Dangerous Games

by Jack Dann

  A slow smile. “Tough snatch, said the biatch.”

  “What?”

  “Before your time.” Another shrug. This one slow, lazy, nonchalant. “If they can’t make it to the Returns, they probably can’t make it back.”

  “Will this get us back on track?”

  “We could do more.”

  “What?”

  “Skip final test of the Kites and the Wheels. All they are is a bunch of fabric and struts anyway.”

  “And?”

  “Leave the spinner down on the ground.”

  “How are the contestants supposed to stay in shape?”

  “We’ll put in a whole lot of Stairmasters. They can exercise. Gets us another sponsor, too.”

  “And?”

  “And that might get us back on track. Or so say our formerly communist friends.”

  “Will they guarantee it?”

  “They aren’t guaranteeing anything anymore. But I think it’s a lot more likely that we’ll make the deadlines if you drop some of the fluff.”

  Fluff. Yeah, fluff. Just a bunch of safety gear. Nobody will notice.

  “We’re taking a big chance.”

  “What’s a bigger chance? Going to ’19 or making a few changes?”

  A few changes. Nothing big. Nothing major. Nothing we won’t be crucified for if it comes out.

  “Can we do this clean? Can we make it look like we never had plans for the centrifuge, the backout stuff, all that?”

  “I’m sure we can arrange something.”

  Jere let the silence stretch out. Evan was watching him intently. In the dim light of the office, his weathered features could have been the craggy face of a demon.

  “Do it,” Jere said finally, softly. Hating himself.

  REJECTION

  Wheeling had been easy back on Earth. The training had been out in the Mojave, nice smooth sand and little rocks that you could bounce over easy, and nice and flat as far as you could see.

  But Wheeling was a bitch and a quarter here on Mars. Keith Paul gritted his teeth as he came to another long downhill run, scattered with boulders as big as houses and ravines that could catch the edge of the wheel and fuck him up good. He’d already dug the Wheel out twice, once when he swerved to avoid a slope that would pitch it over and ended up in a ditch, and once when he got to bouncing and bounced over a hill into a ravine.

  And man, did it bounce! Whenever it hit a rock. Sometimes a foot, sometimes a couple, sometimes ten or twenty feet in the air.

  They probably got some good vid of my terrified mug, Keith thought. That wasn’t good. Weakness was never good.

  But he was being strong on other things. He was making good time across the desert. He’d been up rolling at the moment dawn’s light made the landscape even dimly guessable.

  Other idiots are probably picking their way along like grandma in a traffic jam, he thought, and smiled. Because he was going to win.

  And he was strong on the offers, too. Everyone had talked to him. Both the PA idjits, the associate director, Frank, everyone. They’d promised him everything but a blow-job and a hot dog, but the money hadn’t changed.

  Almost on cue, the voice. This time it was Frank.

  “We’re prepared to make you another offer,” Frank said.

  “Shoot.”

  “It’s our final offer,” Frank said. “And it’s a very generous one. By air, you have a good chance of being able to pick up the Ruiz team and take the prize as well. You are currently leading the three remaining teams by a fair margin.”

  “What’s the offer?”

  “Three million. Plus all the gifts and benefits we’ve discussed before.”

  Keith shook his head.

  “Keith?” Frank said.

  “Yeah.”

  “What do you think?”

  “I think you’re very bad at math.” Though the idea was intriguing. With three million, he could live pretty well down in Mexico…

  No! Stupid! You’re a winner. You’re in the lead. Three is not thirty.

  Frank sighed. “It’s our final offer,” he said.

  “No.”

  Silence for a time. “Your decision has been noted,” Frank said. He didn’t sound surprised.

  Noted?

  “What does that mean?” Keith said. Like, were they going to try to disqualify him or something?

  Silence.

  “Ass! What the hell does ‘noted’ mean?”

  Silence.

  “Fuck you, then!”

  Silence. On and on.

