This is a fan translation of Road to Mars (Дорога к Марсу) by fifteen Russian science fiction writers.
This chapter was written by Alexey Kalugin.
I claim no rights to the contents herein.
Note: Footnotes can be found at the end of the chapter.
Chapter 7
A Journey of a Hundred Thousand Li
"Sir, you were the one who asked me to be quiet," Perelman smiled slightly.
"Yes, of course…"
Without even noticing it, Kozlowski had started enjoying the game. He furrowed his brow in concentration, tapped the desk and then the top of his head with his knuckles.
"I don't think it's the ship commander… Then it has be Kartashov."
Kozlowski gave Perelman a questioning look.
"No, sir," he stated dryly.
"Anikeev?" Kozlowski squinted in disbelief. "The ship commander is working for us?.. No! Perelman, I don't believe you!"
But it was obvious that he really wanted it to be true. Kozlowski's eyes were glinting, and his fingers kept running across the desk as if he was playing a piano.
Sensing that the situation had changed in his favor, Perelman himself sat at the guest table without waiting for an invitation. He placed his tablet on the empty chair and smiled.
"I wouldn't say no to a cup of coffee, sir."
"With a shot of cognac?"
"No not?"
Kozlowski tapped the intercom key.
"Susie! A cup of coffee with cognac, please!"
"Two?"
"I said a cup!"
He wasn't doing it to please the head of the special department. Why would he? Perelman was working for him and was getting paid well for his work. In a way, he was his, with all the giblets. His personal property, which Kozlowski could do with as he pleased.
No!
Kozlowski merely wanted to draw it out a little before learning the right answer! He'd figured it out! Well, he'd guessed. Although, before that he went through nearly all the other possibilities. Still, he enjoyed the taste of victory.
This was Mark Kozlowski in a nutshell! He loved feeling himself as a winner. Even if someone else won the victory for him. What did it matter?! He'd paid for it! When losing, which didn't happen all that often, Kozlowski would fall into a rage. In order to get back to something approaching a neutral frame of mind, he had to find and punish the guilty party.
But Kozlowski couldn't even fathom that certain perceptive employees like Perelman not only knew of their boss's minor weaknesses that sometimes resulted in fairly serious consequences but knew how to make use of them well. Within reason. Kozlowski tended to look down on everything, which was why he sometimes failed to notice small things. Things that could be significant.
Swaying her hips vigorously, his secretary floated into the office. She placed a cup of coffee in front of Perelman, gave him a dutiful smile and looked at her boss. Would there be any other wishes? Kozlowski grimaced discontentedly and waved the tips of his fingers to send her away. The secretary pouted in resentment and fluttered away.
Perelman stirred the coffee leisurely with a spoon, then placed the latter on the edge of a saucer, picked up the cup with two fingers, took a small sip, closed his eyes for a moment, and nodded in satisfaction. He didn't really like coffee. But Susie had added a generous portion of cognac into the cup. And that helped with the taste.
"Well, Mr. Perelman," Kozlowski fidgeted in his seat impatiently. "Our agent on the Ares is Vyacheslav Anikeev. Am I right?.."
The sky is high, the clouds are pale,
We watch the wild geese vanish southward.
If we fail to reach the Great Wall we are not men
We who have already measured twenty thousand li
High on the crest of Mount Liupan
Red banners wave freely in the west wind.
Today we hold the long cord in our hands,
When shall we bind fast the Grey Dragon? [Footnote 1]
Hu Jun closed the little red book that was smaller than his palm—the only personal item the taikonaut had been allowed to bring aboard—and placed it in the breast pocket of his jumpsuit. There was so little room in the command bay that Hu Jun accidentally elbowed his partner Zhang Li who was busy reading the blog of one of the Ares crewmembers.
Hu Jun didn't understand what was the point. As if that Kartashov was writing even a word of truth of what was happening on board. Hah! It was nothing but window dressing. And that was exactly the point of Western civilization. For Westerners, the important thing wasn't to penetrate the very essence of what was happening but to turn it into a product and put it in a pretty wrapper. And no one cared about what was really inside the wrapper. The people of the West were now buying labels rather than goods; not the taste of food but its name. Maybe Russians were close to the Chinese in mindset and spirit. Well, they used to be. Now even they were engulfed by a wave of consumer frenzy. They'd even managed to turn the flight to Mars into a cheap show for dumb TV viewers that filled their bellies with popcorn, potato chips, and beer. The result of this pandemonium was that the third crew, whose task should've been to stay on the ground and model the situation, had ended up going to Mars. If something like that were to happen in China… No, nothing of the sort could've happened in China! Because in China everyone did their job instead of writing stupid blogs in hopes of getting the fifteen minutes of fame they felt they were due. In China, a person became a hero only after doing something great, not the moment they announced their intentions.
They also didn't like idle talk and foolish fabrications in China. And not at all because they lacked the imagination for it. Everyone, absolutely everyone in the West, from the representatives of the national space agencies to the brainless common folk, had decided that since they knew nothing of the Chinese space program, this meant that the Millennium Boat was a dummy! A tin can thrown into orbit to impress everyone! It made perfect sense to Westerners who were certain that the Chinese only knew how to make toys. And the story about the Millennium Boat being on a suicide mission because there wouldn't be enough resources to get back was pure nonsense. Or paranoia. Whatever they said in the West, they were afraid, very afraid, that China was going to beat them in this race to Mars. That was why they were already trying to convince themselves that it was impossible. They were even finding explanations that seem reasonable to them.
