you do not cooperate, you will be relieved of your command.”

“And if you persist in making demands, we will take the United States government to court. I am taping this entire conversation.”

That seemed to rattle General St. Pierre, though only slightly. He paused. “Commander Langlais, I suggest you talk this matter over rationally and calmly with your subordinates. I need to hear from you within an hour. That, sir, is the last word I have on the matter. Goodbye.” And the General closed the video link.

Will immediately hit reply to Sebastian; he looked closely to make sure his reply wouldn’t go to the General as well. “Sebastian, thanks for forwarding this to me. I have already forwarded to you St. Pierre’s videomail to me. This helps enormously to plan my response to his next move. Let’s work closely. I’ll forward this to Louisa Turner, who is in Paris right now, and ask her to get in touch with you about using the media to respond to this campaign. Your press people won’t be available for some time, but Louisa can help us both. Bye.” Then Will hit forward. “Louisa, we can’t use this without Sebastian’s permission, obviously. You need to think of a media strategy that will apply to both Commissions, because we have to work together to survive this, and the Lunar Commission’s media people are out of the picture. Please talk to Sebastian, and copy me of course. Bye.”

Columbus 8. Will wondered whether the General had called Takada. So he grabbed the exchange he had had with the General and forwarded the videomail to the Commander at Gateway. “Seiji, I thought I should let you know that the United States government seems to be making a move to take authority over the Mars Commission. Until we hear from Douglas Morgan about this, don’t make any agreements or commitments and refer all communications to me. If you need rapid response, talk to Pierre Messier in Paris; he’ll be in his office any minute and he’s working closely with me. Failing that, call Sebastian Langlais at Shackleton; we’re coordinating with them as well. Bye.”

Then he went back to reviewing the emergency plan, though it was almost impossible to concentrate. Too many things were happening at once, and no doubt St. Pierre’s reply to him was winging through space. Twenty minutes later, his videomail icon lit up with a new message.

“Commander Elliott, my orders are very simple and clear, and I don’t have time to argue with you. Your President has assumed control over the Mars Commission. You must cooperate or you will be relieved of command and could face charges of obstruction or possibly even treason. We need the database of computer protocols, the operational support specifications, and establishment of a communications RAS, and we need them immediately. Please acknowledge. Good bye.”

Will hit reply. “Thank you General, but I am a busy man as well. We are preparing a report for you, nailing down the legal opinion, and pursuing contact with Commissioner Morgan. I’m afraid your jurisdiction extends neither over Mars, nor over our Paris operation to which terrestrial coordination has temporarily passed. We welcome and look forward to any specific support you can provide us from among the items in the report we are preparing. We are also immensely grateful to the Pentagon and the President for their efforts to assist the suffering residents of Houston. Goodbye.”

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