[Yes, Lauren.]

Mission Control would expect a profound statement: One long sleep for man, one big nightmare for mankind. Lauren moistened her throat. 'This is Dr Wagner. How is Earth?'

Twenty minutes would elapse before they received her message. Lauren tried to imagine the reaction. There would be a celebration. People would slap each other on the back and shake hands. Bottles of champagne would be opened. Jennifer and Terry would be there to enjoy it.

'Open the lid on my hibernaculum, Friend.'

[Yes, Lauren.]

There was a sharp hiss and then a blast of cold air. Lauren shivered. 'What is the internal temperature of the Nova, Friend?'

[Seventy-six degrees Fahrenheit, Lauren.]

'Raise it ten degrees. Give me manual control of the other hibernaculums.'

[Yes, Lauren.]

Lauren halted the circulation of the Antabolene in her friends' bodies and began to warm their hibernaculums. Then she pulled herself upright with great effort and peered out the nearby porthole. The others would not awaken for hours. She was alone with a view no other living human being had seen. Through the porthole, Mars was twice the size of the Moon as seen from Earth, richly colored, with dazzling white polar caps that topped a haunting red globe. If nothing else, she thought, they had come this far.

Lauren began to ma.s.sage her legs, noting with displeasure how her muscle tone had gone flat and her color had faded. She would have to start walking immediately, and she would be first under the sun lamp, and to h.e.l.l with what Gary said.

'I want a warm gla.s.s of juice, Friend,' she said.

[Which flavor would you prefer, Lauren?]

'Coconut pineapple.'

[Yes, Lauren.]

A thin green tube extended from the wall near her head, and she sucked on the juice. It removed a bad taste in her mouth and gave her a new level of strength. 'This is good,' she said.

[Yes, Lauren.]

'Turn on the auxiliary lamps in section B.'

[Yes, Lauren.]

Soft yellow light flooded her compartment. Across from her, Jessica and Bill lay like black statues in their hibernaculums.

'Is the Nova in good shape, Friend?' she asked.

[Yes, Lauren.]

'Very good. I want to hear some music, vocal level. Put on a disc of the rock group called the Doors.'

[Which one, Lauren?]

'I don't know. Which one is Jim's favorite?' [I'm not sure, Lauren. He often plays 'Strange Days.'] '"Strange days."' Lauren muttered. 'Yes, that sounds appropriate. Put that one on, Friend.' [Yes, Lauren.]

By the time Lauren was able to walk without support she had heard all of 'Strange Days,' 'Waiting for the Sun,' and 'The Soft Parade.' Jim was right - it was wonderful music.

Four hours later the rest of the crew had all revived, as weak as newborn kittens. Lauren was in communication with Houston and was surprised to find that Jennifer was not at Mission Control. In a taped message - with the time delay, they were all taped - Terry explained she was staying in Wyoming with Daniel and his family. Lauren a.s.sumed that meant Jennifer was not in school, which she wasn't crazy about. Terry also said that he was working on his book, and that she had received an erotic gift from Santa for Christmas. He looked uncomfortable talking into his camera. Lauren sent him a return message saying she was sure his present would get plenty of use. She didn't press him about Jennifer's absence. It was very good to see him again.

She figured NASA listened to her message a few seconds before Terry heard it. No doubt the president was still worried about national security.

Using the best of Friend's freeze-dried formulas, Lauren cooked breakfast for the starving sleepyheads: a gla.s.s of powdered milk and a thin vegetable soup. Jim, who was now sitting up in bed, asked if he could have a cup of coffee. Lauren reminded him that he had been sleeping for over three months and that of course he couldn't have any coffee. Gary told Jim from across the room that he had a bottle of Scotch tucked away and that he would be more than happy to share his wealth as soon as he was strong enough to fetch it.

Lauren immediately went to Gary's private locker, and did indeed find a fifth of Scotch, cleverly hidden beneath a mound of science fiction paperbacks, the latest issue of Playboy which was now three months old - and a framed picture of his mom and dad. While Jim and Gary howled helplessly in their hibernaculums, she poured the Scotch down the disposal chute.

Then on impulse she checked Jim's locker. She almost fell to the ship's axis with what she saw: two cans of instant coffee, five bags of Oreo cookies, ten bars of Swiss chocolate, two boxes of sugar jellies from England, and a giant lollipop from Disneyland. How he had smuggled the goods aboard a ship that had never been closer than two hundred miles to Earth was beyond Lauren. Knowing she had found his treasures, Jim begged her to have mercy. He promised not to eat any sweets for two days. Against her better judgment, she said OK. At least she knew now why he hadn't lost any weight at the isolation complex.

