Ben Bova – Mars. Part six

The moderator gave a big smile and said, “We’ll continue right after this important message.”

The overhead lights dimmed. Brumado reached for the glass of water on the coffee table.

“Good timing. It’s going very well,” said the moderator. “Keep it up.”

The second segment of the show was much like the first: the interviewers almost accusative, Brumado defending the Mars Project against their unsubtle insinuations of insensitivity or outright incompetence.

“And despite what’s happened,” hammered the newspaper gargoyle, “you really don’t accept the idea that it’s too dangerous out there for human beings?”

Brumado played his trump card. “One of those human beings is my daughter. If I thought she was in an unacceptably dangerous situation, I would do everything in my power to bring all the exploration team back to safety, believe me.”

At the next commercial break the moderator asked, “Okay, we’ve got four minutes for a wrap-up. Is there anything we haven’t covered that we ought to?”

Brumado replied mildly, “We have not said a word yet about what has been discovered on Mars so far.”

“Okay. Fair enough.” The moderator glanced at the three interviewers. They nodded without much enthusiasm.

The floor director pointed at the moderator and the red light on the camera aimed at him winked on again. Before he could open his mouth, though, the newspaper reporter jumped in: “What I’d like to know is, just what are we getting out of this mission? Have the scientists found anything on Mars that’s worth five hundred billion dollars?”

Brumado put on his smile again. “That number is a considerable exaggeration of this mission’s cost. And, of course, the costs are being shared by more than two dozen nations; the United States is not bearing the burden alone.”

“Yes, but…”

“We have made significant discoveries on Mars.” Brumado overrode him. “Very significant discoveries. The landing teams have been on the ground there for little more than a week, and already they have found water-the elixir of life.”

“Buried underground, frozen,” said the television newswoman.

“But no signs of life itself,” the magazine reporter said.

“Not yet.”

“You expect to find life on Mars?”

“I am more optimistic now than I was a week ago,” Brumado said, his smile genuine now. “It would seem that there are extensive areas of permafrost. And according to the very latest report from the geologist who has trekked out to the Valles Marineris-the Grand Canyon of Mars-there are mists in the air each morning. That means moisture. And down at the bottom of that valley the temperatures may be considerably warmer than elsewhere. Life may exist there.”

The newspaperman fixed Brumado with a glittering eye. “Now let’s face it-you need to find life on Mars to justify this enormously expensive program. You’ve got to be optimistic, don’t you?”

“I want the program to continue, of course. What this first mission has discovered is already more than enough to justify the next mission.”

“Another five hundred billion?”

“Nowhere near that amount. Most of the costs of development and facilities construction have already been paid. The second expedition will cost a fraction of the first. In fact, follow-on missions will amortize the costs we have already incurred and give us more value for the money we have already invested.”

“And on that note,” the moderator said, leaning forward between Brumado and the reporter, “we must take our leave. We’ve run out of time. I want to thank…”

Brumado leaned back in his chair and relaxed. Later he would review a tape of the show, but at the moment he felt he had gotten his points across well enough.

And they never once brought up the subject of the American Indian and his effect on the political situation here in the States. We can thank Konoye for that. He did not die in vain.

The overhead lights went off and Brumado allowed the electrician to remove his microphone. The three reporters made a few obligatory smiles and noises, then swiftly headed toward the small bar that had been set up at the rear of the studio.

“You’ve earned a drink,” the moderator said to Brumado.

“Thank you. I could use one.”

Brumado intended to use these informal few minutes to educate his interrogators. Without their knowing it, hundreds of media reporters had been subtly proselytized by him during social occasions such as this.

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