Mars

SOL 2: EVENING

“TOSH-ima,” the Japanese corrected. “Not Tosh-EE-ma.”

Jamie unconsciously bowed his head slightly, acknowledging the meteorologist’s pronunciation. Toshima’s voice was soft and he smiled as he spoke, but it was clear that he wanted his name pronounced his way. He seemed big for a Japanese: slightly taller than Jamie himself, thick-bodied, with a round flat-featured face.

The wardroom felt almost crowded with all twelve of them sitting together. They had pushed the three tables together and, after a long day of unloading supplies and equipment, were celebrating with a festive dinner.

Vosnesensky and his fellow Russian, Mironov, sat shoulder to shoulder at one end of the table, two squat fireplugs in gray coveralls. The American astronauts, Connors and Paul Abell, Were on the Russians’ left. The three women sat across from the Americans, and the other scientists had seated themselves around the rest of the table.

Jamie had spent more than an hour during the free time after they had finished unloading the second L/AV composing a conciliatory note for Houston. He had used Li’s words as exactly as he could remember them: “I was overwhelmed with emotion upon stepping onto the surface of Mars and relapsed into the language of my ancestors.” That ought to satisfy the pisspot sons of bitches, he thought as he transmitted his apology to the spacecraft orbiting above.

Now he sat at the improvised dining table flanked on one side by Seiji Toshima and on the other by Tony Reed.

“I’ve wondered why the Japanese weren’t represented in the first landing,” Reed mused as he picked at his tray of precooked beef slices. “After all, if it weren’t for Japan’s contribution of funding and electronics hardware we would never have gotten here.”

Toshima looked up from his rice and fish at the Englishman. “Such decisions were made by the politicians. Japan is not so prideful that one day’s difference matters to us. It is enough to be part of this expedition.”

With a winking glance at Jamie, Reed teased, “Yes, but after all — even Israel and Brazil were represented before Japan.”

“And even England,” said Toshima thinly.

“Ah, but England,” Reed countered, “represents the European Community.”

Toshima bowed his head slightly.

“Then of course,” Reed continued amiably, “there is the Navaho nation.”

Jamie put down his plastic fork. “Tony, you know as well as any of us that the final decisions on who went aboard which ship determined the order of landing. Why make an issue of it?”

“Indeed,” said Toshima, “it is sufficient for us to be here, regardless of which hour each one of us put his first bootprint on the ground.”

Reed made a gracious nod and brushed back the stubborn lock of sandy hair that fell across his forehead. “I accept your superior wisdom. Excuse my English gamesmanship, please.”

Reed broke into a conversation on his left and Toshima started talking to the Egyptian geophysicist on his right, leaving Jamie sitting alone and wishing that there was a burrito or even a supermarket taco on the microwave tray before him. He had not tasted real food since he had left Houston, more than ten months ago. The nutritionists who planned the meals for this expedition had paid careful attention to the varying national tastes of the Mars explorers — so they had thought. Jamie was eating their version of the Italian meals prepared for Father DiNardo: soybean paste attempting to look like veal cutlets; spaghetti that miraculously managed to be dry and mushy at the same time. And it was all so bland! DiNardo’s damned gall bladder problems had ruled out spices, apparently. That’s what you get for taking another man’s position, Jamie told himself. Eat DiNardo’s meals and be grateful you’re here in his place.

He glanced at the three women, talking among themselves. Ilona’s patrician face was animated, smiling as she spoke, her hands a flurry of gestures. Little Joanna looked almost solemn, as if hearing bad news. The other woman, Monique Bonnet, was nodding in rhythm to Ilona’s gesticulations.

Bonnet was tiny, even shorter than Joanna, but as plump as a Provencal matron. She was older than the other two, her thick dark hair speckled with gray, laughter wrinkles at the corners of her eyes. Her face was round, with ruddy cheeks that dimpled when she smiled. She must have been a beauty when she was younger, Jamie thought. And thinner.

