Mars

EARTH

NEW YORK: Edith sat tensely on the edge of the upholstered chair. Howard Francis’s apartment was much smaller than she had expected, little more than a studio. The so-called bedroom was nothing more than an ell in the one room, mirrored to make it seem larger. The kitchenette was an alcove with a sink, a microwave oven, and some cabinets.

The network vice-president was sprawled nonchalantly on the sofa, shoes off, tie gone, head lolling back, eyes half closed as he watched the big TV screen. The television set was the largest piece of furniture in the place.

Through the half-closed curtains of the apartment’s only window Edith could see the darkened windows of the network news building. She felt nervous not only because the tape playing on the TV could determine the future of her career; she worried that her boss had insisted on looking at the tape here in his apartment rather than across the street at his office.

She had dressed as plainly as possible: a bulky sweatshirt and baggy old slacks. He had greeted her at his apartment door shoeless, collar undone, and a glass of white wine already in his hand.

Jamie’s tape took less than ten minutes. When it ended the TV set automatically returned to the all-news channel.

Her boss muted the sound and turned his sleepy eyes toward her. Edith thought he looked like a drugged rat.

“Not much, is it?” he said lazily.

She felt genuinely surprised. “Not much? He’s told us more about that meteor hit than Kaliningrad and Houston did, put together. And he showed us what’s going on around their base. He’s told us about what they’ve discovered…”

“The official reports have given us most of that. And better footage, too.”

“Okay, but Jamie’s telling us that he wants to go back to the Grand Canyon. That’s not on the mission schedule. I checked.”

He pulled himself up into a more erect sitting position. “Possible conflict with the mission controllers?”

“You bet!”

His eyes opened wider. “Maverick scientist battling against the brass. Russian brass, too. Maybe there’s something there.”

Edith smiled. “It’s more than anybody else’s got.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. I don’t want us to stick our necks out and get them chopped off. We need more than just this one guy’s word.”

“I can check with some of the people at Houston. And I can always get to Brumado…”

“I’ll bet you can,” he said, with a leering grin.

Edith jumped to her feet. “I ought to get on this right away.”

“Tomorrow morning,” he said, reaching out a hand to pull her down onto the sofa.

She avoided it. “Brumado’s in Washington now, but not for long. I better get down there right away.”

He frowned at her. “There’s no planes this time of night, for Chrissake. Relax. Have some wine.”

“You’re paying me for making news,” Edith said, keeping her smile in place. “Let me earn my living.”

“You can earn your living…”

But she was heading for the door. “I’ll rent a car and phone you from Washington with an exclusive interview with Brumado. And maybe even the Vice-President!”

Edith was out the door before he could pull himself up from the sofa. It never fails, she thought. Men always think with their balls.

Years earlier she had learned, the hard way, the first rule of survival: Don’t go to bed with a man until you’ve gotten what you want from him. He wants sex. I want a permanent job, not this little consultant arrangement. He could bounce me out on my behind any time he wants to. Let me break the story about Jamie fighting the project directors. Then I’ll get a full-time job and he can have sex to cement the deal. Maybe.