4

Demonstration

Will and Sebastian heard nothing more from General St. Pierre for the next twelve hours. Will sent a report, as promised, to the General about Mars’s emergency support needs; it was rather short and was primarily engineering-oriented, since there was virtually nothing the Pentagon could reasonably expect to provide on short notice.

Dawn streaked the sky over Houston at about midnight, Aurorae time, and 1 p.m. in Paris. Television screens across the Earth, on the moon, and on Mars sprang alive with images from the hovering news helicopters of the television stations in Dallas, Austin, San Antonio, and New Orleans; images of streets littered with abandoned and burned out cars, neighborhoods reduced to cinders, smoking downtown skyscrapers with their northeastern windows blown out, and plane after plane of relief supplies and personnel landing at the area’s airports. A half hour later Will’s attaché lit up with a videophone call relayed from Pierre Messier’s office.

“Dr. Messier, you don’t know me. I’m Henry Arroyo, chief of public safety at the Mars and Lunar Commission facilities in Houston.” He was a relatively young man with a thin moustache, who spoke with a trace of Latino accent.

“My God, how are you calling me!” exclaimed Messier. “We’ve been trying to reach the Commission for hours!”

“Nothing’s working here; no telephones, computers, radios, televisions, not even the cars, except a few old ones without computers. But five minutes ago a carload of young men from the Mars Exploration Society chapter in Dallas drove up. They brought three satellite telephones and as much food and water as they could fit in their car. They had to come into the city from the south because of all the destruction up north, so it took them all night to get here.

“They said I should call you. The Mars and Lunar Commission buildings are both on fire, but the fires are small and so far we have been able to contain them. There was a huge thunderstorm about 7 p.m. last night and that helped, but the fires are still smoldering and overnight the water pressure dropped to almost nothing, so we have improvised with some hoses, a gasoline-powered generator, and we’re draining the reflecting pool in front of the building. We still have about 300 employees here from both operations, mostly single folks who preferred to stay here rather than walk home. We’ve set up an emergency shelter in the auditorium.”

“What about Douglas Morgan?” asked Messier.

“He left for home and was about half way there when the bomb went off. His secretary was still in the office and she walked the route; he lives about two miles from here. She found him and brought him back here by borrowing a child’s wagon and pulling him. The nurses treated him as best they could; he’s almost blind, though that may be temporary, and has burns over fifteen percent of his body from the flash. He was in intense pain, so about midnight I got someone to drive him and two other burn victims to the nearest hospital. He’s there now, but the hospital may not be able to do much because it has about ten times too many patients, mostly burn victims. We’ve had a few employees come back here after going to the hospital because they correctly guessed our nurses had more time and better access to medications. I am sure the National Guard will remove people to other cities as fast as possible.”

“Has anyone come to the Commission facilities and demanded jurisdiction over them?”

Arroyo paused, as if he didn’t understand the question. “No, no one has come here at all. There’s incredible chaos.”

“I can imagine. What’s going on over at the Johnson Spaceflight Center?”

“It’s the same. I drove over myself about 4 a.m., and their head of public safety sent someone over here about 1 a.m. to find out if we had any needs. What’s the situation on the moon and Mars? That’s what everyone here wants to know.”

“Everything is fine. The moon is auditing and providing backup to Mars and vice versa. There have been no problems. But everyone’s terribly worried about their friends, loved ones, and colleagues in Houston.”

“Now that we have three satellite telephones, we plan to let people call out and assure their families they are alright.”

“Good. Mr. Arroyo, thanks for calling. I’ll call you back when I have anything new to report. We’re forwarding this entire conversation to Will Elliott on Mars; he’s been acting Commissioner.”

“Good. We need help down here, but I think it’ll arrive soon. We have things as much under control as we can. About three hours ago a brother of a staffer who is a physician arrived, and he has been a great help. The Mars Exploration Society headquarters in Colorado has sent two trucks of food that should arrive this afternoon. They plan to drive as many people back to the Denver area as possible. We’ve been rescuing computers from the fire and smoke in order to preserve their hard disks and rom players.”

“Then keep up the good work. We’ll see what we can do to help. Good bye.”

“Goodbye.” Then Arroyo’s face disappeared.

Will hit reply. “Pierre, thanks for sending that call to me. Have someone check our finances. I think we need to give a significant bonus to all our Houston employees. Also, Mr. Arroyo said the Mars Exploration Society was evacuating people to Denver. That’s the last place we want folks; it’s too close to NORAD headquarters in Cheyenne Mountain. They might try to force our people to work for them. I think we should be evacuating our people to Mexico, if we can arrange it. Not many people fleeing Houston will be going there and the salaries will stretch farther. Bye.”