Outside their portholes, Mars grew. Three days had elapsed since they had awoken. Lauren leaned against the wall of their compact gym and watched as Jim labored uphill on a treadmill. There were wires attached to his chest and electrocardiogram lines tracing across a nearby screen. Lauren was worried. Jim's heartbeat was slightly irregular. He had MVP - Mitral Valve Prolapse. The condition was generally not serious. It was caused by a slight loosening of the tissue that held the mitral valve in place inside the heart. Most people who had MVP only noticed it when their hearts fluttered. Occasionally chest pain and shortness of breath could make the person think he was having a heart attack. But the symptoms came seldom, and never led to a heart attack, unless there was an underlying pathology.

What worried Lauren was that Jim had not had MVP three months ago. Had the prolonged hibernation brought it on? She considered consulting with physicians back home. Yet she feared they might forbid his landing on Mars, just to be on the safe side. She knew that such a decision would devastate him.

It would probably cause him more stress than the exploration.

Lauren watched as he struggled to breathe through the mask that covered his mouth and nose. He was tiring already, and he had completed less than half his exercise time. She motioned for him to stop.

'I'm not tired,' he said, removing the respirator. 'Shouldn't I do another ten minutes, Lauren?'

She glanced at the screen again. 'Wait an hour. Then finish the other ten.'

He pointed to the peaks and valleys of his electrocardiogram. 'How am I doing?'

'OK. How do you feel?'

'Great. Now tell me, is there a problem?'

There was no sense in worrying him. Most people who had MVP didn't even know it, and lived happier lives because of the ignorance.

'You're fine,' she said. 'I just want you to come along a bit slower than the rest of us.' She plucked a white hair from his chest. 'Remember, you're our old man. If the Martians show up and want to wrestle, leave them to Gary and me.'

Now it was six days after awakening. They were strapped in the Hawk, preparing to break away from the Nova and land in the Utopia Planitia region, near the derelict Rover. Mark was alone at the Nova's controls. Since entering orbit, he had photographed their first landing spot extensively through a high-powered telescope. After studying the pictures, and after a brief consultation with Houston, Bill had relocated their touchdown approximately two miles northwest of where the Rover had put down. Bill said the terrain was smoother there. Unfortunately, the next time they set down, in the volcanic Tharsis region where the Russians had landed, they would have one and only one touchdown area, a plateau located beside Olympus Mons, the tallest known mountain in the solar system.

Jim's MVP ceased to affect his endurance. Lauren didn't contact Houston and never did tell him about it. It was her first major medical decision on the mission, and she was not going by the book. She hoped she didn't live to regret it.

[Thirty seconds to break away.]

Friend's circuits were duplicated in full aboard the Hawk. He would continue as their faithful companion while they lived on the planet. Leaving half his brain in orbit didn't seem to bother him in the least.

'Give me a countdown from five, Friend,' Gary said, his voice calm.

[Five. Four. Three. Two. One.]

There was a gentle shove. Outside their windows, the Nova began to float slowly away.

'You're looking good,' Mark said over their headsets.

When they had drifted a couple of hundred yards, Gary rotated the Hawk, so that the ship's nose was pointed directly at Mars. Then he fired their auxiliary thrusters. As they coasted downwards, the red globe seemed to fall toward them, a huge ball ready to snuff out their puny existence. Because Mars had an atmosphere - thin though it was - their descent procedure was different than the one astronauts used to land on the moon. An atmosphere meant friction, and friction meant heat. Gary would use that friction to break their speed. To counteract the heat, the Hawk was equipped with a ceramic tile shield, which would be jettisoned once they opened their parachutes.

So they coasted, for more than three hours, until the atmospheric drag began to make itself felt, at an alt.i.tude of approximately one hundred fifty miles. At that point Gary turned the heat shield in the direction of their fall. Their speed was three miles a second, but was diminishing rapidly. Lauren could feel the pressure of deceleration. Her breathing was labored and it was difficult to raise her arms. On Gary's screens Mars resolved into a landscape: ragged craters, wide-open sandy plains, twisting red valleys that cut like b.l.o.o.d.y incisions two miles deep. Lauren even caught a glimpse of Olympus Mons, far away but still clearly visible in the morning light, wreathed in ice clouds that condensed out of the upper atmosphere each dawn.

The Hawk began to vibrate. Gary sang to himself. He was a rocket man again. He was where he wanted to be, doing what he wanted. The temperature of their cabin rose sharply. Lauren began to perspire.

Fifteen miles above the ground their deceleration reached its maximum value. Here their descent vector turned parallel to the surface as the Hawk bobbed on the aerodynamic lift provided by the atmosphere. But the equilibrium was only temporary and soon their descent resumed. Not long after, four miles above the ground, their speed was less than that of an ordinary pa.s.senger jet. Now Gary discarded the heat shield and opened their parachutes. Lauren suddenly felt as if she were standing on her head in a falling elevator. The Hawk was spinning. It was expected, and slowly the spin began to stop. Gary slid their shock-absorbing legs into position.

'Don't you want auto control?' Colonel Brent asked.