  Was it possible that he could run this whole thing and not win due to some technicality? No. No. He was a winner. He was going to win.

  And if they tried to take that away from him, God help them.

  ASTRONAUT

  Evan hadn’t believed Jere about Russia. Now he did. All it took was a couple of days of traveling into the hinterlands in the awful winter chill, grabbing cold-slick vinyl seats as their drivers deftly slid around potholes on the treacherous black-ice roads, potholes that looked as if they could hide black bears, potholes that looked like they could swallow the car, potholes so big and deep and dark they might have gone straight through to some beautiful tropical beach in Brazil.

  Now they were standing under the bulk of the main launcher, all four of them, Evan and John Glenn and even Ron Gutierrez, his ever-smiling dad. Not really John Glenn, of course, but that’s what everyone called him. Frank Sellers, another good generic white-boy name. He was a wannabe-astronaut, never really flew anything after his training in the 80s, something about the shuttle blowing up. Now he was training to fly the Mars Enterprise (some money from the Roddenberry estate). Frank was one of the concessions they’d won. The Russians could build it, fine, but it had to be an American pilot. The spikes on the preliminary audience surveys were real clear on that fact.

  When Frank first came down, he’d referred to the Enterprise as the Trash Can, and the name had stuck. The comparison was apt. It was squatty and cylindrical, and it did have a utilitarian functionality, and it was even somewhat battered and dirty-looking.

  “How goes it?” Evan said, after they’d made their intros.

  “Good, good,” Frank said. “We’ve had some problems with the electrical systems, nothing major, just the usual shakedown crap, and they’re worried a bit about the air, but I think…”

  “The air?” Ron said. “On a journey this long?”

  Frank shrugged. “They’ll make it work,” he said.

  “It doesn’t seem very confidence-inspiring.”

  “If you could have seen half the stuff I saw behind the scenes at NASA, you wouldn’t worry. These are good guys. They’ll figure it out.”

  “If you say so.”

  The grand tour was less than impressive. Wires hung from open panels while teams of dirty Russians shot heated phrases back and forth with expressions of deep frustration and anger. There was a steady drip in the cockpit that tick-tick-ticked onto the synthetic material of the acceleration seat. When Ron ran a finger across it and looked up questioningly, Frank just shook his head. “Condensation. Can’t help it with so many people in here. They’ll flush it before we launch.”

  When they were back out in the freezing cold again, and well away from Russian ears, Ron turned to Jere and said, “Would you fly in this?”

  “Of course,” Jere said. Not a bit of hesitation. Not a bit. He knew how to deal with Dad.

  The older man looked up and down the ship. “If you need more money…”

  And be even more in your debt? “No,” Jere said.

  “You sure?”

  I’m sure I don’t want to hear you remind me about how you bailed me out again. Jere nodded and turned to Evan. “We’re on schedule?”

  “Unless Frank tells me different.”

  “We’ll make it,” Frank said. “No problemo.”

  Later, when they were back in the car for another freezing, terrifying ride back to the hotel, Ron spoke again.

  “Do you
get the feeling that Frank wants this to work a little too much?”

  “How’s that?” Evan said.

  “He’s an astronaut. But he never flew.”

  “So?”

  A frown. “So maybe he wants to fly. Really badly.”

  “Sometimes a little enthusiasm is a good thing,” Evan said.

  Ron turned to Jere. “What do you think?”

  Pretend to consider, then answer. “I think it’s good we have someone who loves what he does.”

  Silence from Ron. Then: “I hope you’re right.”

  PERFORMANCE

  Last. Dead last. No denying it now. No excuses. It had taken them way too long to assemble the Wheel that morning, far longer than they had taken back on Earth. Blame it on the cold, or the parts that didn’t want to fit together, but facts were facts.

  And yet Glenn was strangely happy, oddly content. Just like that one freeclimb in Tibet, when it was clear they were beaten, hanging exhausted from numb fingertips beneath a thin sun rapidly disappearing behind a front of ominous purple-grey clouds. That moment when he realized they weren’t going to make it, that they would have to go back down. The stress and the worry suddenly lifted from him. And his great surprise when Alena agreed with him. They scrambled down the rock as the icy rain hit.