He sent the message and almost immediately got a message from Louisa. “Will, I just saw Arroyo’s report from Houston. The Commission needs leadership and Doug won’t be fit for months, so you have to declare yourself the Acting Commissioner. We’ll back you immediately, of course.”

Will hit reply. “Louisa, let’s convene a meeting of all senior staff we can reach on both planets and do this formally and properly. I don’t think I should just declare myself Acting Commissioner. Let’s have a formal procedure, and right away. Mr. Arroyo can tell us whether any senior people in Houston are reachable. If you and Pierre are agreeable, I suggest you call around Earth. I can get my people to join the meeting even if it is late here.”

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

It was two hours before they could put together a video conference call. Krister Soderblom, the Commission’s director of governmental relations, had been in the Arabian Gulf and was able to join the call; Ginger Petropoulos, head of Mars land sales, was in Houston but participated by satellite phone. To reduce the chance of the United States government eavesdropping, they routed the call to Mars via Venus and the ESA’s private network of satellites.

The meeting lasted only an hour. They agreed Will had to start serving as interim director immediately; that all Houston employees should receive a modest $1,000 bonus to help them recover from the disaster; and that the national representatives serving on the Board of Trustees should be invited to Paris immediately to resolve the issue of the directorship of the agency. Pierre started with the European Space Agency, which naturally was opposed to the American takeover.

It was three a.m. at Aurorae when they finished. At Houston, the word of the satellite phones was spreading and employees or relatives of employees were stopping by to let people they were okay. Helmut Langlais heard from his brother Kristoff that his mother—Sebastian’s wife—was missing and their house a pile of ashes. Arroyo’s volunteer fire fighting crew had improvised another pump and line of hoses and were making progress on the fire. Will taped a message to all employees that, until Douglas Morgan’s health recovered sufficiently, and in conformity with the wishes of the heads of staff of the various departments of the Commission, he was assuming the role of acting Commissioner. Louisa issued a press release with the recording attached. Before Will went home and flung himself into his bed for a three hour nap, he heard the tape playing on BBC.

Exhausted and aching, he rose at 6 a.m., took a shower, and shaved. He checked his mail. An urgent message from his mom awaited.

“Will, two F.B.I. agents just stopped by the house an hour ago,” she began. He glanced at the time stamp; she had videomailed him just an hour earlier. “They asked a lot of questions about your contact with Iranians. They wanted to know how well we knew Taraz; that really angered me and I’m afraid I blew up at them about that, telling them that he was one of the sweetest, most caring sons in law one could imagine, and if they were so concerned about the country, they should pursue serious problems! I’m afraid that did not go over very well, but I knew they wouldn’t arrest an old lady, especially a Bahá'í who has a Bahá'í family and an Iranian Bahá'í son in law who has no political positions at all. Then they asked me about Ruhullah—that’s the name of your second in command, right?—whether he was a Bahá'í, what I knew about him, etc. I told them of course he was Muslim, and a man of great energy and integrity—that’s my impression at least—and they jotted it all down. Then they left. I thought I’d let you know that something fishy is going on.

“This bombing has made everyone paranoid. Everything’s closed. I don’t know what the nuke has to do with the mall down the street, but apparently it does. There were several attacks overnight on mosques around the U.S., and a Sikh man in Oregon was attacked and killed by a mob. CNN, however, just showed the Islamic Center of Houston and it’s a burned out shell from the nuclear bomb, not because of mobs. The Muslim community has erected an American flag over the ruins. A lot of people there were injured.”

She sighed. “It feels like the apocalypse here. There’s anger, confusion, and a sense of helplessness. People want to attack something, but there’s nothing to attack. We had already conquered the country from which the bomb was flown. Everyone’s listening to every word the President says. They wave their flags and love it. But there’s nothing to do.

“Be careful about your situation, son. People here want the United States to hold onto everything it has and everything it can get right now. A takeover of the moon and Mars feels good here in the U.S. It could be a popular response, though it can hardly be seen as a sufficient response to the bomb. And the President can’t afford to blow anything right now; he has to look strong and tough.

“Anyway, be careful. Send me a quick message so I can see you. Bye.”

Will watched the picture fade. His mother’s plea moistened his eyes. He could use his mother right now. He hit reply. “Hi mom, and thanks for the message. I can’t tell you how precious it is to hear your voice and see your face right now. In a few months when the time delay is minimal, we’ve got to spend a sol together by video. I just wish you could come here or I could go there, but that’s impossible.

“Thanks letting me know about the visit from the F.B.I. agents. Sounds like they’re trying to find a way to coerce my acceptance of their takeover. Everyone says the effort to take over the Commission is a violation of international treaties and therefore is illegal, and I am sworn to uphold the law. Furthermore, by law I’m now acting Commissioner. So pray for me; this may be an interesting time. We may have to make our case to the American people. Bye.”

