The Martian Race (6 page)

“Doing it on camera, that makes the difference here?”

“You bet.” He smiled in a completely open way, no guile at all. Or was he really a quite accomplished actor, after all? She could not tell.

Then her astronaut training asserted itself. “Uh, won't the habitat have to be altered to take an extra crew mem—”

“No changes.” Axelrod waved both hands in dismissal. “Too late for that, we're fabricating the hab right now.”

“But—”

“I'll bump Marc. Tell you true, only big difference between him ‘n Viktor was, Marc's better looking and speaks well.”

“Not … not piloting?”

“Viktor's a shade better, the simulations showed.”

A wave of confused relief washed over her. Marc was a good friend. She had not seen this coming. “I never thought you would, honestly, I'm—”

“Don't have to. I'll do that. You think Mars, I'll think Earth.” He winked. “Specialize. Now, then, let's pick the big date.”

Viktor was tricky to deal with.

Not that he needed to be persuaded. Julia discovered to her surprise that he was happy with the idea of getting married. In his complicated Russian soul, what bothered him was her going to Axelrod in the first place. As pilot, he would be commander of the mission. He worried that he wouldn't be accepted as the clearly chosen leader.

But Raoul and Katherine didn't seem to mind the switch. Raoul had always had more in common with Viktor than with Marc. And as a couple they were preoccupied with some internal dialogue of their own.

Marc was furious. He blamed Julia, accusing her of plotting to remove him from the crew. Then he was gone.

Julia had the most trouble with her father. Harry referred to it as a “shotgun marriage” and wouldn't be cajoled into feeling better about it. In some ways, Australia wasn't really in the twenty-first century, she mused. He'd wanted Viktor to ask for her hand, not be told about her choice. And he resented Axelrod's forcing the decision. When he was offered a long-delayed consulting trip to Africa, he went, missing the wedding. Her mother, Robbie, would make the trip alone, in one of Axelrod's private jets.

Axelrod assigned each of the crew a media representative. They needed that. The impending wedding raised the issue of sex in space, and they became fodder for the tabloids.

They were now not just a team, but The Couples. Julia and Viktor, Raoul and Katherine. The press corps became an ever-hungry beast. Parents, friends, enemies, managers who had barely known them—all became suitable targets for microphone-in-face journalism.

NASA had created plenty of opportunities for the press to, well, press against the astronauts. Axelrod killed that attitude immediately. “Thing is,” he explained to the four, “you are a commodity now. Don't want to oversell you.”

Katherine said straightforwardly, “I'm not a commodity.”

“Partners, then,” Axelrod said smoothly. “Partners in the Consortium.”

Raoul supported his wife's objection. “We have rights to our own stories, I believe.”

“So you do.” Axelrod nodded vigorously. He was sitting on his mahogany desk, and the four of them were alone with him, a rarity. He had ordered champagne brought in to celebrate the “consolidation,” as he termed it, of the team.

Raoul said, “Then we should manage our own relationships with the media.”

“You shall—when you can reap the benefits. Right now, you train.”

Viktor said, “Good. No speaking to those fellows.”

Axelrod smiled coolly. “Not entirely. But we'll orchestrate the press conferences. You keep your stories to yourselves, and our legal department will handle your separate contracts.”

Viktor asked, “Contracts?”

“Your memoirs, interviews, so on.” Axelrod beamed. “You are planning on coming back and telling your story, aren't you?”

They were officially media figures now. The world was steadily going Mars-mad and the four of them were at the center of it all.

First they were invited to all the big social events in Houston, thrown by people they didn't know. Later they received invitations from all over the country. Wannabe “megabillionaires”—a media misnomer—offered to send private jets to whisk them to posh mansions. Cost was no object. Your party was an instant success if one or more of the Marsnauts attended.

“Another big do,” Julia said one morning, looking at the latest round of invitations. “This one's in New York. Wanna go?”

“To big doo-doo? I think not. Too much caviar is bad for astronaut training.” He put a hand over his liver with a pained expression on his face.

It was a game they played. Julia would read Viktor the most outrageous of the invitations, and he would pretend to take them seriously.

