EVENING: SOL 45
IT’S A DULL PARTY, JAMIE THOUGHT. BUT WHAT CAN YOU expect when you’re being watched by ten or twenty million strangers?
They had broken the record of the first expedition at noon, local time, but delayed the celebration until after dinner. Dex had worked out the time for their “party” with the public relations people in Tarawa and New York—as if he didn’t have enough to do, Jamie groused silently.
So, with Dex wearing the backup virtual reality cameras clamped to his head like an extra pair of eyes, and the nubby data gloves on his hands, the eight explorers solemnly toasted the new Martian endurance record with fruit juices, coffee and tea.
It was early afternoon in New York. Roger Newell sat behind his broad-sweeping utterly clear desk and participated in the staid little festivity on Mars. It was being broadcast to some ten million VR sets, according to his information, but his network would show snippets of it on the evening news broadcast for all the others who could not afford a virtual reality rig.
“No more than a minute,” Newell muttered to himself from inside the VR helmet. “Thirty seconds, tops.” Christ, what a bunch of amateurs, he thought. These scientists can make even a party look dull.
“And here,” Dex Trumball was saying, “is Dr. James Waterman, our mission director. He was on the first expedition, too.”
Jamie felt suddenly tongue-tied, with Dex standing before him staring at him with that extra pair of electronic eyes perched atop his head. He hadn’t paid attention to the routine that Dex and the PR people had scripted. But he knew he had to say something.
“We’re very happy to be here on Mars, learning more about this planet,” he dithered, stalling for time to think. Unconsciously, he raised the cup he’d been drinking from and explained, “Of course, we don’t use alcoholic beverages here, but the fruit juices we’re drinking come from our own garden. Dex, you should show them the garden.”
“I will, later,” Dex replied, trying to hide his exasperation. “But first tell us about what we have planned for the next stages of the expedition.”
“Oh, you mean the flight out to Olympus Mons.”
“Yes, that … and the long-distance excursion to the Sagan Station.”
“Oh, sure,” Jamie said, relieved that he had something concrete to talk about.
Darryl C. Trumball watched the broadcast on the flat wall screen of his office. He had no time or inclination to don a VR helmet and those sticky gloves.
Dex is trying to get that damned redskin to pump up the audience about retrieving the Pathfinder hardware and all the Indian’s talking about is that stupid volcano!
Robert Sonnenfeld had begged, borrowed, and even paid with his own money to get a total of eighteen virtual reality helmets and glove sets, so his entire class could experience the broadcasts from Mars.
Now he and his seventeen enthralled middle school students felt as if they were actually walking through the domed garden that the explorers had built on the rust-red sands of Mars.
An English woman was guiding them through the garden, explaining what they were seeing.
“This is actually a very specialized version of a system called the Living Machine. It was first developed in the United States as a way of purifying waste water and making it safe enough to drink.”
Trudy Hall stopped by a large vat filled with thick, sludge-brown water. “The process begins with bacteria, of course,” she explained. “They begin the job of breaking down the wastes and pollutants in the water …”
Fifteen minutes later she was standing amid rows of plastic trays that held a variety of green, leafy plants.
“We can’t grow plants in the local soil, of course, because the ground is heavily saturated with superoxides,” Trudy was explaining. “Rather like a very strong bleach. However, by using hydroponics—growing our crops in trays through which we flow nutrient-rich water …”
Li Chengdu was fascinated by the tour. As mission director of the first expedition, he had remained in orbit about Mars. He had never set foot on the red planet’s surface. Now he was walking through a man-made hydroponic garden set up beneath a plastic dome, a garden that recycled the expedition’s water and provided not only clean drinking water but fresh food, as well. Remarkable.
He was walking virtually beside Trudy Hall as she paced slowly along an aisle between hydroponics trays, pointing left and right as she spoke.
“And by this point the water is used to nourish our garden vegetables. Soybeans, of course. Lettuce, quinoa, eggplant … and over there, in those larger trays, are the melons and strawberries.”
Hall reached out and touched a bright green leaf. Li felt it in his gloved fingers.
I am on Mars at last, he marvelled to himself.
Jamie and the others had drifted to the galley tables when Dex and Trudy had gone out to the garden. They sat around and talked shop, now that the cameras were off them.
“It’s a good thing the VR rig is working tonight,” said Stacy Dezhurova. “Tarawa has been sending up complaints every day about its breaking down.”
Tarawa, Jamie thought, was merely relaying the yowls from the elder Trumball, in Boston.
“Well, I’m takin’ her with us on the ride out to Ares Vallis,” Possum Craig said, both his big hands clutching his mug of cooling coffee. “I’ll work on her until she starts behavin’ right.”
“Good luck,” Rodriguez muttered.
The airlock hatch sighed open and Trudy and Dex came sauntering in. Dex had removed the VR cameras from his head, Jamie saw.
“Okay,” he proclaimed, “we wowed ’em in Peoria. Trudy’s a natural VR performer. You should’ve seen her.”
Hall smiled politely and made a tiny curtsey. “My new career: show business.”
Vijay excused herself as Trumball went to the dispenser and filled a cup with coffee. Jamie noticed that he didn’t offer to get anything for Trudy, who merely sat at the galley table and took a deep breath, as if she had just finished a footrace.
Looking at Jamie as he returned to the table, Dex said, “You guys have no idea how important these VR transmissions are. We get tens of millions of people watching us, experiencing what we show them.”
“Mucho dinero,” Rodriguez said.
“It’s more than the money,” Trumball shot back. “It’s the support. Those viewers feel like they’ve really been on Mars with us. They’ll support us when it comes to future expeditions. They’ll even want to come themselves.”
Before Jamie could reply, Vijay returned to the table with a brilliant smile and a half-liter-sized plastic container.
“I have here in my hand,” she said, holding the container high so everyone could see, “a certain amount of medicinal alcohol. Now that the cameras are off and we’re safe from prying eyes, let the real party begin!”