“Maybe you should rest,” Jamie said.
Ilona shook her head stubbornly. “No. It doesn’t help. And there’s work to do.”
Jamie’s own head was throbbing. He felt that Ilona should lie down, that he should call Tony Reed and report that she was sick. But he knew she would argue against it, and he hadn’t the strength to start a fight.
“I’ll be all right in the morning, I’m sure,” Ilona said with a forced smile. “I need a good night’s sleep, that’s all.”
“We all do,” Joanna said. “I haven’t felt this poorly since we all had those colds when we first came aboard the Mars spacecraft.”
“You too?” Jamie asked.
“Perhaps there is something wrong with the air filters in here?” Joanna made the suggestion sound like a question. “Perhaps they are not taking enough carbon dioxide out of the air?”
Jamie’s nod made his head hurt even worse. “I’ll check it out.” He started for the hatch, then turned back to Ilona. “Take it easy. Don’t push yourself.”
“Well, something’s wrong, that’s for sure,” Connors said when Jamie got back to the cockpit. “I feel like somebody’s been kickin’ the shit outta me for the past six hours.”
“I’d better call Tony,” Jamie said. “This is getting serious.”
But as Jamie reached for the radio switch on the control panel Connors grabbed his wrist. “Wait till tomorrow morning,” the astronaut said.
Jamie gave him a questioning look.
“Never call the medics until you absolutely have to,” Connors explained. “All those pill pushers know how to do is tell you to come back home so they can stick needles into you.”
“But something’s wrong, you said so yourself.”
“You and I will check out the CO2 system. That might be it. Then we’ll have a good hot dinner and get a good night’s sleep. If we still feel shitty tomorrow morning, then we can call for an ambulance.”
Jamie reluctantly agreed.
Seiji Toshima felt that of all the men and women on this exploration team, he was the only one who truly dealt with the entire planet Mars.
Waterman and the others in the rover may be excited about their traverse to the canyon. Patel and Naguib were enraptured by their study of the giant volcanoes. The astronauts and cosmonauts maintained the dome’s equipment while the English physician looked after their health and little Monique tended her garden and studied rocks.
I alone consider this world in its entirety.
He slowly swiveled his creaking plastic chair and surveyed his row of display screens. The entire planet was on view. Three screens showed the whole planet, pole to pole, as seen by the three observation satellites in synchronous orbit. The others showed data recorded by the satellites and roving balloons and the remote beacons that had been placed across the desolate sandy tracts of the red planet: air density, temperature, wind speed and direction, humidity, even the chemical composition of the air.
It was foolish of me, Toshima thought, not to realize that there would be enough humidity in Tithonium Chasma to form mists even in midsummer. He regarded this lapse as a failure of his own. It was known that the canyon floor is two to three kilometers below the surface of the surrounding plains. It was known from the probes that the air density down there was somewhat higher than elsewhere. Of course the air would be somewhat warmer and capable of holding more moisture. I should have foreseen that. I should have predicted it.
He did not dwell on the shortcomings of the past, however. On the largest of all his display screens, the one directly in front of the chair on which he sat, was his masterwork: a fully detailed weather map for the entire planet. Synthesizing all the data coming in to him, Toshima had drawn in the highs and lows, the cyclonic disturbances and wind-flow patterns, for all of Mars. At the touch of a keyboard button he could display the weather as it existed yesterday, or two weeks ago, or as he predicted it would exist tomorrow-or two weeks hence.
The longer-range forecasts were not as firm as the twenty-four-hour prediction, naturally. Even on a world as meteorologically dull as Mars, with no oceans and little humidity to complicate weather patterns, it was difficult to make forecasts more than forty-eight hours ahead. But he was learning, extending the predictive power of his vision further and further.