Deception

  DECEPTION

  The Prequel to the Mars Frontier Series

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  DEDICATION

  COPYRIGHT

  Chapter 1

  Mission Day: 10

  The air scrubbers sounded like an angry swarm of bees as the crew of the Falcon gathered in the communal area of the ship for yet another Q&A. I must get Du Bois to take a look at that noise later, thought Commander David Rees. He, along with the rest of the crew, was waiting impatiently for the image of Mackenzie 'Mac' Bailey to appear on the big video screen in front of them. The screen currently showed the NASA logo above the words Mars Expedition One.

  Commander Rees glanced around at the crew. They were looking less than enthusiastic. "Come on, guys, this is the last one of these we'll have to do for a while. Thankfully, the time delay doesn't work too well for live broadcasts. Let's just get through this one and then we can focus on the mission priorities."

  A chorus of groans met his attempt at encouragement.

  "It wouldn't be so bad if there were some original questions," said Laura Banstead, who was attempting to push wisps of her hair up inside her cap. She'd been trying for several minutes but decided enough was enough and threw her cap across the room, her long brown hair exploding in all directions as the cap ricocheted into a computer screen. "Mom's gonna kill me for not looking smart but maybe she'll have forgotten before she sees me next. How many more times will someone ask what the food is like or if space smells? Surely the public know all that by now?"

  Murmurs of approval from the rest of the crew didn't surprise the commander. The public relations part of the mission frustrated him. He had lost count of the number of interviews they'd carried out since being selected for the Mars Program, let alone since leaving Earth. Yet he also understood that education of the public and keeping the mission headline news was important for NASA. They somehow had to justify the billions of dollars spent to date.

  The screen suddenly switched to Mission Control and Mac's jovial voice boomed through the speakers. "Good afternoon, Falcon. The weather here in Houston is a wet fourteen degrees so you're not missing much." Mac was one of three CAPCOMs based at Mission Control, and his current role was to communicate with the astronauts. A member of the Astronaut Corps, he was slated to be the pilot on Expedition Three. For now though, his was the voice heard by the public. NASA had carefully chosen him to offer the right tone of gravitas whilst being as popular as a game show host.

  "As you know," he continued, speaking to the worldwide audience. "Today is the final live question and answer session. We will record all future sessions with Falcon." The camera panned out and the crew of Falcon could see that Mac was standing in one of the briefing rooms at Houston. Whoever had decorated the room must have had a penchant for beige, harsh lighting, and oak cabinetry. At the back of the room sat about thirty members of the press, each of them holding notebooks or handheld recording devices. No doubt they were looking at a live feed of the crew on a large conference screen.

  Commander Rees also noted that Douglas Schmidt, the flight director, was standing to one side of the room, no doubt ready to step in if necessary.

  "To make it easier for everyone and avoid repetition, we have collated questions from the press and selected a dozen which we hope to get through within the allotted time. Let's begin."

  "Ladies and gentlemen. Today is the tenth day of Expedition One's journey to Mars, the first crewed mission to land and return safely to Earth. So far, Falcon has traveled almost nine million miles and its current speed relative to Earth is just short of forty thousand miles per hour." Mac paused briefly for anyone who may have been taking notes. "Presently, Falcon is almost five million miles from Earth as it drifts out to Mars. Which means it takes around twenty-five seconds for a transmission to travel each way. So, I ask you to please be patient."

  "As you can see, Falcon's crew are gathered in the galley and, I'm sure, are eager to answer your questions. I know you recognize them, but I will introduce each of them, anyway. Front center and holding the microphone is Commander Dave Rees. On the left and wearing her hair in a new style that is sure to be copied is pilot Laura Banstead. Behind the commander is mission specialist Doctor Sonya Patel and finally on the right is flight engineer Gilles Du Bois."

  "Let's get to the first question, which comes from our friends in Australia." The camera panned onto a smartly dressed male correspondent who looked to be in his late forties with carefully combed blond hair.

  "Brett McCluskey from ABC News. I'd like to ask Commander Rees how it feels to be the person chosen to set foot on Mars? Do you feel the weight of history and have you decided what your first words will be?"

  The room full of press waited expectantly for the response. For a long time it looked as if the commander hadn't heard the question as he continued to smile blankly at the camera. However, after nearly a minute he nodded and put the microphone near his mouth.

  "Thanks, Brett, that sounded like more than one question!" Commander Rees paused and gave his most winning smile as he thought how he should answer, hoping that would be enough to win over the reporters. "I've tried not to give it too much thought so far. I'm lucky to be one person out of tens of thousands of Americans who have played their part to make this mission a success. It may be me who plants the first boot on Mars, but that step will represent the effort and dreams of every one of those workers. I've not written any words yet. I don't believe Neil Armstrong wrote anything, and it worked out okay for him, so I may do the same."

  "Thank you, Commander Rees," replied Mac. "The next question is also for you and comes from the BBC."