It was their way of dealing with the craziness of it all. As astronauts, they had been faces in the crowd, lost among one hundred others. No one had recognized them in the street, wanted autographs, or invited them anywhere. Now suddenly they were hyperstars, megacelebs, their every move outside JSC stalked by crowds of paparazzi. Axelrod's security guards moved them between the training center and their secluded living compound.

Somehow she hadn't anticipated this roller-coaster life. At least the recent nasty talk in some of the down-market media had gone away, once their marriage was announced. Amazing, what a piece of legal paper could silence. Still, she felt that a lot of this had fallen upon her while she was busy doing something else. Like her job, for instance.

“I'd feel better about it if we weren't getting all this attention before we'd done anything.”

“Yes. But maybe no time after.”

A good way to put it,
she thought sourly.
Maybe what we'll be remembered for will be our deaths.

July 4, 2015. An Axelrod irony, “getting hitched” on Independence Day.

The wedding took place on Axelrod's private island off the coast of North Carolina, six weeks later.

“Just a simple garden wedding,” he said to Julia and Viktor. “Leave all the arrangements to me. You concentrate on Mars.”

And that was just fine with Julia. She didn't like weddings, had no interest in organizing one. She'd always thought vaguely that if she ever did marry, it would be in a judge's office with a couple of friends.

But here she was, in a long white dress, looking like someone from a bride's magazine. Her short brunette bob had been meticulously arranged; she was wearing a veil and had a bouquet of flowers in her hand. After months in training, she felt like a butterfly, emerged from the chrysalis of her astronaut coveralls. Axelrod had flown her in two days early, for a succession of mud baths, facials, hair and makeup consultations, and last-minute dress fittings. It would be more than three years before she had the opportunity to do anything remotely like it again, so she just smiled and went along with it all.

“Oh, my,” Robbie said, dabbing her eyes. “You look gorgeous, Jules.” She sniffed. “I do wish your father were here.”

Julia felt his absence keenly. Harry was a devoted family man, and they had been close for years. The death of Julia's brother, Bill, had melded the three of them into a solid unit.

And yet he wouldn't come to her wedding. What was it he so disliked in Viktor?

In the absence of Harry, Axelrod would give the bride away. He was between wives at the time, so Julia's mother had flown in from Australia the week before to personalize the arrangements. But she hadn't been able to make a dent in the spectacle.

The media were divided into “invited” and “uninvited.” Axelrod sent boats to the mainland for the former, the latter were reduced to buzzing the island in rented motorboats and helicopters.

Huge quantities of food and drink were ferried or helicoptered in. The JSC crowd and the media were serious partyers.

It was time. Her mother left. There was a knock on the door.

Julia hesitated one last moment before opening it to a beaming Axelrod in an ice cream suit. He was clearly relishing this.

“Ready, my dear?” He offered his arm and they walked through the cavernous mansion and out into the lush garden.

Her mother copied Julia with her letter:

TO: [email protected]

FROM: [email protected]

July 5, 2015

Dear Harry,

You really missed a great party! The Axelrod island looks like all those old movies of the American South. It's not just a house, but a complex. Great hunks of communication gear around. John must be able to reach anywhere on Earth he wants.

A huge white mansion with pillars, of course.

My suite was simply enormous. There was a fireplace in the bedroom, and the bathroom had a tub on a dais that Cleopatra would've loved. Hot and cold running help, too.

The “simple garden ceremony” was anything but, of course. Great drifts of food and drink, live music, tents, etc. Everyone danced and laughed until the wee hours. Half of JSC must've been there, and a lot of NASA brass from elsewhere. It looked like a convention for The Mars Society. And he'd invited a slew of reporters. They were pretty well behaved, had a special roped-off place to sit during the ceremony.

But the paparazzi were something else! There must've been a fleet of them buzzing the place with helicopters and speedboats! All for our Julia! But she was worth it. She looked really beautiful! And Viktor just couldn't take his eyes off her. He was just so pleased. I know how you feel about him, but I'm sure he does love her. He was very cordial to me, said he was honored to be joining Julia's family. His parents are gone, you know, and he's so far away from the rest of his family.

