airlock. Since the airlock could accommodate only two people at a time, the two men had allowed Miho to have her privacy while they waited in the depressurized garage. When it was their turn, Johnson and Jessup decontaminated and climbed out of their skinsuits, dressing in the blue standard-issue jumpsuits which were in the airlock lockers. Sasaki had been waiting patiently for them in the access corridor; at Jessup’s insistence, she had led them down the tunnel-like corridor to Module Nine at the other end of the habitat, where the science lab and infirmary were located.
‘Just a second.’ Jessup carefully shut the hatch behind them. Then, without preamble or apology, he unzipped a breast pocket of his jumpsuit, pulled out a sealed envelope and handed it to Johnson. The astrophysicist turned the envelope over once in his hands, grunted noncommittally, unsealed the flap and unfolded the letter within. He quickly scanned the terse instructions and noted the signatures of the President and the NASA Chief Administrator, then handed it to Sasaki and looked at Jessup.
‘So…’ He paused, pursing his lips and gazing at the glassware on the chemistry bench. ‘Is this permanent, Dick?’
‘Only until the crisis is resolved,’ Jessup replied. ‘You’ve got to believe me when I tell you that it’s not my choice or decision. Everyone has complete confidence in your ability to lead this mission…’
‘Except that they don’t want someone who’s so chummy with the Russians.’ Johnson, a squat man with frizzled grey hair, chuckled derisively and shook his head. ‘Christ. I was in first grade when the Berlin Wall was torn down. I remember when they called it the end of the Cold War. Now that asshole President of ours wants to start it up again.’ He shook his head once more. ‘Jesus and Mary, save us from the politicians.’
‘Art…’ Jessup sighed and rubbed the back of his head, feeling the bump he had received during aerobraking. At least this was all he had suffered; Ben Cassidy had been violently sick on the way down. ‘I don’t like it either, but this thing can’t function as long as we’ve got a loaded gun pressed to our heads.’
‘Then what do you intend to do about it?’ Miho Sasaki folded the letter and gave it back to Johnson, then absently shook her long, straight black hair over her shoulders. ‘This says that you’ve relieved Arthur of command because of “military considerations.” What does that mean?’
Jessup had read Sasaki’s dossier. A doctorate in astrophysics from the University of Nagoya Institute of Plasma Physics by the time she was twenty-five, a NASD A research scientist on Mars by her thirtieth birthday. Shin-ichi Kawakami’s protégée. She spoke English with barely any accent. A very beautiful woman, and sharp as a tack. No demure geisha girl here. He would have to be careful of her.
‘I can’t tell you that right now…’ he began.
‘Of course you can tell us that right now.’ Arthur Johnson feigned breeziness. ‘Why, Dick, the two of us go back a long way. Junior year at MIT, if I remember correctly. There’s nothing you can’t tell an old frat brother about, is there?’
‘Okay, then, I won’t tell you about it,’ Jessup replied. ‘First I want Sasha and Oeljanov in on this, and I want to give them a chance to remove the Bushmasters and the CAS voluntarily. That’s my decision, not George White’s.’
‘What a hero,’ Johnson said sourly. ‘What do you have up there, a nuke?’
Jessup ignored him. ‘I would like for the two of you to be here when I confront them. If and when…if they refuse, I want the two of you to quietly spread the word for everyone to take cover. Inside the City would probably be the best place…’
‘That’s the worst place…’
‘Then at least within the habitat, just as long as they’re out of range of the Bushmasters. Who’s piloting the Burroughs these days? Is it still W. J. Boggs?’ Johnson slowly
‘Just a second.’ Jessup carefully shut the hatch behind them. Then, without preamble or apology, he unzipped a breast pocket of his jumpsuit, pulled out a sealed envelope and handed it to Johnson. The astrophysicist turned the envelope over once in his hands, grunted noncommittally, unsealed the flap and unfolded the letter within. He quickly scanned the terse instructions and noted the signatures of the President and the NASA Chief Administrator, then handed it to Sasaki and looked at Jessup.
‘So…’ He paused, pursing his lips and gazing at the glassware on the chemistry bench. ‘Is this permanent, Dick?’
‘Only until the crisis is resolved,’ Jessup replied. ‘You’ve got to believe me when I tell you that it’s not my choice or decision. Everyone has complete confidence in your ability to lead this mission…’
‘Except that they don’t want someone who’s so chummy with the Russians.’ Johnson, a squat man with frizzled grey hair, chuckled derisively and shook his head. ‘Christ. I was in first grade when the Berlin Wall was torn down. I remember when they called it the end of the Cold War. Now that asshole President of ours wants to start it up again.’ He shook his head once more. ‘Jesus and Mary, save us from the politicians.’
‘Art…’ Jessup sighed and rubbed the back of his head, feeling the bump he had received during aerobraking. At least this was all he had suffered; Ben Cassidy had been violently sick on the way down. ‘I don’t like it either, but this thing can’t function as long as we’ve got a loaded gun pressed to our heads.’
‘Then what do you intend to do about it?’ Miho Sasaki folded the letter and gave it back to Johnson, then absently shook her long, straight black hair over her shoulders. ‘This says that you’ve relieved Arthur of command because of “military considerations.” What does that mean?’
Jessup had read Sasaki’s dossier. A doctorate in astrophysics from the University of Nagoya Institute of Plasma Physics by the time she was twenty-five, a NASD A research scientist on Mars by her thirtieth birthday. Shin-ichi Kawakami’s protégée. She spoke English with barely any accent. A very beautiful woman, and sharp as a tack. No demure geisha girl here. He would have to be careful of her.
‘I can’t tell you that right now…’ he began.
‘Of course you can tell us that right now.’ Arthur Johnson feigned breeziness. ‘Why, Dick, the two of us go back a long way. Junior year at MIT, if I remember correctly. There’s nothing you can’t tell an old frat brother about, is there?’
‘Okay, then, I won’t tell you about it,’ Jessup replied. ‘First I want Sasha and Oeljanov in on this, and I want to give them a chance to remove the Bushmasters and the CAS voluntarily. That’s my decision, not George White’s.’
‘What a hero,’ Johnson said sourly. ‘What do you have up there, a nuke?’
Jessup ignored him. ‘I would like for the two of you to be here when I confront them. If and when…if they refuse, I want the two of you to quietly spread the word for everyone to take cover. Inside the City would probably be the best place…’
‘That’s the worst place…’
‘Then at least within the habitat, just as long as they’re out of range of the Bushmasters. Who’s piloting the Burroughs these days? Is it still W. J. Boggs?’ Johnson slowly
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