  They made love back in what passed for a hotel with incredible intensity, golden and yellow sparks flying in a perfect night sky, impossible to describe, infinite and endless in a moment’s perfection. They finally collapsed, sated, face to face, sweat cooling to an icy chill in the cold room. He waited until her breathing had slowed, and lengthened, and deepened, then said, very softly, “Marry me.”

  Alena’s eyes opened. In the dark they were like the glassy curve of two crystal spheres, unreadable.

  “Yes,” she said softly, and closed her eyes again.

  Had he imagined it? Had she really heard him? He fell asleep with questions resonating in his mind.

  When he woke in the morning, she was already pulling on her gear. Glenn had a moment of sleepy pleasure, watching her slim form, before he remembered his question-and her answer-from the night before.

  She looked down at him. The light fell pale and grey on her face. She looked like the ghost of an angel.

  “Yes,” she said. “I said yes.”

  “Glenn!” Alena shrieked. “Watch out!”

  Glenn jerked back to the present as the Wheel caromed off a boulder and promptly went bouncing across a field. He pulled on his harness and leaned outside of its edge, shortening the bounces on his side and bringing them back on course. They’d been experimenting with a new technique. Each of them leaned out the side of the Wheel, giving a better view of the terrain ahead than through the translucent dust-coated fabric, and allowing them to shift its direction more rapidly by leaning in and out to shift the center of gravity.

  “Pay attention!” Alena said.

  “I know, I know,” Glenn said. “I’m sorry.”

  “What were you thinking?”

  “ Tibet,” he said.

  Silence for a time. “Oh.”

  “Remember?”

  “I remember I don’t like losing.”

  “We’re making up time,” Glenn said, after a while.

  “I know.”

  “The others may have problems with the Kite.”

  Alena shot him a puzzled look. “Why are you trying to make me feel better?”

  Because I love you, Glenn thought. That’s another thing I never wanted to lose.

  OVERSIGHT

  The spooks came in the middle of February sweeps, just three months before launch. Jere and Evan were still trying to convince themselves that making the August sweeps would be better than February, but no matter how you garnished it or rationalized it, there would be less access in the summer. Now some of the sponsors wanted guaranteed access levels or kickbacks.

  And now this.

  “Mr. Gutierrez?” There were two of them, wearing indistinguishable blue suits. One of them wore a cheap black tie, the other a turtleneck. Their eyes were heavy and dead and immobile, and for once Jere was glad that his father was there with him.

  He looked at the ID, not seeing the name. It was one of those new fancy holo things that they were trying to sell to everyone, but this one had a big NASA logo and a discreet little eye next to it. He was also wearing a small gold motion-holo pin that flashed and gleamed as the eye morphed into a world and back again. Underneath the holo were the etched letters: USG OVERSIGHT.

  “Yes,” Jere said.

  Agent #1 turned to his father. “And you, sir?”

  “I’m Ron.”

  “Ron…”

  “Gutierrez.”

  “Ah. The father. We didn’t know you had a stake in this.”

  “I’m an investor.”

  “Ah.”›

  Jere held up a hand. “Would you like a seat? Coffee?”

  Agent #1 sat. The other remained standing.

  “What’s this all about?” Jere asked. “Do you want to buy the program or something?”

  “There will be no program.”

  “What!” Jere and Ron said, at once.

  The agent just looked at them. “We can’t permit the launch.”

  “You’re going to stop a launch on Russian soil?”

  “When the launch could be part of a terrorist attack, yes, I’m sure the Russians will cooperate.”

  “Terrorist! Where do you get that?”

  “What if someone was to take over your launch, and turn it back at the US? How big of a crater could he make if it went down on a city?”

  Ron’s face was red. “That’s… idiotic!”

  “What do you want?” Jere asked.