The actual ceremony was pretty simple. Raoul and Katherine were the attendants, and Axelrod stood in for you, of course. They'd decided on a civil ceremony, so John arranged for a judge—I think he was a North Carolina Supreme Court Justice, some friend of his. The soprano was very good. She sang “Amazing Grace” and some other songs with a touch of jazz to them.

The cake was incredible. It was Mars, of course, a huge red-icinged confection. Julia did her best to carve it—with a laser!

Julia's really not much of a public person. That was our Bill. So she had on her public face, and a bit of a grit-your-teeth smile at times. But overall I bet she enjoyed it. How can you not, when you're at the center of the universe like that?

Well, that's about it. I'm pooped. There'll be lots more pictures— I've only attached a few to this e-mail, so you can get an idea of what it was all about.

Hope your trip is working out like you hoped. Your last message about the poacher's camp sounded a bit gruesome. It's dreadful to think that the few remaining wildlife are being butchered—and for meat!

I hope it wasn't dangerous, riding along with the park rangers like that. We've heard so many dreadful stories over the years about game park incidents. Please be careful!

Oh, forgot one thing. The kids are honeymooning here for a few days. In fact Raoul and Katherine are staying on also. It's about the only place those four can get some privacy. I'm looking forward to a few days’ peace myself. And it's a lovely place. I'll be flying back at the end of the week.

Miss you, you old curmudgeon! Take care of yourself!!

Much love, xxxx

Robbs

With Axelrod at her side, Julia launched herself into the wedding. In some ways this was the most terrifying part of the mission.

She hadn't yet gotten used to all the media attention—camera snouts, microphones, shouted questions. But it was impersonal. She was just an astronaut, an object caught in the crosshairs of the media.
This
was different. She knew a great many of the guests now staring wide-eyed and entranced (or so it seemed) at the spectacle. Despite her finery, she felt naked.

Axelrod leaned over, whispered in her ear, “Someone with a small nuclear weapon could take out the entire Mars faction.”

It was just what she needed. The remark triggered her professional instincts. Axelrod was right. She caught sight of Bob Zubrin, Axelrod's Mars guru, and many of the longtime Mars researchers at NASA—Chris McKay, Carol Stoker, Nathalie Cabrol, Geoff Briggs, John Connolly, and others, some retired, all a bit grayer, but still enthusiastic.

Why are they all here! The dreamers …

And some schemers, too. They had come because of something none of them could quite put into words. Marriage, Mars …

And then she caught sight of Viktor. And all the rest dropped away. He was grinning in sheer delight. He stretched out his arm in an unplanned gesture of welcome. She took his hand and knew that this was the right thing to do.

Later, thinking about the ceremony, all she could remember clearly was the fond expression in his eyes. The right stuff.

5

JANUARY 11, 2018

D
ESPITE
M
ARC'S BEST EFFORTS, DINNER WAS NOT A CULINARY SUCCESS
.

He was the foodie among them, forever trying out new variations of the limited range of kitchen stores. But they had long ago exhausted the narrow potential of the supplies for new tastes, and now everything they ate was too familiar to the tongue. No surprises.

Still, they did have luxuries. Marc's favorite duck in burgundy sauce from a trendy L.A. restaurant, authentic borscht from a San Francisco Russian bakery, blue corn enchiladas from New Mexico, kangaroo steaks, and holiday treats. The list was extensive. But frozen meals lacked that just-cooked, fresh taste.

Food and the mealtime experience were part of an elaborate emphasis on the crew's psychological well-being. There Axelrod had not cut back on the budget. No one on Earth really knew how tough it would be to live so long in a large tuna can surrounded by a hostile planet. So the psychologists intended the mealtimes to be extended breaks in the day. Chances to talk, relax, and eat good, nourishing grub. For Julia, plenty of comfort food—soups, meatloaf, chowder, oatmeal. They each had their own. “Evoke resonances of home,” a psych guy had pontificated. As one wag put it, eating is the only enjoyable activity you can do three times a day, every day.