“As y’all know,” said the American, his chins on his chest as he picked up a single sheet of paper from the table in front of him, “we have something of a problem with the ever-loving, blue-eyed Vice-President of the United States.”
“I believe I should say at the outset,” the Russian interjected, “that serious objections have been raised in the Soviet Federation about the wisdom of committing to a second expedition so soon.”
The Japanese said rapidly, “The death of Professor Konoye has not dimmed Japan’s enthusiasm for further missions. If anything, my people feel we must press on to honor his memory.”
The ex-Texan glanced at Brumado, then at his fellow directors across the table. “Let’s get one thing straight here: How do you all feel about the next mission?”
“I am in favor of it, of course,” the Russian answered immediately. “I would go myself if they would allow me!”
The Japanese grinned. “Yes, of course.”
“As I see it,” Brumado said gently, “we have a sacred trust. Project Mars must not end as Project Apollo did. We must continue the exploration of the planet and its moons.”
The American pushed his chair back. It screeched against the uncarpeted floor. “Okay,” he said as he lumbered to his feet. “We’re agreed as to what we want. Now we’ve got t’ figure out how to get it.” He walked around his desk and, bending down slowly, opened a panel and took out four glasses and a bottle of Kentucky sour mash. “Fuel for thought,” he said, a bright grin spreading across his ruddy face.
Three hours later the bottle sat empty on the conference table and Brumado, who had hardly touched the one glass poured for him, was summarizing: “The Vice-President told me personally that she is willing to make a statement supporting the further exploration of Mars if we can get Dr. Waterman to make a statement supporting her candidacy.”
“Better get her statement in writing,” said the American, grumpily. “And get it down on paper before you let the Indian open his mouth.”
“I’m not certain that Dr. Waterman would be willing to make such a statement,” Brumado admitted.
“Then you’ll have to convince him. Use your powers of persuasion. I’d do it myself,” the former Texan said, “but if anybody up on the Hill found out about it they’d pin my balls to the wall and the Mars Project would go down the toilet in half a minute.”
The Japanese turned to the Russian. “What would be the reaction of the Soviet Federation if the United States makes a strong statement of support for further missions?”
The Russian shrugged elaborately. “With both the U.S.A. and Japan lined up in favor, I think the forces of enlightenment in Moscow would gain enough strength to override the objections of the obstructionists.”
The American hiked a shaggy eyebrow. “Does that mean yea or nay?”
They all burst into laughter. “Yes,” said the Russian. “Positively yes.”
Then all three of the project directors fixed their eyes on Brumado.
“It’s up to you, then, Alberto old pal,” said the American. “None of us can do it. You’ve got to convince this redskin that he’s got to support the Vice-President.”
“I hope he will,” said Brumado.
“It’s either that or the program ends when they return to Earth.”
Brumado nodded his agreement. Then, “Has Waterman been kept from taking personal messages? Is he being held incommunicado while he is on Mars?”
The three project directors glanced uneasily at one another. The Russian said, “Once the American government refused to release his interview tape we assumed that he was not to have any contact with the media.”
“Far as I know,” said the American, “he hasn’t squawked. Hasn’t even asked to send any personal messages, I don’t think.”
“No personal communications at all?” Brumado asked. “Not to his family, his friends?”
The Russian shrugged. “Apparently no one has tried to reach him, nor has he attempted to call anyone.”
“Not even his parents?”
“Apparently not.”
“Why do you ask?” said the Japanese director.
Brumado replied, “I ran into a young woman who says she is a friend of Waterman’s, and she has been denied permission to speak with him.”