The floor director pointed to the moderator.
“Good morning, and welcome to Face the People. This morning we are fortunate to have with us Dr. Alberto Brumado….”
Brumado could feel his pulse quickening as the moderator introduced the three “distinguished journalists” who would be questioning him.
“At the outset,” the moderator said, turning to face Brumado, “I’d like to ask this basic question: What does the death of Dr. Konoye mean for the Mars Project?”
Brumado slid into his fatherly smile as he always did at interviews. “It will have only a slight effect on the exploration of Mars. The mission was planned from the outset with the knowledge that exploring a distant planet can be dangerous. That is why there are backup members of the team for each scientist and astronaut. The team will be able to continue the exploration of Mars, of course, and even the work on Deimos and Phobos that Dr. Konoye was supposed to do….”
“Are you saying that a man’s death doesn’t matter to you?” the newspaperman interjected, frowning like a gargoyle.
“Of course it matters to me,” Brumado replied. “It matters to all of us, especially to Dr. Konoye’s wife and children. But it will not stop the exploration of Mars and its moons.”
“What went wrong, Dr. Brumado?” asked the woman. She was the TV reporter, dressed in a sleekly stylish red skirt and mannish white blouse.
“Nothing went wrong. Dr. Konoye suffered a stroke. It could have happened in his office in Osaka, I suppose. Or in his home.”
“But it happened on Mars.”
“It happened during an EVA,” observed the magazine man. “Did that contribute to the cerebral hemorrhage? Was being weightless a factor?”
Brumado shook his head. “Weightlessness should have had nothing to do with it. If anything, microgravity is beneficial to the cardiovascular system.”
“How could it be that he was accepted for this hazardous work when he had a cardiovascular problem?”
“He had no cardiovascular problem.”
“The man died of a stroke!”
“But there was no history of a medical problem. He was thoroughly examined and tested, just as all the other mission crew were. He went through years of training and medical examinations without the slightest hint of a problem. He was only forty-two years old. Even his family medical records show no evidence of cardiovascular disease.”
“Then how do you explain the stroke?”
“No one can explain it. It happened. It is unfortunate. Very sad.”
“But you won’t stop the mission or change its operation in any way?”
Brumado smiled again, this time to hide his growing anger. “To begin with, I have no official capacity in the Mars Project. I am merely an advisor.”
“Come on now! You’re known all over the world as the soul of the Mars Project.”
“I am not involved in the day-to-day operation of the project. Nor do I have any official position. My influence ended, really, when the spacecraft left for Mars.”
“Do you mean to tell us that if you went to the mission controllers in Houston…”
“Kaliningrad,” Brumado corrected.
“Wherever-if you went to them and advised them to shut down the project and get those people back home to safety, they wouldn’t listen to you?”
“I would hope not. If I gave them that kind of advice, I would hope that they would be wise enough to ignore it.”
“You’re not concerned about the safety of those men and women on Mars?”
Brumado hesitated just a fraction of a second, enough to remind himself not to let them lead him into statements he did not wish to make.
“You must remember that what has happened was not an accident, not a failure of a piece of equipment or even a shortcoming of our planning. The man suffered a stroke. He was a hundred million kilometers from Earth when it happened, but it would have been the same if it had happened in his bed.”
Turning to look squarely into the camera that had its red light lit, Brumado went on, “Should we stop the exploration of Mars because a man has died? Did Americans stop expanding westward because people died on the frontier? Did the exploration of the world stop because some ships were sunk? If we stopped reaching outward for fear of danger we would still be squatting in caves, groveling every time it thunders outside.”