He didn’t dare say much; his mother’s phone could be tapped. Then he headed for the patio to grab some breakfast.

“Hey Will!” exclaimed Roger, from a table near the buffet table. Roger rose and beckoned Will to a corner where they could talk in private. “Listen,” he said. “I got a call about half an hour ago from a General St. Pierre. I guess he was U.S. Air Force. His message was that the President had asked me to take on a very important responsibility for the country and for the Mars Commission: the position of Commander of Mars Operations, starting immediately.”

Will was surprised. “And what happened?”

“I laughed at him. Then I hit ‘record’ and laughed again so he’d hear it, told him he had no idea what he was asking, that no one would accept and obey an illegally appointed Commander, and hit send. Since then I have been getting madder and madder and have wanted to reply again and give him a piece of my mind, but Madhu has wisely counseled silence.”

“Don’t get them mad at you,” agreed Will.

“I can not understand what is happening down there. I was not too upset when White was elected. I’m conservative; he’s more conservative than I am, but he was making many statements of conciliation and sounded moderate. The stock market was convinced and recovered. But then there was the computer virus attack, his attack against Turanistan made him wildly popular, and he was able to push through Congress a bunch of appointments that I could never have believed would happen. After all, he didn’t appoint conservative folks from the previous Republican administration; he brought in a bunch of people with no Washington experience, who really did want to run the country based on the Book of Revelation! I really fear a major disaster for America.”

“And for the world.”

Roger nodded. “For humanity. Anyway, Skip is actually planning a rally and demonstration against the attempted takeover for lunchtime. I probably shouldn’t tell you; he doesn’t want you to know. I think he doesn’t want the effort to reflect badly on you. But I’m going to help him.”

“I see.” Will looked at the floor to think. Then he looked up. “Thanks.”

He walked back to the Control Area wondering what to do. Mars had never had a demonstration before; he wondered how it would look inside a little biome, whether a lot of shouting would be loud or not, and whether he should stop it or look surprised. He couldn’t mention it to anyone on Earth; there was no way of knowing whether his conversation would be tapped.

“Will, thank God you’re here,” exclaimed Ruhullah as soon as he stepped into the Control Room. “I just arrived, too. Zach has a strange reading in the waste management system; he caught it quite quickly. We’re dispatching a team to check the pressure release valves.”

“Is something stuck?”

Ruhullah nodded. “Yes, but the backup valve’s working. And we just had an attempt to hack into our system; Kim caught it and blocked it. She’s trying to trace the source. We’re wondering whether it was the military.”

“Could be, but we have this every month or so.”

“I know. And my sister just called from Stuttgart; an F.B.I. agent based in Germany visited and asked a bunch of questions about me.”

“They just visited my mom in Connecticut and asked about you, too.”

“Really?”

Will nodded. “Something’s going to happen, I think. No terrorists in your family, I hope?”

“Of course not! But I have a very conservative cousin who’s the Imam-jum’ih—the big imam—of the central mosque in Yazd, and he’s very, very conservative. He’s always warning me about you Bahá'ís.”

“Of course; we’re very dangerous.”

They both laughed at the absurdity. They stopped at Kim Irion’s station to see what she could say; the hack attack had not been the most sophisticated they’d ever seen. A technician soon had the valve fixed. Will was reviewing a collection of newspaper clippings Louisa’s assistant had put together when he got an urgent email from Earth.

When he opened it, he found it was from the Internal Revenue Service, demanding that he come to the Dallas, Texas office on June 15, 2035, with the last seven years’ tax records, so they could audit him.

He stared, then laughed. His taxes were very professionally prepared by a friend in Connecticut who was very thorough and who was also an attorney. This was harassment, pure and simple. He hit forward and sent it to his friend, who would no doubt represent him and send him a big bill for the work.

The whole rest of the morning he was rattled. He did his work, but he was distracted. His friend’s email confirming his fear that this looked like harassment did not help. He told Ethel about it in the buffet line at lunch.

“This is a really sad sol for humanity, for Mars, for America,” she said. “How much of our money is in American-based assets?”

“Hard to say because the value has dropped a lot lately. Maybe a third, with a third in European stock, mostly Muller Mining, and a third in Martian land.”

“A third; that’s five or six million bucks.” She shrugged. “Let them have it, or give it to charity.”

He was surprised. “That doesn’t sound like the advice of your Presbyterian grandmother.”

“No, she was a real penny pincher. But she never had as much money as we have. It’s an absurd amount, frankly. We need to defend it, then give a bunch of it away.”

