Then a trial burn, which the Chinese government denied had “a significant nuclear component,” doublespeak for We don’t give a damn what all those European and American protesters think. NASA and the National Security Agency both analyzed the burn optical signatures, and sure enough, it was hydrogen exhaust warmed by a medium-hot nuclear pile, design unknown.
Axelrod had sent them close-up shots of the craft, imaged from the Keck telescope complex. “It is big, sleek,” Viktor had observed. “With specific impulse two and a half, maybe three times ours, they can use that much less fuel. Hydrogen—fine for getting speed up, best choice. But they are not bringing liquid hydrogen to surface of Mars?”
The Consortium intelligence operation thought the fuel for the return part of the mission could not be hydrogen, though. “Keeping hydrogen at very low temperatures, landing it, then using it to return—no,” Viktor said decisively. “One heat leak and they scrub the mission. No, they have some other plan for later.”
But what? Nobody knew. A day later, Airbus had laconically announced a decision for Go. Their big boosting burn into interplanetary space was a long, hot, silvery plume scratched across the night sky.
It had been eight months since the Airbus launch. Because of the configuration of the two planets, the trajectory guys at Johnson assumed that they were doing a Venus flyby mission. In effect a planetary handoff, the nuke would slingshot around Venus halfway through the trip, picking up extra delta vee. The physics resembled bouncing a tennis ball off a moving freight train, so that the ball came off with the train’s velocity added to what it had.
That was the only way to get to Mars, launching when they did.
“Venus flyby takes ten months,” said Viktor. “So they get here two months from now. Our launch window. They get here in time to see us leave.”
If we leave, Julia thought but did not say.
But Axelrod had sprung a surprise, right after the Airbus launch.
“Been keeping this secret, didn’t want the negative publicity,” he admitted on his next priority vid. “I laid a side bet for you guys. Cost me plenty, let me tell you, and I don’t just mean money. I had to tip my hat and bow for this one.”
Raoul whispered, “Which means he had to pay more than he bargained for.”
“You knew about this?” Julia shot Raoul a glance.
He shrugged. “Axelrod said to keep quiet.”
“I went to our fellow explorers, those German Airbus management types. Followed Raoul’s estimate of what he might need, if his on-site repairs don’t quite work out. Dickered. Finally got Airbus to fly his box.”
Cheers and shouts from all four of them. Julia glanced at Raoul again. Keeping secrets.
“I got the weight of all that gear down, way down. Had to. Engineers here said it’s the best they can send. Parts, tools. Airbus will get it to you somehow.”
“Tell them just look for only humans on Mars, we be here,” Viktor said happily.
“They’re under no guarantee to land at your site. They may go somewhere else, they won’t say.” Axelrod shrugged modestly. “Thought you guys would want to know. I hope it kind of makes up for not flying the second ERV.”
It didn’t for Julia, not entirely. But she had to appreciate the way he brought it off. His last flourish was impressive: “And I had to lay out a cool one hundred million dollars for them to fly it to you. Biggest freight bill in history, got to be. At least I’ll get in the record books for that.”
They had popped one of Viktor’s last bottles of champagne over this message. “Welcome to the captain’s table,” he had said grandly. “Part of special mass allowance.”
The voluptuous curve and weight of the bottle was wasteful to Julia’s eyes, and wonderful. After nine months on Mars, they had needed a celebration. He had even produced caviar, eyes gleaming—the best pale sturgeon, in a delicate little box.
Help was on the way. And so was the competition.
“I was speaking to Katherine,” said Raoul slowly, visibly trying to wrench his thoughts away from the engine failure. “They can cut the time by using more fuel. Leave Earth faster, and power decelerate at Mars.” He toyed with his coffee mug.
“I, too, worked out most available orbits,” Viktor said. “They come in with big velocities, eight kilometers per second. Have to lose that energy with a long aerobrake, I think.”
“So they could be here anytime?” asked Marc.
Raoul shrugged. “Basically.”
“We don’t even know where they’re going to land,” said Julia. “They have to land near here or we can’t reach them.”
“It’s a big planet,” Marc said.
“Up to boss to arrange passage with Airbus.”
“Okay. Even if they get here soon, they have to refuel—”
“With what?” asked Marc. He looked at Raoul and Viktor. “What can they use? What are they using now?”
“Hydrogen, probably,” said Viktor. “Is lightest—most bang for mass.” Raoul nodded. “What they use to go home, that is anybody’s guess.”
“What else could they do?” Marc demanded.
“What we did—or the ERV, I mean,” Raoul said. “Bring hydrogen. Run a chem plant to pull in CO2, make methane and oxygen and water. Even with a big nuclear reactor to run a bigger plant, that’s several months’ work.”
Marc pressed, “You’re sure?”
Raoul nodded. “We’ll beat them home, I’d say.”
“There are too many unknowns about Airbus,” said Julia, “and I don’t understand how they affect our mission.” I never expected this would become a technical discussion about nuclear rocketry. Time to edge us back to the vent trip. Guess I was being a little too sneaky about my intentions. She looked pointedly at Marc. “I’m trying to go someplace else with this discussion.”
“Well,” said Marc, “even if they get here tomorrow, they still have to fulfill the prize conditions if they hope to win. We’ve collected the geological data, taken the core samples, done the meteorology, and surveyed the hell outta this corner of Mars. If they hope to win, they’ll hafta do the same. That’ll take time.”
“It’s useless to ask how much. It took us almost a year and a half.”
“But we squirted all the data back to Earth. They know where to find everything.” Marc’s upper lip wrinkled with exasperation. “No dry holes for Airbus!”