  A tall, well-groomed man in his early fifties stood up. He looked familiar from previous press conferences and spoke softly yet confidently. "Thomas Byrne, science correspondent at the BBC. You've been traveling for ten days now. Please, can you tell me what it feels like to be so far from Earth, knowing you won't be returning for nearly nineteen months?"

  Another popular question, Commander Rees thought, groaning inwardly. "Thanks, Tom, a great question. We all volunteered for this mission and knew what it involved. It feels like we're pioneers, forging a new frontier for mankind. I suppose it's no different to Columbus when he set off to discover the Americas in 1492 or James Cook discovering Australia in 1770.

  "This crew is a strong unit, and we're focused on the mission priorities. Distance and duration are secondary and not really a consideration. I understand this mission is a huge commitment, and I couldn't do it without the full support of my wife, Christine, and the rest of my family. The same goes for these guys around me." He paused and waited for Mac to introduce the next question.

  "Thank you, Commander Rees. The next question is from the French twenty-four-hour news channel."

  This time, the camera moved to a young brunette woman who was an obvious television reporter. Her mild French accent betrayed the fact that she must have worked abroad for several years. "Genevieve Pascal. My question is for Gilles. Monsieur Du Bois, as
the first French Canadian astronaut to go to Mars, I would like to know how you are coping with the processed food and whether you have packed any special treats?" She smiled, obviously pleased with the question and sure she would receive a reply that would be newsworthy back home.

  As Commander Rees passed the microphone to Gilles, Laura leaned across, put her hand over her mouth so no one could lip read and whispered, "I dodged the bullet this time. The ladies do seem to like Gilles' French accent though."

  Du Bois overheard Laura but pretended not to notice. "Thank you, Miss Pascal. I think your question is one of the most popular we get asked. We actually chose the food for the mission. One of my favorite weeks during training was sitting with the nutritionists and chefs, tasting many different meals." Gilles stopped and smiled, remembering the experience. "I have a wide variety of meals from different cultures. My favorite will have to be the pea soup using my mother's secret recipe. It reminds me of home."

  The next question was from the CNN reporter and directed at Sonya Patel. The reporter was keen to understand how the crew was coping in confined conditions and who had the most annoying habit, sending a ripple of laughter around the journalists. Sonya thought carefully before responding. "I think you're trying to get me into trouble with my fellow astronauts. We've been together as a team for the past two years and work well together. I'm not aware of any annoying habits, honestly. And remember, Falcon is designed to accommodate up to fifty astronauts, so there is no difficulty having privacy and quiet space if we want it over the next two years. To be honest, I spend most of my time carrying out experiments in the lab, so maybe I've just not noticed how irritating these guys really are."

  Rees took the microphone from Sonya. "As Dr Patel rightly says, they designed this craft for a larger compliment of astronauts. We use much of the room allocated for crew quarters as storage but the livable internal volume of the ship still equates to a large four-bedroomed house, so it feels luxurious. I don't think you need to worry that there will be any interpersonal issues."

  The questions continued coming for the next thirty minutes. Someone at NASA had carefully filtered the reporters and the questions to ensure that there were no embarrassing surprises. It unfortunately meant that the questions were mundane and not very challenging.

  Mac started to wrap up the proceedings, looking relaxed that everything was going as planned. "We've answered the whole list of questions ahead of time. I will allow a couple of questions from the reporters further back who may have missed out." A flurry of hands went up. Mac pointed to a mature-looking reporter wearing a light grey checked suit and a bright green tie who looked harmless enough.

  The reporter stood and took the microphone that was offered to him. He nervously cleared his throat and said, "Sam Marquez. I'm a journalist at The National Enquirer. Commander Rees, have you and the rest of the crew considered that something may go wrong and you'll be unable to return to Earth? As I understand it, there is no lifeboat or other means of recovering you. It would be..."

  Commander Rees could see the microphone being hastily removed from the reporter, who quickly sat down. Mac looked flustered by this unexpected outburst but was saved by the flight director who immediately stepped in. With a calm, authoritative voice he said, "Mr Marquez, I don't really think that question is appropriate. The safety of the crew and everyone working on Expedition One is paramount. We have a number of backup systems and redundancy is built into all mission critical systems. I would have preferred if you had focused on the positive aspects of what Expedition One is doing. I think we'll leave it there for today. Thank you all for attending today. And thank you to the crew of the Falcon for sharing their time today."

  The signal abruptly cut out before the crew was able to say their goodbyes. They were silent following the final question. Commander Rees looked at their sullen faces. "That went to hell in a hand basket very quickly. I don't know what Mac was thinking opening up questions to the floor, but I doubt he'll be doing that again anytime soon."

  Laura was less forgiving. "Do those pricks in the press think about their questions first? I hope Schmidt bans Marquez after that show of scaremongering."

