“Trying out for the team,” said Bucky. He’d taken a double dose of allergy pills so he could get through this tryout with clear sinuses and dry eyes.
“No you ain’t.”
“Yes I am,” said Bucky, getting to his feet.
Sanchez bent down slightly so that his red, angry face was hardly an inch in front of Bucky’s. His two cohorts came up on either side; Bucky was surrounded.
“We don’t want any geek boys screwin’ up our team.”
“I know how to play!” Bucky insisted. “I’m better at shortstop than Ricky is.”
“The hell you are.”
“Give me a chance at a tryout and I’ll prove it.”
“No way, geek. Take off your cleats and go home.”
“Go back to Mars,” said the oaf on his left.
“Yeah, we don’t want any Mars boys on our team.”
“We heard about your big project.”
“Yeah. It’s a shame somebody mashed it flat,” Sanchez said, smirking.
Bucky’s temper flared. “You’re the one who busted up my model!”
Sanchez grabbed Bucky by the front of his shirt. “That’s right, Mars boy. And if you don’t get the fuck outta here we’re gonna bust you up, too.”
Bucky kicked Sanchez in the shins as hard as he could, making him yowl with pain, then punched him squarely in the nose. Blood spurted. The other two were stunned with surprise for a moment, but before Bucky could get away, they grabbed him and helped Sanchez beat him into unconsciousness.
When all four of them were brought before the school’s principal, Sanchez pointed to his bandaged nose and claimed that Bucky started the fight. Bucky’s head was bandaged, his ribs were encased in a plastic cast, his face was lumpy with bruises.
“You struck the first blow?” the principal demanded of Bucky.
Through swollen lips Bucky admitted, “Yes, ma’am.”
The principal shook her gray head. “First this Mars business and now you’ve started a brawl. You’d better be very careful, young man. You’re in a downward spiral.”
Boston: Trumball Trust Headquarters
Dex Trumball tried to hide the mistrust he felt. Why has this priest flown here all the way from Rome? he wondered silently. What does he want?
Monsignor DiNardo was smiling patiently at him as he sat in the bottle green leather armchair before Dex’s wide, curved desk of Danish teak and brushed aluminum. The priest wore a plain black business suit, with his clerical collar and its touch of purple. DiNardo looked burly, with bulging shoulders and a barrel chest, his scalp shaved but the dark shadow of a beard stubbling his jaw, yet he still seemed somewhat dwarfed in the capacious armchair. Dex resisted the urge to get up and see if the priest’s feet reached the carpeted floor.
“It was good of you to see me on such short notice,” DiNardo said in English, a hint of soft Italian vowels at the ends of his words.
Dex made a hospitable smile. “Not at all, Fa… uh, Monsignor. Would you like something to drink? Coffee? Something stronger?”
DiNardo shook his head. “Thank you, no. The rocket flight brought me here in half an hour, but my insides are still on Vatican time.”
“I see.”
An uneasy hush fell over them. DiNardo seemed to be fishing for the words he wanted while Dex fiddled impatiently with his fingers, waiting for the priest to start talking. Does he know about my negotiations with Kinnear? Dex wondered nervously. No, he can’t. Rollie can keep his mouth shut. I haven’t even mentioned it to the Navaho president yet.
At last Dex broke the silence. “I saw the video show you did with Orlando Ventura.”
“That abomination!” DiNardo spat.
“You held up your end pretty well,” said Dex.
“They had no interest in the importance of the Martian fossil. They belittled the greatest find since Lucy.”
“They’re not interested in science, that’s for sure.”
“No, they want to deny it all.”
Dex nodded agreement. Then, “We’re working to put together a documentary about the fossil. A real documentary, not a circus.”
“I would be glad to participate in it, if you feel I could be of help.”
“Certainly. Will the Vatican…?”
DiNardo caught Dex’s implication. “The Holy See will have no objection. Not everyone who believes in God is blindly antiscience.”
“I’m glad to hear that. We’re up to our eyeballs in fundamentalists.”
“There are factions within the Vatican, to be sure,” DiNardo admitted easily. “But they have not affected the Pontifical Academy of Sciences, I assure you.”
Not yet, Dex thought. Aloud, he mused, “You could be a very important voice in our documentary. You could show that there’s no real conflict between science and religion.”
DiNardo hesitated, then said merely, “I will be glad to do what I can.
“Great. I’ll tell the people producing the show to count you in.”
“Buono,” said DiNardo. Then he went on, “Now, I must ask a favor of you.”
Here it comes, Dex said to himself. “A favor?”
“I wish to go to Mars.”
Dex blinked at the priest. “Go to Mars? You?”
With a self-deprecating little smile, DiNardo said, “I am a I rained geologist. I was selected to be the lead geologist on the First Expedition, if you remember.”
“I know. But that was more than twenty years ago.”
“I am not quite an invalid. In fact, I am in very good health.”
“But you’re… what, fifty-five, sixty?”
“Fifty-seven. Jamie Waterman is almost fifty. Carter Carleton is sixty-three. I won’t be the oldest fossil on Mars.”
Dex acknowledged the priest’s little joke with a forced smile.
“I will undergo the most rigorous physical examinations your program can subject me to,” DiNardo said before Dex could think of anything to say. “Of course, with the fusion torch ships the trip to Mars is much easier than it was twenty-some years ago.”
“Yes, but why…?”
DiNardo lifted his round chin and let out a sigh. “I want to help. I believe that having a priest go to Mars might help to counter the voices speaking against the program.”
“You know that we might have to shut down the whole shebang and bring everybody home.”
“I am aware of that. I believe that my going to Mars could help you gain more donors to keep the program funded.”
Dex couldn’t help grinning. “You want to be the Mars poster boy?”
Perfectly serious, DiNardo replied, “If it will help.”
Tithonium Base: Jamie’s Office
Jamie’s little cubicle was crowded with both Carleton and Chang in it. Jamie could feel the tension crackling between the two men. Not good, he told himself. These two have to work together if we’re going to get anywhere.
Dr. Chang sat in the stiff plastic chair in front of Jamie’s fold-up desk. Carleton had dragged in a rolling chair made of bungee cords from the adjoining cubicle. It filled the entrance to Jamie’s office; there was no room to get it farther into the cramped workspace.
“I have considered your request of staying past my regular term of service,” Chang was saying, his stubby arms crossed on his chest, his back to Carleton.
Jamie waited for the other shoe.
“I will remain here as long as necessary, as mission director.”
Carleton said, “I thought you had family that you wanted to get back to.”
“I have a wife and son in Beijing,” Chang replied, without turning to look at the anthropologist. “However, my duty is plainly here.”