Red Mars(149)
During the days many of them wandered around outside the tents, collecting loose rock from the great curved slope. The Zp meteor’s impact had scattered chunks of brecciated lava everywhere, including stishovite shatter-cones like pottery shards, some dead black, others a bright blood red, or flecked with impact diamonds. An areological team from Greece started laying these in a pattern on the ground under the raised floor of their tent, and they had brought a little kiln with them, so they could glaze some shards yellow or green or blue, to accent their designs. This idea caught on as soon as others saw it, and within two days each clear tent floor stood over a flagged parquet with a mosaic design: circuitry maps, pictures of birds and fish, fractal abstracts, Escher drawings, the Tibetan calligraphy spelling Om Mani Padme Hum, maps of the planet and of smaller regions, equations, people’s faces, landscapes, and so on.
John spent his time wandering from tent to tent, talking with people and enjoying the carnival atmosphere— an atmosphere which did not preclude arguments, there were a lot of those— but most people spent the time partying, talking, drinking, going out on excursions on the wavy surface of the old lava flows, making mosaic floors, and dancing to music made by various amateur bands. The best of these was a magnesium-drum band, the instruments local, the players from Trinidad Tobago, a notorious transnational flag of convenience with a vigorous local resistance movement, of which the band were representatives. There was also a country western group with a good slide guitar player, and an Irish band with homemade instruments and a large shifting membership, which allowed it to play more or less nonstop. These three bands were all surrounded by crowds of dancers, and indeed the tents they occupied had all of their movement transformed into a kind of pulsing dance, as just getting from here to there was suddenly stuffed with the grace and exuberance of the music, the gravity, the view.
So it was a great festival, and John was pleased, partying hard in every waking moment. He didn’t need any omegendorph or pandorph, and once when Marian and the Senzeni Na crowd hustled him in a corner and started passing tabs around, he could only laugh. “I don’t think so right now,” he said to the young hotheads, waving a hand weakly. “It’d be carrying a coals to Newcastle at this point, really it would.”
“Carrying coals to Newcastle?”
“He means it’d be like taking permafrost to Borealis.”
“Or pumping more CO2 into the atmosphere.”
“Bringing lava to Olympus.”
“Putting more salt in the goddamn soil.”
“Putting any more ferric oxide anywhere on the whole damn planet!”
“Exactly,” John said, laughing. “I’m already full red.”
“Not as red as these folks,” one of them said, pointing down to the west. A string of three sand-colored dirigibles floated up the slope of the volcano. They were small and antiquated, and did not answer radio inquiries. By the time they had scraped over Zp’s rim and anchored among the larger and more colorful dirigibles in the crater, everyone was waiting to hear from the observers at the lock who they might be. When their gondolas popped open, and twenty or so figures in walkers stepped out, a silence fell. “That’s Hiroko,” Nadia said suddenly over the common band. The first hundred made their way quickly to the upper tent, looking up at the walktube that ran over the rim. And then the new visitors were walking down the tube to the tent lock, and were through and inside, and yes, it was Hiroko— Hiroko, Michel, Evgenia, Iwao, Gene, Ellen, Rya, Raul, and a whole crowd of youngsters.
Shrieks and shouts pierced the air, people were embracing, a few crying, and there were a good number of angry accusations; John himself couldn’t help it when he got a chance to hug Hiroko, after all those hours in his rover worrying about things, wishing he could have talked to her; now he took her shoulders in his hands and almost shook her, ready for hot words to pour from his throat; but her grinning face was so much like his memory of her and yet not— her face thinner and more lined, not her and yet clearly her— that her face blurred and flowed in his vision, from what he expected to see to what he saw. He was confused enough by this hallucinatory smear (in his feelings too) that he only cried, “Oh, I’ve wanted to talk to you so!”
“And me to you,” she said, although it was hard to hear her in the din; Nadia was intervening between Maya and Michel, for Maya was shouting “Why didn’t you tell me?” again and again, before bursting into tears. John was distracted by this, and then he saw Arkady’s face over Hiroko’s shoulder, bunched in an expression that said, There’s going to be questions answered later, and he lost his train of thought. There were going to be some hard things said— but still, here they were! Here they were. Down in the tents the noise level had jumped twenty decibels. People were cheering their reunion .