“No bouquet at all,” he said.
No one even smiled.
Reed sipped, gave the beaker back to Ilona, then said, “It tastes rather like seltzer, actually.”
Monique took an eager taste. “Mon dieu, it is like Perrier!”
They broke into laughter. All except Jamie, Ilona noticed, who looked as tense as a caged panther.
“Martian seltzer,” Reed said. “We can bottle it and sell it! What a sensation back on Earth!”
“At a million dollars an ounce,” Naguib said, laughing as he took his sip, then passed the beaker as if it were communion wine.
“Perhaps we could finance the next expedition in this way,” said Patel, after his taste.
The cup came to Jamie. He put it to his lips, handed it back to Ilona with a curt nod, and said, “I’ve got to get to the comm console. Excuse me.”
At last some semblance of order had returned to the orbiting spacecraft, thought Li Chengdu. The scientific staff was back to its normal routine, the astronauts and cosmonauts had finished the thorough check of all the ships’ systems demanded by mission control back in Kaliningrad. A purging ritual, Li thought. The death of Dr. Konoye was exorcised by checking each and every component of the two spacecraft, all their systems, supplies, and equipment. Konoye did not die of an equipment failure, but the controllers in Kaliningrad and Houston insisted on the meaningless checkout.
Now we are twelve, Li said to himself, instead of thirteen. That should assuage the superstitious among us. Which included himself. He realized that he had been vaguely uneasy whenever he had remembered that there had been thirteen men and women assigned to the Mars 2 spacecraft.
Everything is back to normal now. The Russians and Americans have set up their equipment on Deimos to test their plan for baking water out of its rock. The explorations on the planetary surface are proceeding smoothly. The research teams here aboard the spacecraft have recovered from the shock of Konoye’s death and settled back down to their work.
He sighed deeply. And James Waterman is back to causing trouble.
Li leaned back in his chair and fixed his gaze on the restful silk painting of misty mountains and graceful, slim, blossoming trees. Waterman wants to return to the Valles Marineris to investigate what he claims is a cliff dwelling. Patently absurd. They have not found even a trace of life and Waterman thinks there was once an intelligent civilization down there. Ridiculous.
On the other hand, it would help the politicians to forget about Konoye’s death if we found something spectacular. The remains of an extinct civilization! That would be stunning.
Li frowned to himself. On the other hand, he thought, suppose I allow Waterman to lead a few scientists back to that site and they find nothing at all. The politicians would be furious. Suppose I allow them to go back there and one of them is injured. Or killed.
He sat bolt upright in the relaxing chair. No. That must not happen. Waterman must not be allowed to ruin this mission.
The intercom on his desk buzzed, its yellow message light blinking. Li reached out a long lean arm and touched its activating button.
“Dr. Li,” said the voice of the astronaut on duty in the command module, “we are receiving a transmission for you from Dr. Brumado.”
Li told the man to pipe it through to him.
Alberto Brumado’s friendly, slightly harried face appeared on the desktop display screen. Li stepped over to the desk and peered down at the image. Then he realized that Brumado was talking about James Waterman and the Vice-President of the United States.
Li could feel the weight of responsibility lifting off his shoulders. He pulled his chair over and sat in it before the display screen, smiling like a Cheshire cat.
The lighting in the dome had been turned down to its low nighttime level. There were no voices to be heard, no tapes playing, only the faithful hum of electrical equipment and the faint keening of the wind outside the darkened dome.
Jamie paced along the dome’s perimeter, his heavy slipper-socks noiseless against the thick plastic flooring, his eyes adjusted to the gloom, his mind churning the same argument over and over again.