The Season Of Passage Part 7

He grabbed and kissed her the same way. 'What, Doc?'

Lauren lunged at him angrily. But Gary had excellent reflexes. He stepped aside and she hit the floor. He kicked her in the b.u.t.t while she was down.

'd.a.m.n,' she swore.

'You women doctors,' he said. 'I never met a hornier lot.' Then he made a mistake. As he moved to poke her in the side, he stepped behind her leg and she kicked his calf out from under him. He crashed to the floor, and she was up in an instant. She grabbed a cus.h.i.+on from her chair and smacked him in the face as he crawled onto his knees. He went down again, and she jumped onto his chest and pinned his arms with her knees. He tried to bite her thigh and she shouted something barbaric and whacked him with her pillow a second time. He began to laugh his fool face off. He was playing with her. He calmly took hold of her wrists, and squeezed tight. It was like being caught in two vises.

'So, Lori, you like to be on top,' he said.

Lauren fought to free her hands. 'Let me go!'

'No.'

'I'm going to tell the press you're gay,' she said.

'I already told them you're a s.l.u.t.'

'That's bulls.h.i.+t.'

'I told Walkers at CBS that I had you a dozen times in free fall. From behind.'

'You're lying.'

'Then why are you upset?' Gary asked.

'Because you won't let me go!'

'You love me. Gimme a kiss.'

'I'm going to squash your rocket!'

Gary groaned. 'You already are. Jesus.' He tossed her aside as if she were a plastic mannequin. She rolled on the floor and sat up quickly, panting. She realized she was soaked with sweat, and that her hair was a mess. She felt exasperated, and great. She loved to wrestle. She smiled.

'Look at us,' she said. 'And the president's going to be here any second.'

'Any second? He's here already.'

'Huh?'

'You probably didn't notice, but the video phone's been beeping for the last minute.'

Gary was right. Lauren scampered to the phone and punched the accept b.u.t.ton. Lucy Delgado, their cook, appeared on the screen.

'Lauren! I've been trying to reach you. The president's here. He's waiting for you three.'

'How long since he arrived?'

'Only a few minutes. But Dean expected you to be in the conference room.'

The conference room was where they met with the press - on separate sides of thick tempered gla.s.s. The room had been secured for the president's visit. 'Tell them we'll be there in a minute,' Lauren said.

Lucy looked worried. 'Lauren, it's no business of mine, but I think you should comb your hair. You look like you've just been in a brawl.'

'Why, Lucy, that's a remarkably perceptive observation. Give Dean my message.' Lauren cut the connection and glared at Gary. 'Change your clothes. Now.'

Gary rolled over on the floor and yawned. 'You remind me of Lorraine,' he said.

EIGHT.

The president of the United States talked about the weather. It was nicer here in Florida than D.C., he said. The intervening gla.s.s was flawlessly clear, and his voice sounded natural enough through the overhead speakers. So far Lauren had been impressed by the man, but her fascination was more intellectual than emotional. When she reminded herself how powerful he was, then she felt awe. Otherwise, he was, as Jim said, like everyone else.

Next to the president sat Dean Ramsey. He looked tired, not that he ever looked well. He had dark circles under his eyes that made him resemble a homeless addict just lifted from the streets and fitted into fine clothes. Yet now even his suit was wrinkled. He was a notorious workaholic, and married to a woman who supposedly b.i.t.c.hed in her sleep. He never went home. At his feet were a black attache case and a bulky black suitcase. Lauren found herself waiting for them to be opened.

Finally the president cleared his throat. Lauren leaned forward expectantly. He was going to tell them something.

'Contrary to what you may believe from TV,' the president said, 'I'm not a man of many words.' He stopped and straightened his tie. 'Have any of you any idea why this meeting was called?'

Lauren shook his head. Jim remained silent. Gary alone spoke. Thankfully, after a word from Jim - just a word, Lauren thought - Gary had changed into decent clothes. Gary said, 'Are you here to tell us what became of the Russians?'

The president smiled faintly. 'Do you think I know?'

Gary shrugged. 'You're the president.'

'I spoke with their president last May,' the president said. 'He had nothing new to tell me. I believe he was being sincere.'

'Did you question him specifically on the loss of their orbiting cosmonaut?' Jim asked. 'Supposedly they were in communication with Carl Bensk for days after their lander fell silent.'

'He had nothing to say, except that they just lost communications with Bensk, for no reason.'

'Was Bensk in good condition when this happened?' Jim asked.

'I would a.s.sume,' the president said.

'Why?' Jim asked.

'Why not?'

'Because he never came back,' Jim said.

The president frowned. 'Your questions are appreciated, Professor Ranoth. What we have to show you tonight may throw some light upon their fate, or at least upon the fate of those who died on Mars. One point about my talk with their president, something that testifies to his sincerity - we have been given permission, and every a.s.sistance, to dock with their orbiting Gorbachev. Obviously, they are as anxious as we to discover what became of their men.'

'Please tell us what you do know, sir,' Gary said.

The president signaled to Dean, who opened the black attache case and removed a sealed envelope. He pa.s.sed the envelope to Gary through a pressurized drop on the far wall. Accepting the envelope was a break in quarantine, Lauren thought, unless, of course, the contents had been sterilized, which she figured must be the case. Gary tore open the envelope. Inside were two colored slides. Following instructions from Dean, Gary placed the slides in a projector that they often used to display diagrams for the press.