“We can give it to the Colonization Society.”

The thought made him feel better. He loaded up his plate and came out to sit on the Patio just as Skip and Roger went up to the platform. In the craziness of the morning, Will had actually forgotten about the demonstration!

“Ladies and gentlemen, good sol, and may we have your attention please,” exclaimed Skip Carson. “As all of you know, yestersol the government of the United States announced that it had taken over the Mars Commission. All I have to do is look at our faces to see how you feel about the idea. It’s absurd!”

He shouted the last word and waited for the audience to respond. They hesitated and looked at Will. Skip was surprised; Will said nothing, uncertain how he should react.

Roger stepped to the mike with Skip. “No one can accuse me of being unsympathetic to the philosophy of the current administration. But I am deeply offended by the effort to take over the Commission. Everyone here agrees that it is an illegal act. It appears to be a simple act of expediency: the Administration has been negotiating to take a larger role in Mars exploration for several months and has taken advantage of our moment of weakness to make its move. We don’t need their help, as the report sent to them made clear. If they want to help us, they should start by pouring more resources into Houston and helping our friends and loved ones rebuild!”

That got some scattered, tentative applause. Roger looked at Will, as if searching for help. Will didn’t dare say anything.

“We want to send a very clear, unambiguous message to Washington: leave the Commission alone!” continued Skip. “We’re doing fine, thank you. If you want to help, there are many ways to do so. You can send more people here, subsidize our work more, or develop technology we will need here. Otherwise, our robots will be built elsewhere; our rockets elsewhere; our vehicles elsewhere; our reactors elsewhere. If you want to be on the technological cutting edge, stay involved in the Commission, support its work, and support humanity’s most exciting exploration effort of all time!”

That got applause and a few cheers. Skip smiled, pleased he had gotten a reaction from the crowd. Roger took over again. “The world has grown dark. Northern Houston has been incinerated. Nation is attacking nation. This is a time when we must pull together as one and demonstrate the tolerance, the compassion, the mutual trust and support, the intimate collaboration that is possible. Mars is a model of international cooperation and trust. That’s what the Commission stands for. That’s the value we must affirm this sol.”

That got applause as well. Roger had never expressed himself so eloquently about their common values before.

“Friends, there has been one attempt to find a replacement for Acting Commissioner Elliott,” said Skip. “One person here received a call this sol asking him to take over. That person rejected the offer.”

The crowd looked around, clearly upset, and Will nodded at those who looked at him.

“I would never have accepted such a request, even if it was phrased as an order from the President of the United States,” exclaimed Roger. “This campaign is illegal. Marsians must stand up and make their position clear: we will not tolerate an attack on law and written treaties like this!” He looked at the crowd and they applauded him.He H

Brian Stark rose. “Roger, are you saying you got such a call?”

“Yes, early this morning.”

“Then Skip is wrong—I love to say that, as you know—because I got a call from an Air Force General as well, just two hours ago. So two of us have been called, not one. He offered the position of Commander of Mars Operations to me. I refused it and said no one would obey me. And since then, I have been getting angry about the call.”

“I got a call also,” exclaimed Neal Stroger. “It was just fifteen minutes ago, too.”

“Damn them!” exclaimed Érico.

“Idiots!” added someone else.

“They can ask me! I’ll be glad to run things!” quipped Zach, and everyone laughed at the idea of a Fundamentalist President appointing a gay American as Commander of Mars.

“There are a few other developments that are worth mentioning,” added Will, quietly. “In the last twenty-four hours, at least two Mars staffers have had the F.B.I. visit their terrestrial relatives to ask questions, and at least one staffer has received an audit notice from the IRS.”

“Really?” said Skip. “I am ashamed of being an American!”

“So am I!” echoed Brian. “I love my country, but this attack on us simply does not make any sense. We didn’t nuke Houston. Our relatives and friends are victims of this attack. I want to see the U.S. help us, not divert us into politics.”

“Then let’s all sing,” replied Roger. “Where’s our flag? Bring it up.”

Brian Stark himself jumped up to grab the Mars flag, which decorated an obscure corner of the patio. He brought it on stage and Skip and Roger took a hold of it with him. Will immediately stood—it was an unconscious act of respect—and the entire crowd followed. And they began to sing:

This land is your land, this land is my land,

From Tharsis Montes to the Hellas Basin,

From the cratered highlands to the Mariner valleys,

This land was made for you and me.

They sang it again, Skip beckoned Will up on the stage, and soon everyone was urging him to go up. He walked up and the three men embraced him one by one. Then they sang the song again:

This land is your land, this land is my land,

From Tharsis Montes to the Hellas Basin,

From the cratered highlands to the Mariner valleys,

This land was made for you and me.

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