Read Online The Martian Race by Gregory Benford - Free Book Online

think?”
    “Well, they'd prefer more cores to make sure all the hills are pingos. First indications are, though, that this is probably good enough.”
    “Good enough for the government, as they say,” said Raoul with uncharacteristic levity. Raoul was the top mechanic on the team, and ritually cynical about governments. He even disliked the fact that NASA had separately contracted with the Consortium to supply some geological data.
    “Too bad we're not working for the government, eh?” shot back Marc.
    Julia looked over at him, surprised. The brief exchange left much unsaid, but all understood the shorthand. Tensions were definitely building as the launch date approached. No one wanted to be the cause of a delayed return. The search for subsurface water had gone slowly, disappointing some of the mission backers, raising the specter that the team would be asked to stay longer to complete the mapping.
    They didn't seem in a mood to discuss her going back to the vent. Time was pressing, and the next item was the engine test. She had better wait before bringing it up at all.
    She knew through the years of working with these guys that timing was everything in prying up the lid of the male mind. She had learned that in the toughest of schools: NASA, and beyond.
    After Katherine dropped out, there had been strong pressure to have an all-male crew. Many within NASA hadn't wanted a woman along at all. Adding one had inevitably made for tensions, but on the other hand, it also gave half the possible Earth audience somebody to identify with. And the Consortium could be subtle.
    Even on Mars, the undeclared war between the sexes continued. As the sole woman on the mission, she had been the target of special psychological counseling during the final months before the launch. Her marriage to Viktor clarified what NASA delicately termed IRA, for Interpersonal Relationship Activities. Instead, they concentrated on how she could tell one of the “guys” that he was wrong without getting into a pissing contest. Someone was worried that she would bruise fragile male egos if she found fault with her crewmates.
    She needed to be positive, supportive, but indirect, they said. No criticism of her crewmates. And they had her read old studies of the relationships between airline pilots and co-pilots. “Co-pilots on commercial aircraft use indirect hints to correct pilots who are making mistakes, even though these mistakes can be a matter of life and death,” read one of the learned studies she'd been given. Hollywood screenwriters got it wrong again, had been her first reaction. All those airplane terror movies, and the cockpit scenes fraught with punchy dialogue, hadn't happened.
    “Captains give more than twice as many commands as first officers, reinforcing the arrogance of rank. Airline accident reports, however, show that first officers often must correct captains’ mistakes,” she'd read.
    She'd tried to imagine how this scenario would work on Mars. What if she had to tell someone he'd left the airlock open without seeming to be critical? No shouting, “Close the @#$%! airlock door or we'll all die!” Instead she was supposed to say, “May I borrow your scarf? There's a breeze somewhere.” And then fall to the floor gasping for breath. What about something slightly more direct, like, “Oh, did you think it was getting a bit stuffy in here?”
    She'd started to chuckle to herself. Okay, Instead of “Your helmet isn't buckled down right,” she could say, “What a novel way you've arranged your helmet. It's so much more interesting like that.” Or, to Viktor, “I love you, but you're about to drive this rover off a cliff.” By then she had been convulsed with laughter.
    After that, she found excuses to stay away from the counseling sessions. The whole idea of having to assume a passive role was repugnant.
    And ultimately, they just didn't get it: a few bruised egos would be survivable. Pussyfooting around stupid mistakes