'Lights,' the president said. The room fell dark. On the screen appeared a photograph of the Martian landscape: salmon-pink slopes and orange sky, plus plenty of rocks -the planet's trademark. From the terrain, Lauren recognized it as a picture relayed to Earth by the Martian Rover. The Rover had landed on Mars in 1996. It was an enormous mobile vehicle with two inflatable wheels twenty feet high. It had an instrument package - containing TV cameras and experiment platform - suspended safely between its wheels. On the way to Mars, each wheel - made of sixteen separate pie sectors of kicka.s.s plastic - had been deflated. But once on Mars the Rover was able to drive itself over the plains by sequentially inflating and deflating the sectors of its wheels. The Rover was able to cope with rocks up to three feet high and had radar to warn it of approaching holes. It had worked beautifully for two days, driving about the Utopia Planitia region, taking excellent pictures, and digging up and testing numerous soil samples.

Then it had stopped transmitting. Its builders theorized it had accidentally driven off the side of a cliff.

Lauren studied the picture and noticed nothing remarkable.

'This photograph was returned to us in the summer of 'ninety-six,' the president said in the dark. 'This was one of the last pictures the Rover sent us. This picture, and others like it, are the reason you are going to Mars.' He paused to let his words sink in. 'Do you notice anything peculiar?'

A lengthy silence ensued. Lauren looked harder but wasn't sure what she was looking for. Gary stirred restlessly beside her. Finally Jim spoke.

'That series of impressions that cuts across the foreground,' Jim said. 'Is that what you're referring to, Mr President?'

'Yes, yes,' the president said, sounding strangely relieved. 'Very good, Professor. Few people notice the impressions at first. You usually have to stare at them for a while before you appreciate their significance.'

Jim stood and moved closer to the screen. Lauren's understanding finally began to blossom, and she trembled inside. She told herself it couldn't be true, but the more she looked, the clearer it was that the president was right. The impressions weren't just stupid holes.

They were footprints.

Yes? No?

At least they could have been footprints.

'Jesus,' Gary whispered beside her.

'Exactly how I reacted, Major,' the president said, 'the first time I saw them. Please switch to the next slide.'

Gary clicked the projector. What followed was the identical photograph, but magnified three times.

'How big are those?' Lauren heard herself ask.

'Two feet long, one foot across,' the president said. 'Each impression fans out at the top, where the ... toes would be.'

'But the foot that made them need not have been as large as the tracks,' Lauren said quickly.

'True, Dr Wagner. When we walk across sand, we leave tracks bigger than our feet. However, here the surface dust is thin. Experts who have studied these photos feel that the feet in question are much larger than our own.'

'Or the claws in question,' Gary muttered.

'Perhaps, Major,' the president said. 'Have you anything to say, Professor?'

Jim continued to stand near the screen and study the picture. 'This blow-up is not as impressive as the original,' he said.

'No doubt some resolution was lost in the magnification,' the president said.

'Maybe,' Jim said. He faced the president. 'I would like to see more of these slides.'

'I didn't bring any more. I felt these two were enough.'

Jim looked disappointed. Lauren did not understand his reaction. He should have been excited. Her own heart was pounding. Aliens. Martians. Monsters. All her knowledge of Mars had just flown out the window. She suspected it was going to take a while to a.s.similate what they were hearing and seeing.

'Would it be possible to study other photos before I leave?' Jim asked.

'You're leaving in the morning,' the president said.

Dean spoke hastily. 'Couldn't that be arranged, Mr President? Professor Ranoth is an expert in his own right in many fields.'

'Security in this matter is very strict,' the president said. 'We have no way of knowing how the public would react if this discovery leaked out. The lights, please, Major Wheeler.' The projection of Mars faded. The president added without enthusiasm, 'But I'll see what I can do.'

Jim crossed to the projector and pointed to the slides. 'May I take these with me tomorrow?'

'No,' the president said.

'The Nova is more secure than any place on Earth,' Jim said.

'The security in this matter has already been set,' the president, said. He was far from at ease, apparently not only because of security. Yet Jim continued to hammer at him, which in turn was uncharacteristic.

'You say these pictures are the main reason we're going to Mars tomorrow,' Jim said. 'And they were taken in 'ninety-six. Yet project Nova was not started until 'ninety-seven.'

The president spoke crisply. 'The significance of these pictures was not appreciated at first.'

'What does that mean?' Jim asked.

'No one noticed the footprints,' the president replied stiffly. 'It's incredible in light of their unnaturalness. Plus financing had to be arranged, and that took some doing.' He attempted to smile. 'Few Americans are worried about Martians.'

Jim smiled himself, briefly. 'Are you worried, Mr President?'

'I'm not sure I understand your question?'

'Do you consider this discovery a matter of national security?'

'In a sense. A matter of future national security.'

'Did the Russians get a look at these pictures?' Jim asked.

'No,' the president said.

'Yet they started their own project Gorbachev at approximately the same time,' Jim said.

The president was uncomfortable. 'They had sent remote probes to Mars. In 'ninety-three, for example.'

'But they did not start a crash program to reach Mars until 'ninety-five,' Jim said. 'Why do you think they delayed?'

'I have no idea,' the president said.

'When you spoke to the Soviet president, did you discuss these pictures?' Jim asked.

'I believe I have already answered that question,' the president said. 'No, I did not.'