  “We want to prevent any possible attack on the United States.”

  Ron nodded, sudden understanding gleaming in his eyes. “ China.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “ China ’s bitching about our program, aren’t they?”

  The agent shrugged. “It is your option to speculate.”

  “So what do you want?” Jere said. “How do we launch?”

  “You don’t. However, if you turn the program over to us, and allow us to send qualified observers, we would provide proper acknowledgement of your role in this endeavor.”

  “We can’t do that!” Jere said. “What about our sponsors? They’ll come for our heads. Hell, the Russian Mafia will come for our heads, too! We can’t just hand this over to you.”

  “I’m sure we can placate the Russians. And your sponsors.”

  Jere slumped back in his chair. They could do almost anything they wanted. He could be picked up and whisked away and never seen again. He could have everything taken from him piece by piece, a Job job.

  Taking their offer might be the best bet. Of course, he’d have to get Evan in on it, but maybe there was some way to profit from it anyway. When you were talking deep pockets, the government had the deepest pockets of all. Maybe they could spin it…

  “No fucking way!” Ron said. His face was almost purple. He levered himself up out of his chair and went to tower over the seated agent. The standing one tensed, but didn’t move.

  Ron poked a finger in his chest. “We’re not going to Mars to plant fucking flags!”

  “Dad…”

  “Shut up.” Low and deadly.

  “Did the fucking pilgrims come to plant fucking flags?” Ron said. “No! They came to get away from bureaucratic fucks like you! You assholes had your chance. How many billions did we give to you shitpoles? What did we get for it? Our lunar rovers in Chinese museums! A bunch of rusting hardware crash-landed on Mars. Thanks. Thanks a lot. Now it’s our chance!”

  Jere watched his dad, open-mouthed. He was frozen in place.

  Agent #2 put his hand on Agent #1’s shoulder and whispered something in his ear. Agent #1 nodded and stood up.

  “So you refuse to turn over the program?”

  “Damn fuckin’ right,” Ron said.

  The two s
wiveled to look at Jere. “And does he speak for you?”

  Jere looked at his father. He looked back steadily, intently. He nodded, just a fraction.

  “Get out of here,” Jere said.

  I hope you’re right, Dad, he thought. Or we’re both dead.

  MIRAGE

  Leaving the IBM package was one thing, but the slide was inexcusable. Geoff Smith squeezed his eyes shut tight. If only he could turn back the clock! All it would have taken was a glance and a five-second diversion, and everything would have been alright.

  Now, his best possible fate was winning a prize. And then having to endure the endless interviews that came after it.

  And now, flying over the rugged Martian terrain, it looked like they might actually have a chance. Chatter from the Can: the felon’s Kite setup wasn’t going smoothly, his lead had evaporated, and every second left him farther behind. The extreme sports geeks had never really been in the running. They’d been slow at everything.

  Money, he thought dreamily, opening his eyes, watching the landscape pass below. Money money money.

  He’d hoped that he could make another slide as Laci and Wende built the Kite, but his water was lost and they didn’t let him have the time. And truth was, he didn’t really feel like it. He was in a haze, as if losing the slide had taken all the fight out of him.

  Of course, he could scope the dust all he wanted when they were back on the Can, but that would be surface dust. What if the dust had to be from a few feet down? Or what if the dust had to be from near the water flows that they had seen from MGS, so many years ago? What if he’d never had a chance at all, and they knew that, and they didn’t care? His thoughts whirled like a cyclone, all destructive energy and dark currents.

  Wende looked back at him from the pilot’s sling and smiled at him. Geoff tried to smile back, but his lips felt frozen in place. After a moment, Wende turned away and gestured at Laci. Laci looked back at him and frowned.

  Yes, I know you don’t like me, he thought. You’ve made that abundantly clear. Now turn back around and be a good copilot.

  Laci was probably thinking how much faster they would be running if he accidentally fell off. He looked up nervously at his tether, but it was solid and unfrayed.