Liquor was strictly off-limits, as far as the mission regulations went. So naturally every member of the expedition had carried aboard a bottle or two among his or her personal baggage. Jamie, inserted at the last minute and flown unexpectedly from his quarters in Houston to the launching center in Florida, never had a moment to buy, borrow, or steal so much as a can of beer.

Vosnesensky rapped his knuckles on the table, making it rattle dangerously.

“I want to make it clear,” he said, almost in a growl, “that this is the last occasion on which liquor will be tolerated.”

Groans and grumbles down the table.

“We have much work to do and little time to do it. Liquor is strictly forbidden; it could be a safety hazard.”

Vosnesensky was simply stating the mission rules, but no one felt happy about it.

“However, since this is the first night here on Mars for all twelve of us,” he said, pushing himself to his feet, “I wish to propose a toast.”

Relieved sighs and grins broke out around the table. Seven men and the three women raised glasses of whiskey, vodka, brandy, wine, and sake. Jamie lifted his water glass and noticed that whatever Vosnesensky had in his plastic glass was also clear.

“We have been through a difficult time,” Vosnesensky said, his heavy features quite serious. With a glance at Ilona Malater he went on, “Nine months aboard the spacecraft created certain tensions, certain problems.”

“At least no one got pregnant,” Tony Reed whispered loud enough to generate a few giggles.

Vosnesensky glared at him. “Tomorrow our true work begins: the conquest of Mars.”

Conquest? Jamie’s mind flashed pictures of the white man’s conquest of America. That’s not what we’re here for. Nobody’s going to conquer Mars.

“The next seven weeks will test us,” Vosnesensky was going on. “Make no mistake about it. Each of us will be tested to his limit. Or hers. Mars will test us all.”

“Our arms are getting tired, Mikhail Andreivitch,” quipped Mironov, grinning. “Is this a toast or a speech?”

Vosnesensky did not smile. Quite seriously he raised his glass even higher and said, “May each of us find on Mars what we are looking for.”

“Zah vahsheh zdahrovyeh!” exclaimed Mironov.

“Zdahrovyeh,” Vosnesensky echoed.

They all drank. Jamie’s water tasted flat, sterile.

“I wonder just what it is that each of us is looking for,” Tony Reed called from his end of the table.

“Good question,” said Abell, the American astronaut, with a grin that creased his face from chin to hairline. He reminded Jamie of a frog: bulging eyes, round cheeks, and a wide grinning slit of a mouth. “Me, I’d like to find some beautiful Martian women who’ve been without men for a thousand years or so.”

A few tolerant chuckles from the scientists. Ilona cast him a sultry look.

“No, seriously,” Reed said. “I’m curious to know what each of us hopes to find on Mars.”

Jamie grumbled to himself, Tony’s taking his assignment as team psychologist too seriously.

“For myself,” said Vosnesensky, placing a stubby-fingered hand against his broad chest, “I wish only that we can work in harmony and no one becomes injured so we all return to our homes in happiness.”

Mironov added in a stage whisper, “And that you could weigh only thirty kilos even back on Earth!”

“I’m looking forward to flying the soarplane,” said Pete Connors in his resonant caramel voice.

“I desire very much to see the great Olympus Mons with my very own eyes,” said Ravavishnu Patel, the Indian geologist.

“Mount Olympus, the largest volcano in the solar system,” agreed the Egyptian geophysicist, Abdul al-Naguib.

“I want to prove that a permafrost ocean exists beneath the surface of the ground,” Ilona Malater said. “Theory predicts it does, but I want to find it for myself and map its extent.”

“Life.”

Joanna Brumado spoke the one word, and all other talk stopped. Everyone turned toward her. She looked embarrassed. Her heart-shaped face colored slightly.

“Of course life,” said Monique Bonnet, sitting next to her. “Joanna is right. The most astounding thing we could find on this world would be life.”

No, Jamie corrected silently. The most astounding thing we could find would be intelligent life. Or its remains.