Climbing Olympus. Kevin J. Anderson

from the dry air. Taking a tip from one of the other returning mission specialists, Keefer had brought along two small cases of lip balm—the type of thing everyone needed, but no one thought to requisition on the heavy interorbital transports. Distributing the packs of lip balm could be one way for him to win approval among the people he would have to supervise.

      As they drove toward Lowell Base, Keefer recalled what he knew about the camp, feeling as if he knew every corner of it without ever having been there: the placement of the modules with the recreational facilities, exercise arenas, geological laboratories, meteorology shacks, sick bay, med labs, greenhouse tent, satellite uplink, and living quarters. During the tedium of the voyage to Mars, Keefer had spent time familiarizing himself with the workings of all five human bases on the planet.

      The new arrivals resealed their suits as al-Somak fastened his helmet again and depressurized the rover. Emerging first from the rover’s sphincter airlock, al-Somak led the group through a larger two-stage airlock into the Lowell Base changing area. The new arrivals knew the entire desuiting procedure without further coaching. The Egyptian meteorologist acted like a busybody, moving from person to person, pointing out small empty lockers for stowing equipment. The buzzing sounds of hand-held vacuums blended with excited conversation. Tam sneezed, and Ogawa couldn’t stop coughing for several minutes.

      “You will get used to the dust,” al-Somak said, bowing his head as if in apology.

      “Welcome to paradise,” Keefer said, stretching high enough to rub his fingertips on the cold, smooth ceiling of the inflatable module. His skin crackled from the sudden, intense chill, and he felt light and tall and ready for a long physical workout. He wanted to jog ten kilometers.

      Before they had finished dressing in warm all-purpose jumpsuits, the inner door opened and a slim woman stepped through. She had iron-gray hair and an opaque expression, as if an invisible polarized mask covered her face. She glanced at the group, then fixed her gaze on Keefer.

      “Commissioner Dycek?” he asked, trying to smile warmly as he moved forward to extend a hand. He nearly lost his balance by overextending himself in the low gravity.

      “Welcome to Mars, Mr. Keefer,” Dycek said, brushing his hand in a brief, noncommittal grip. She gave him a false, pained smile, holding herself rigid. “Would you like to hand me my orders now?”

      Keefer remained calm, finishing the task of stacking his suit components in a vacant cubicle. “No, but I would like to have a word with you in private, Commissioner Dycek.”

      She took him to an empty rec room and sealed the door behind them. Someone had left a videogame to play itself on the flatscreen. A Ping-Pong table had been pushed against the curved wall; one of the white balls—weighted, in a futile gesture to compensate for the lower gravity—had fallen to the floor. The smell of garlic and olive oil clung around the hot plate in the small snack area.

      Keefer felt his stomach tighten with sour anticipation. His first day on a challenging assignment, and already he had a problem. He didn’t want to be Dycek’s adversary; he just wanted to be friendly, to make a smooth transition. But he had dealt with UNSA bureaucracy before, and no doubt they had given Dycek double-talk and deliberately vague reasons for her transfer. She had been left to stew for four months, knowing Keefer was on his way to take her place. What a way to run an important project!

      “Please, I’m not your enemy,” he said. “I’m sorry about—”

      Dycek turned and crossed her arms over her chest. She was a good seven or eight years older than Keefer, and they had been hard years. Her face seemed bleached with weariness. Her bright, granite-gray eyes moved back and forth as if she were trapped. She tried unsuccessfully to strangle the bitterness in her voice.

      “So what did they tell you about me, Mr. Keefer? Are they saying, ‘thank you for devoting your entire life to the project, Dr. Dycek, but we no longer need your services?’ Did you bring me a retirement pin? A watch, perhaps?”

      Keefer had to move fast if he was going to keep up with her. Already it felt as if the confrontation was slipping away from him. Why did people have to look for so many hidden messages and secret agendas, instead of just taking things at face value? “Believe me, I’m not here to steal your glory, Dr. Dycek. The adins and the dvas were only a short-term project. You know that yourself, so why act surprised? I am your successor, yes, but you’ve been here ten years already—why should you be angry at being returned home?”

      She stared at the changing geometric patterns of the videogame, but her eyes did not move as the colorful shapes continued their antics. With her back to him, she mumbled words that Keefer guessed she had said to herself many times before. “My work is obsolete. I am obsolete. Now I am forced to go home and listen to everyone else tell me so. That is the worst part.”

      He crossed his own arms, unconsciously imitating her gesture, but pried them apart again and let them hang at his sides. Open body language, he reminded himself. That had been in the management training. Keefer took a deep breath before answering.

      “I did not request this assignment, but I am thankful for the opportunity—and I am thankful for the work you’ve already done here. In a few decades, Mars will be able to support unprotected humans as easily as it supports the dvas right now. You will be remembered as a prime mover in the Mars project. Nothing I do will change that. I am not here to rewrite history.”

      Privately, Keefer believed the adin and dva projects had essentially been political publicity stunts staged by the Sovereign Republics: They had gained some cheers and PR strokes, while contributing little of substance to the terraforming effort. But he did not say that out loud.

      “When you sent the adins here, the whole world began to think of Mars again. Every newsnet on Earth carried weekly transmissions from Vice Commander Dozintsev. People watched it like a soap opera. Some of them even viewed Boris Tiban and his little rebellion as an amusing episode. Personally, it reminded me of the time the old Skylab workers went on strike!” He chuckled, but Dycek obviously saw nothing amusing in being reminded of the adin revolt. Keefer stopped laughing.

      “Do—” Dycek began to speak, but her voice cracked, and she had to start her sentence over. “Do you have any specific long-range plans, now that you are in charge of Lowell Base, Mr. Keefer? Now that the dva phase is at its end? I can go back to Earth, but my dvas cannot. What do you intend to do with them?” She seemed overwhelmed with either dismay or rage.

      Keefer could not fathom her response. It didn’t make sense. “Why, I intend to do nothing with them. They can continue with the same tasks they’ve been performing for years. They are provided for. On paper at least, they own the land they have settled, for the duration of their lives. But they are all sterilized, and there will be no more dvas coming up from Earth.” He drew a deep breath, keeping his gaze locked to hers. “Mars is a big place.”

      She looked at him strangely, then nodded. “Several of the dvas have asked me in all seriousness if they will be terminated, once I depart from Mars.”

      Keefer couldn’t keep himself from rolling his eyes. “That’s preposterous.”

      “You think so? I’m glad to hear you say it.” She went to the rec room door and uncoupled it. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go log all my dva activities. Even with the avalanche last year there are still 150 of them scattered around the area.”

      Keefer smiled at her again and unconsciously cracked his knuckles. “I know how you must feel, Commissioner Dycek, but this is purely professional. Really, it isn’t anything personal.”

      She stood at the joint where the two modules were fused together and pushed the door hatch farther open. A breeze from the slight pressure differential ruffled her gray hair. “Maybe not for you.”

BORIS TIBAN

      FLAT ADIN FEET found purchase on the volcanic path under a star-saturated