"How are the Russians?" Hu asked his partner.
"The Russians?" Zhang looked at him in surprise.
"I mean the Ares."
"The Ares has an international crew."
"Who cares?" Hu grimaced in contempt. "Maybe the crew is international, but the commander is Russian. That's why I'm asking how the Russians are doing."
Hu Jun really wanted to think of the Ares crew as Russian. They were on a very long journey through the interplanetary void. The taikonaut was confident in the success of their mission, but he also understood that anything could happen. And if anything happened, they could only rely on themselves. Because there would be no one else there. Except the Ares. Hu had worked with Russian specialists before, and he had the impression that, despite the corrupting Western influence and their dumb attempts to copy Americans in every respect, they could still rely on Russians. That was why during the prelaunch training he'd called the Ares crew Russians, first to himself, and now, when only Zhang Li could hear him, aloud as well. In the words of Emperor Wu, "A name does not define everything, but it does define much. Thus, when naming an object or a phenomenon, think not only of what it will mean, but also how it will sound."
That was why Hu had asked Zhang, "How are the Russians?"
"As we suspected, they sent a refueling ship into orbit."
A refueler in orbit — how original! The habit of living large was dictating their actions. Based on the intel Hu and Zhang had been given at the CNSA, the Ares was overloaded with equipment. All the systems were triple- or even quadruple-redundant. A mad waste of resources! Why build three identical systems when they could've built one that would work without fail? And six crewmembers. Three times more than on the Millennium Boat. As a result, they'd need triple the food, water, and oxygen! And triple the space inside the ship!..
"The Russians have a problem!"
"What?"
"Some kind of malfunction on the refueler!"
Hu turned the screen to him and switched on the external view.
At the very edge of the semicircle that was Earth, he was able to make out the Ares and the refueling ship moving towards it. The refueler was jerking convulsively, as if it was being flown by a very nervous kamikaze pilot. It looked as if a collision was inevitable.
The only thing the Russians could do was to immediately get into a lower orbit. Which would mean a failure to go to Mars.
Hu gripped his armrests. If only he knew how to help the Russians, he'd do it immediately. Even if that turned out to be the most insane thing he'd ever done. But all he could do was watch the events unfold.
They saw the lights of the Ares's maneuvering thrusters.
"That's it," Zhang said very quietly. He touched Hu's elbow with the tips of his fingers and, when the latter glanced at him, smiled. "Now we've won. No one to compete with us now."
Hu just shook his head in silence.
He didn't want to explain to his partner that the failure of the Ares expedition meant that they were now alone. Utterly alone. Ahead of them were hundreds of thousands of kilometers through an abyss.
Instead of the dazzling headlines in newspapers praising the glorious victory of the Chinese space program, he'd have preferred for the Russians to be near. Unlike Zhang, Hu had defined this flight not as a race to Mars but as a joint expedition of the Millennium Boat and the Ares from the very beginning. He didn't care who got there first, only that everyone came back home.
And then something unimaginable happened. The Ares performed some inconceivable maneuver and started to get into a higher orbit!
"What?.." Zhang indicated the screen in confusion. "What are they doing?"
"They're going to Mars," Hu smiled.
"But how?.. Why?.."
Zhang looked as if someone had just taken away a medal for which he was already making a hole in his parade uniform.
Hu could understand him, of course. But he didn't want to.
A light that indicated a five-minute readiness appeared on the console.
"Time!"
Hu strapped in and flipped open the protective cap from the launch button.
To his credit, Zhang also instantly forgot about his suffering.
Both taikonauts were collected, focused, and ready for action.
What was probably the most crucial moment of the first stage of their expedition was about to happen. It was time to see what the Millennium Boat was really capable of.
Hu Jun placed a finger on the red button.
Truly, the journey of a hundred thousand li began with a small step!
Before answering his boss, Perelman took another sip of the coffee.
"No, it's not Anikeev."
"Then who, damn it?!" Kozlowski exploded.
Mark Kozlowski wasn't witty, but he could take a joke. When he wanted to. At this moment, he was refusing to get Perelman's joke. And Perelman didn't seem to understand that his joke had gone too far. Far enough that he may not be able to come back from it. Besides, now wasn't the time to make jokes. Not even close!
Perelman carefully placed his cup on the saucer.
"Sir, we don't know yet! Our man in Mission Control Moscow reported the fact of the recruitment and was supposed to send us information on the agent when we lost contact. He no longer replies to emails, and his cell phone has gone silent. We're doing all we can to figure out what happened and restore contact."
Kozlowski's face reflected the entire range of emotions that were overfilling him. Confusion, irritation, indignation, and fury! Lots and lots of icy, burning fury! He opened his desk drawer, pulled out a fragile-looking gun, and aimed it at Perelman. The other man leapt off his chair as if stung, nearly spilling the rest of his coffee.
"So, you're saying you've lost contact with the engineer?" the chairman of the board of directors of GLX Corporation asked almost dispassionately and pulled the trigger.
Footnotes
1) This is a poem by Mao Zedong titled "Mount Liupan."