The Mountain Cage (21 page)

He rode around, careful not to drive too fast since there were some nasty-looking rocks and rims of small craters nearby, until the orange sky grew darker. By the time he got back to the lander with his samples, the sky was nearly black and the sun a bright swirl on the horizon.

I actually got here, he thought, then remembered the others with a pang.

He slept well, then got up to say his farewells to the Red Planet—although Rusty Planet might be a better name for it. Another ride, some more pictures and samples, and he was ready to go. He hoped the NASA scientists weren’t too unhappy with his answers to their questions about what unusual things he might have observed. Hell,
everything
seemed pretty unusual here, when he stopped to think about it.

He went inside, then strapped in. “Ready to go,” he said. There were just a couple of buttons to push, and he had practiced a lot during the last days aboard the
Burroughs
to be sure he didn’t make a mistake. He pressed one, waited for it to light up, then hit the next. For a few moments, he wondered why he couldn’t feel the lander taking off, then realized that it wasn’t moving.

“Uh, Mars to Houston,” he said, then waited until he heard Sallie’s voice respond. “I hate to say this, but I’m not going anywhere. Should I hit those whosits again, or what?”

Nearly ten minutes later, he heard Sallie’s reply. Her first word was, “Shit.”

No matter how many times he activated the controls, nothing happened. Mission Control had various theories about what might be wrong, none of which were doing him any good. Gradually it dawned on him that he might be stranded. Twenty-four hours after he reached that conclusion, Sallie confirmed it. They could not pinpoint the problem at that distance. They did not want to take any risks with the lander. He was reminded of which buttons to push in order to bring down the Mars base assembly.

It could have been worse, he told himself. There were enough provisions in the lander alone to last him more than a month, since his companions weren’t there to share them. With the supplies the base assembly had, he could survive until a rescue mission arrived.

There would be such a mission. The President assured him of that, as did Sallie. Another ship would be on its way to him within a few months. The wonderful thing was that his mission, despite the tragedy, was in its own way a success, even if he wasn’t in the best position to appreciate that fact. A man had made it to Mars and was now on its surface, and the fate of his fellow astronauts had only temporarily stemmed the rising tide of optimism and hope. Humankind would return to the Moon and reach out to the other planets. Dan, who had insisted on landing instead of turning back, would be remembered by future generations of space explorers.

How his present predicament might affect the elections was not discussed. The President had said something vague about getting him back there in time for the convention. Now that Dan was a true hero, it didn’t look as though there would be any opposition in the Republican primaries anyway.

Dan tried to feel comforted by this, but the campaign, and everything else, seemed awfully far away.

A distant object shaped like a shuttlecock dropped toward the cratered plain. Its engines fired; the object landed two kilometers away.

Dan sighed with relief at the sight of the base assembly. He had been worrying that something might go wrong at this point; one disadvantage of being a hero was that sometimes it required you to be dead. Now he would be safe, and could keep busy making observations, watching movies, working out, and in general keeping himself together until the rescue mission arrived. It was sort of depressing to know he’d miss Thanksgiving and Christmas, although fortunately there were some turkey dinners among the provisions, and Mission Control had promised to sing carols for him.

He climbed into the rover and started toward the barrels of the base assembly; he’d check it out first, then come back another time to load up on whatever he might need from the lander. His staff had promised to transmit the text for the official announcement of his candidacy in a few days, and he supposed they would want him to make some speeches from Mars later, during the primaries. Maybe being on Mars, whatever the disadvantages, was better than having to trudge through New Hampshire.

He had to admit it; life in the somewhat more spacious quarters of the Mars base wasn’t too bad in some ways. He was getting used to the desolate orange landscape and the way the sun set so suddenly. There were movies and records enough to keep him occupied, although he was beginning to see that there were limits to how many times he could watch some movies, even ones as great as
Ferris Bueller’s Day Off.

But there were times when the solitude, even with all the messages NASA was relaying from Earth, really got to him. There wasn’t a whole lot a guy could do all alone, except for stuff it was better not to think about too much. He had spoken to Marilyn and the kids a couple of times, but having to speak and then wait long minutes for the response made him realize how far he was from everything he knew.

Maybe things would pick up when he really got into his campaign. There was plenty he could do, even out here. His staff was already trying to set him up for a
Nightline
appearance, which would probably have to be taped so that the delay between Ted Koppel’s questions and his answers could be deleted. His staff should be transmitting the text for the official announcement of his candidacy any day now.

Dan had finished struggling into his spacesuit and was about to put on his helmet when the com started beeping at him. Maybe his speechwriters had finally gotten their act together. He sat down and turned on the screen.

The President’s face stared out at him. “Uh, hello, Mr. President,” Dan said. “I was just about to take a drive over to the lander—there’s some stuff I want to move here.”

“I don’t know how to tell you this, Dan,” the President said. “Something’s gone, well, a bit awry. Might have known the Democrats would think of some devious—see, we’re going to have to postpone your announcement for a while.”

“But why?”

He waited a long time for the President’s answer. “The Democrats—they’re saying you have to be on Earth to make your announcement. Somebody found some loophole or other in the law, and they’re arguing that you can’t declare and run for President while you’re on Mars. Got our guys working on it—think they can beat those bastards in court—but by the time they do, it may be too late to file and get you on primary ballots. Could try to get write-ins, but the rules are, uh, different in every state.”