'Of course not,' Gary said.

[3900 feet.]

The parachutes were jettisoned. Simultaneously the Hawk's main engines fired. The roar was deafening. White-lined schematics of the terrain directly below crawled across the dark blue screens above Lauren's head. They were falling slowly, almost hovering. A blitz of sand began to bombard the hull, pushed upwards by the force of their rockets.

'Dust!' Bill shouted.

'Visibility still good!' Gary shouted back.

[500 feet. 300 feet.]

'Fuel?' Bill snapped.

[What, Bill?]

'Put her down, Major!' Bill ordered.

'That's what I'm doing!' Gary said.

[100 feet. 50 feet. 10 feet.]

There was a nerve-racking jolt, then a silence so complete it was unnerving.

[Touchdown.]

'Good job, Major,' Bill said.

'G.o.dd.a.m.n,' Gary said to the billions listening on Earth.

After traveling four hundred million miles, they had reached their goal.

FOURTEEN.

Terry knew he was wearing a foolish smile, but it felt too good to take off. Kathy from California had on a grin of her own that was far from cool. They were sitting in the corner of a coffee shop not far from Mission Control, toying with gla.s.ses of milk and servings of uneaten pie, glancing at the TV in the corner where Colonel William Brent and Professor James Ranoth were walking on Mars. Terry thought he had been ready to see people walking on another planet, but every time he looked at the TV it just blew his mind. Soon Lauren would join them. His own woman. Christ, what a day.

'How can they get around with those bulky suits on?' Kathy asked.

'Lauren says wearing the suit is like being surrounded by an air bubble,' Terry said. 'They look heavier than they are. And don't forget the gravity is only one-third that of Earth's.'

Kathy rubbed her hands together for warmth. It was a cold rainy day in Houston. A draft from a nearby window was taking the steam out of their coffee. 'I can't wait till Gary's out there,' she said.

'That probably won't be for a while, from what we've heard,' Terry reminded her. 'He's fixing a generator.'

'It's not serious, though,' Kathy said quickly, half asking.

Terry shrugged. 'You know how they build s.p.a.ceships these days. They're full of spare parts. If he can't fix it, they'll toss it out the window and no one will notice the difference.'

Kathy laughed. She reached over and touched his arm. "Thanks again for getting me a badge to go inside the control area. If it wasn't for you, I wouldn't have been able to send Gary a message.'

Terry had no problem with a.s.sisting Gary with his love life, as long as Gary didn't start asking what Lauren liked in bed. It was not that he felt jealous of Gary; it was just that he looked like a saltless pretzel when he stood next to Gary. Fortunately, Gary was something of an overgrown boy, and Lauren had rea.s.sured him that guys like that were only good for multiple o.r.g.a.s.ms and nothing else. Terry was pretty sure she had been kidding.

'Have you seen Lorraine today?' he asked. He already knew the story about the crazy sister. He hoped he had a chance to meet with Lorraine personally to gather material for a future book. When Gary had awakened, he had arranged for Kathy to pick up an ID badge at Mission Control so that they could exchange personal tapes. Unfortunately Lorraine had arrived first and claimed the badge. Apparently, when she wanted to, she could talk exactly like Kathy. She had already sneaked into Mission Control and sent a message to Gary, which drove him nuts. It quickly became clear to him that Lorraine couldn't be stopped unless security was alerted to her presence. Yet if that happened, the papers would get hold of the story and tell the whole world about Lorraine. With that in mind, both Gary and Lauren had sent Terry a message explaining the situation and asking for his help. That was how Terry had come to meet Kathy Johnson. It had been a snap for him to get Kathy another badge. But getting the first one back was turning into a problem.

Kathy moaned. 'No, I haven't seen her. I have no idea where she is.'

'Has Lorraine always been like this?'

'She's been saying crazy things since she learned to talk.' Kathy changed the subject. 'When Gary was in California, he told me that Lauren had raised a younger sister all by herself.'

Terry nodded. 'That's Jenny.'

'How old is she?'

'Nineteen years younger than Lauren. Thirteen.'

'Where is she?' Kathy asked.

'She's staying in Wyoming. I own a cabin there.'

'Does she have family there?'

'No. As far as family is concerned, Lauren and Jenny have only each other. But Jenny's staying with people I've known for years. Which reminds me - I should call Jenny now. Would you excuse me for a moment?'

'Sure. I'll get us more coffee. Our waitress looks glued to the screen.'

Terry stood. 'Yeah. The more you look at that place, the harder it is to look away.'

Terry went to an empty booth at the rear of the crowded shop and sat down before the video phone. A few b.u.t.tons pushed and Jennifer appeared on the screen. She had a fire going. The TV set was off. She smiled faintly when she saw who it was.

'Terry,' she said. 'I knew it would be you.'

'I've been trying to reach you. What are you up to? Still working on your story?'