Joanna’s weak little smile widened slightly, as if she knew something that Jamie did not.
The comm unit buzzed. Jamie flicked the switch and Abell’s frog-like face appeared on the control panel screen. He looked just as sallow and gaunt as the four in the rover, his sunken cheeks making his protruding eyes seem to pop out even more than usual.
“There’s a message coming in for Joanna from Kaliningrad,” Abell said. “Is she up and about?”
“I am here,” Joanna said, leaning enough from the pilot’s seat so that Abell could see her even though the miniature camera built into the control panel was aimed at Jamie.
“Oh, good. I’ll tell them up in Mars 2 to pipe it right down to you.”
“How are you doing?” Jamie asked.
Abell swung his head back and forth. “Reed’s pumping so much vitamin C into us that I feel like I’m turning into an orange grove. I can shake my head without getting woozy, but I still feel like canned dog food.”
Jamie realized that he felt like used dog food. And that Abell refrained from asking how he felt.
“Dmitri and Ollie are outside rerigging the spare rover. Mikhail’s straw-bossing them over the TV link and making their lives miserable. He’s too weak to go out there himself so he’s giving them hell every inch of the way.”
“How long before they get under way?” Jamie asked.
“Another hour. Two at most. Mikhail’s taking Dmitri with him. Ollie’s sore as hell.”
“No sense risking more skins than you have to,” Jamie said.
“Reed’s coming, too.”
“Tony? Going outside?”
“Yeah. He says you’ll need a medic by the time they get to you.”
That’s a comforting thought, Jamie said to himself.
Abell said, “Okay. I’ll tell them to shoot you the message from Kaliningrad.”
The screen cleared briefly, flickered; then the image of a tired old man took form. His red hair was rumpled, his sharp little Vandyke beard messy, his shirt collar unbuttoned. He identified himself as the chief of mission control.
“My message is for Dr. Joanna Brumado, and it is of a personal nature. It is a question, actually, that Dr. Brumado must answer for us.”
Jamie swiveled the little ball-mounted camera on the control panel toward Joanna while the mission controller hesitated, as if waiting for him or expecting a reply. Then he took a deep breath and plunged onward:
“Dr. Brumado, this question concerns your father. As you know, he has been quite close to the day-to-day operations of our mission. Naturally, he has been informed of your… predicament. He is already heading for Houston. I have given strict orders that no one outside mission control is to know about the problem we are now facing until the situation has been resolved. This is to forestall the media from sensationalizing the situation, you see.”
Jamie thought, I sure as hell see that they don’t want the media to know the fix we’re in. They’d be buried alive by reporters.
“However,” the chief controller went on, “apparently your father is being accompanied by a representative of the American news media, a young woman television reporter. We have not been able to learn her affiliation, although we have her name.” The Russian looked down, obviously reading from a piece of paper. He pronounced stiffly, “Edie Elgin.”
Joanna frowned. Jamie felt a jolt of surprise. Edith? With Brumado?
The chief controller looked distinctly uncomfortable. “Your father will want to speak with you, of course. Apparently this newswoman with him wants permission to tape your conversation for possible broadcast-after this crisis is resolved. The tape would not be released, of course, without the permission of the Mars Project administrators. And your father’s permission also, of course.”
She’s hooked up with Brumado, Jamie realized. Son of a bitch! And she wants to make a tape of their conversation. What a coldblooded piece of genius that is! If we die she’ll have terrific footage of the last tender moments between father and daughter. If we live, it’ll still be great human-interest material for her.
And she hasn’t asked to contact me. She doesn’t give a damn about me. Why the hell should she? She’s got Brumado now.