Dan tried to recall if there was something in the law the Democrats could use to pull a stunt like this. He couldn’t think of anything, but then he hadn’t been exactly the biggest brain in law school. Maybe the Democrats would drag out John Glenn, however old he was, to run this time. They’d probably use Ashana’s family in the campaign, too; they had plenty of reason to be pissed off at the Administration.

“You said I could get back by the convention,” Dan murmured. “I mean, aren’t the delegates free to switch their votes if they want?”

The minutes passed. “Well, you’re right on the money there, and no question they’d turn to you, but—see, NASA’s got sort of a little problem with the new ship. Nothing for you to worry about, just some bitty technical thing they can definitely iron out, but they’re certain they can have you back here next fall.”

Dan was beginning to see more problems. The Democrats might use his predicament against the Republicans. They would say he wouldn’t be stranded there if the Administration had thought more about real science and space exploration and less about politics and publicity stunts, if they hadn’t been rushing to put him on another planet. He wouldn’t be on the campaign trail to inspire people and to invoke the names of his comrades; he would be only a distant voice and grainy image from Mars. The whole business might turn into as big a bummer as the end of the Gulf War.

“What are we going to do?” Dan asked.

When the President replied, he said, “Well, there’s a lotta sentiment here to make Marilyn our candidate.”

That figured. The idea was so perfect that Dan was surprised he hadn’t thought of it himself. The Democrats would look mean-spirited slinging mud at a hero’s wife, one waiting and praying for her husband to return safely.

“All I can say,” Dan said quietly, “is that she has my full support.”

Dan finished loading the rover, climbed in and drove slowly toward the scattered Tootsie Rolls of his base. He had not had to talk to Marilyn very long to convince her to run; in fact, he had expected her to object a lot more to the idea. She would make a pretty good president, though—maybe a better one than he would have been.

He had packed up the personal items of his comrades—Ashana’s Nikes, Ahmed’s Koran, Kiichi’s bat, and Sergei’s dolls—feeling that he wanted his dead friends’ things with him. He had also brought his golf balls and his favorite wood. The club, which had a persimmon head, had cost him a pretty penny, but he liked a driver with a solid hardwood head.

An inspiration came to him. He stopped the rover, climbed down, then took out one of his balls and the wood. Stepping over a small crater, he set down the ball, then gripped his club. Getting in a smooth swing was going to be rough with his spacesuit on, but he thought he could manage it. Alan Shepard might be the first guy to tee off on the Moon, but Dan would be the first to do so on another planet.

He swung his club and knew the head’s sweet spot had met the ball. The small white orb arched above the orange cratered landscape and soared toward the distant pink sky.

Afterword to “Danny Goes to Mars”:

In the spring of 2000, PBS televised a history of the U.S. Presidential debates. Among those interviewed was former Vice-President Dan Quayle, who to my surprise came across as dignified, mature, and articulate. By then, I was already wondering if I might have done Mr. Quayle an injustice in “Danny Goes to Mars.” It is of course easier to think kindly of those who would rule us when they are safely (or at least temporarily) out of power, but the touches of gray in Quayle’s hair and the lines aging had brought to his face made him look almost distinguished, in contrast to his earlier more callow appearance. Whatever his mental lacks, one could see him at least struggling to think things through and come to some understanding, in contrast to the incurious
tabula rasa
currently occupying the White House. Compared to George W Bush, a man whom events have now placed on the steepest of learning curves, Dan Quayle counts as an intellectual.

In the spring of 1995, I was invited to give a reading of “Danny Goes to Mars” at a poetry slam in a local bar. While performing, I quickly became aware that some of my punch lines weren’t going over that well, that some of the references puzzled the audience; it’s possible that at least a few of them had only a vague idea of who Dan Quayle was. Alternate history stories, and especially satirical ones set in the present or near past featuring current figures, are probably destined to accumulate annotations in any future published editions, to remind those who once knew of what they have forgotten, and to fill in everyone else—the vast majority, probably—on details they were never aware of in the first place.

For the benefit of those who lack my own obsessive and often nitpicky interest in American political
minutiae
, I offer the following annotations to this story:

John Sununu, chief of staff for President George H. W Bush, was notable for his abrasive personality, and widely criticized for using government limousines and military aircraft to run personal errands, lapses that led to his resignation. He was a former Governor of New Hampshire and a graduate of the Massachusetts Institute of Technology.

Marilyn Tucker Quayle, whose parents were both physicians, came from a family even more fervently right-wing than her husband’s. The Quayles met in law school at Indiana University, and Marilyn practiced law during the early years of their marriage. They are the parents of three children: Corinne, Tucker, and Ben.

Tom Evans and Paula Parkinson were principal players in a political scandal that might have nipped Dan Quayle’s political career in the bud. Just after his election to the Senate (he had been in the House of Representatives before that), Quayle, against his wife’s advice, went off to Florida with Congressman Tom Evans and a few other Congressional buddies for what was reputed to be a weekend of golf. Paula Parkinson, an attractive blond lobbyist, turned up at the Palm Beach cottage the men had rented and remained there for the duration. When the story of this sojourn broke in 1981, it turned out that Tom Evans had been sleeping with Ms. Parkinson. He apologized for his conduct publicly, but his political career was destroyed, along with that of Tom Railsback, another Congressman at the cottage that weekend who had reputedly dallied with Paula Parkinson. Dan Quayle, however, escaped serious damage, basically by playing dumb and letting the storm blow over. Marilyn Quayle stoutly defended her husband, saying, “Anyone who knows Dan Quayle knows that he would rather play golf than have sex any day.” Paula Parkinson later made use of her babe qualities by posing nude for
Playboy
Magazine.