  "It sells newspapers," replied Rees. "But that's still no excuse. Don't dwell on it. We've all been through enough emergency training to know what we need to do and how to return safely. Although I have the utmost faith in Falcon to get us home safely."

  "And you have my expertise to make running repairs if necessary," added Gilles, with a wink.

  Sonya chose to say nothing. She kept her fears to herself but hearing another person talk about the chance of failure had raised her anxiety levels another couple of notches.

  Commander Rees didn't notice her silence. He was keen to get everyone back to their routines after the past hour of questions. "Time for some physical exercise after that show. I'm going to be on the treadmill for the next hour if anyone needs me." And with that he pushed himself off the bulkhead and floated towards his cabin to get changed, leaving the crew to their own thoughts.

  ***

  At that same time, Benjamin Collins, the NASA Administrator, received a call on his cell phone from a withheld number. It wasn’t difficult for him to guess who the call was from. He closed the door to his office before answering, “Hello Senator. How can I help you?”

  “You know why I’m calling,” replied the person on the other end of the phone. “What the fuck just happened? Can’t you control a simple press conference?”

  “There’s no need to panic. While the final question was unfortunate, Schmidt handled it expertly and defused any potential issues. I don’t believe any harm was done.”

  “You’re naïve if you think that,” said the senator, in no mood to be placated. Marquez was basically telling the world that there’s a problem with Falcon and our brave astronauts are in danger. What do you think he knows? Is he close to finding out the truth?”

  Collins rubbed the bridge of his nose to ease the tension he could feel building up. “Marquez is a hack. He knows nothing and is trying to create a sensational story without any shred of evidence. The last thing we should do is give him any credibility. I can assure you that he’ll go away and no one will remember his question by this time next week.”

  “I hope you’re right for all our sakes. We have too much to lose if the real story breaks. I’m going to tell Casper to keep his staff in check too in case any reporters start sniffing around.”

  The senator hung up abruptly, leaving Collins concerned that his over-reaction was more likely to expose their secret than keep it well hidden where it needed to be.

  Chapter 2

  Mission Day: 14

  Commander Rees awoke to the gentle beeping of his computer terminal indicating he had received some messages overnight. "Computer. Lights on, fifty percent," he commanded as he reached for his reading glasses in the pouch next to his bed. The LED lights gave a soft glow but were still bright enough to make his eyes blink several times as they adjusted.

  Rees unzipped his sleeping bag and gently pushed himself across the room to the computer terminal, pressing the screen to reveal who the messages were from. The first was from Flight Director Schmidt, no doubt with mission updates and scheduled activities for the day. It was an important part of his day but Rees wasn't yet ready to read it.

  The second and final message was from his youngest son, Edgar, who had ambitions of becoming a pilot. Except for the one day he'd been allowed to fly down to the Kennedy Space Center to visit Rees three days before liftoff, Edgar had spent the past six weeks attending Initial Flight Screening (ISF) in Pueblo, Colorado.

  Rees opened the message and pressed play. An image of Edgar appeared on the screen, standing proudly in his blue dress uniform. He was standing in a sports field with a running track in the background and white lines painted on the grass. The sky was clear blue, and the setting sun was turning Edgar's face a golden orange. He'd never been good at hiding his emotions and the commander could immediately
tell from the excited expression on his face that he had good news to share.

  "Hi, Dad." Despite his formal attire he still gave a casual wave to the camera. "I just wanted to share my news with you. The ISF is complete and I've been accepted for Pilot Training. Michael is here too. He's holding my phone. I've been assigned to Sheppard Air Force Base in Texas. I ship out there at the end of the month. So that gives me some time for R and R down in Mexico.

  "I've been following your progress whenever I can. The mission is still big news here although you're no longer the main headline. That's to be expected I suppose during this phase. There's not much to report on, unless there's an emergency. And that's the last thing I would wish for.

  "Thanks for all your support and weekly messages. You know how much it means to me that you take interest and I hope that I'm making you proud. I may not be a high paid lawyer like Michael here, but I want to keep flying in the family. And maybe follow in your footsteps to Mars, or even further."

  Rees smiled to himself. Edgar reminded him so much of how he had been at that age. Back then, of course, he'd never dreamed of going to space, let alone commanding the first mission to Mars. And even though his memories were thirty years old, seeing Edgar succeed made him feel young again, if only for a couple of moments.

  The view on the screen swung round to show his other son, Michael, wearing a dark gray suit and green tie. Unlike his brother, Michael was tall and thin and had never been interested in sports. He had a sharp mind and an eye for detail which always had him pegged for a career as a lawyer or accountant. "Hi, Dad. I couldn't miss out on coming down to see my little brother now, could I. After this, I'm taking him down to Puerto Morelos for a week. I could do with a break as much as him. I taped your final press conference four days ago. You did great. A shame that slimeball from the Enquirer ruined the tone at the end but you all came across well. We all miss you. Especially Mom, who is dying to say a few words. Speak soon."