Falcon rolled back and forth experimentally, testing his latest low-gravity-issue balloon tyres on a ground of ruddy soil loosely bound by sparse grass. It was like a beach, Falcon thought, like dune grass, although it was a very long time since Howard Falcon had visited a beach anywhere. And he was so close to a stand of trees, mixed oak and pine, that in the air filtered through his face mask, drawn into his synthetic lungs, he could smell the scents of the forest, the resin, the leaf mulch.
He looked around. The sun was high in a tall, blue sky sparsely littered with white, streaky cloud. It was morning, so that way was east, and therefore the gentle slope of the ground that he intended to climb was to the south, away from the trees.
Which made sense, for this was the northern slope of Olympus Mons. Falcon had visited many times before—the first, in fact, before the flight of the Kon-Tiki. It had not been like this.
His companions were a young man, frame sparse, big-chested, who wore a quilted coverall, gloves, and a mask through which a calm face could be seen—a tall young man, and among these new generations of Martians even Falcon sometimes felt overshadowed—and a woman, serene, but too still, too fragile. She was Hope Dhoni, now virtually as old as Falcon, the few decades between them now all but inconsequential compared to the span of time both had endured. The resentment Falcon felt at that was entirely illogical, but he felt it nonetheless.
The man was called Citizen Second Grade Jeffrey Pandit. He was a civil servant based at Port Lowell, and Falcon’s Martian government host for the next few days. Now he smiled at Falcon. “I hope you got your tyres treated with the right protective cover.” He kicked at the loose, rusty soil. “Still plenty of caustic chemistry going on in this dirt, even after three centuries of terraforming. We don’t want you seizing up halfway up the hill, sir.”
“I’d never live it down.”
Now Hope smiled. “So what are your feelings, Howard? For some this would be a mundane scene, but not for you. You spend all your time in space these days. Mercury was—what, over a century ago?”
“More than that, ma’am,” Pandit murmured. “This is the year AFF 567—”
“A hundred and sixty-two years, then.”
Falcon winced. As long as that?
“Most of which you’ve spent in Port Van Allen. That great rusty wheel—”
“It’s a comfortable hotel. I like to live in a building that’s older than I am, and that’s not so easy to find these days. And you do get one hell of a view. Besides, much of Earth is rather chilly since the Little Ice Age.”
“Well, you’ll get one hell of a view from Olympus, sir,” Pandit said, emollient. “Eventually, at the summit.”
“And—mundane, Hope?” Falcon said. “Trees, blue sky, a gentle slope to walk up—on Mars? I guess it would feel mundane if we weren’t wearing these damn facemasks. Mundane, if those oak trees over there weren’t a hundred metres tall.”
Pandit grinned. “Another couple of centuries and we’ll be able to do without the masks, at least in the lowest-altitude locations. Hellas, for instance. Umm, would you like me to take a couple of pictures?”
“Hell, no. I’m no tourist. And my visit isn’t exactly a secret, but the Security Secretariat made it clear I wasn’t to shout about it.” Falcon peered up the slope; Olympus was so vast, yet so shallow, that its summit was hidden by the close Martian horizon—hidden by the curve of the world. “I’m here for whatever is going on up there, in the caldera.”
“Project Acorn,” Hope Dhoni said dryly.
“Which name is about all we know of it,” Falcon said.
Pandit hesitated. “One last chance to change your mind. It is a gentle climb, sir, all the way up. People say Olympus is the most unspectacular spectacle in the solar system. But it is three hundred kilometres to the summit, and by the time you’re up there you’ll be above almost all of the atmosphere . . . Are you sure you want to walk?”
Falcon sighed. “You forget I’m not an old man, Pandit. I’m an old engine. But I can still roll up a hill faster than any human could walk. And besides, if I’m on foot, so to speak, maybe there’s a better chance the Acorn people will let me through.” He looked up at the blank slope. “You know the situation. Melanie Springer-Soames and her group could hardly conceal their activities from the surveillance satellites. They’ve got a regular colony up there. But they refuse any attempts at contact, and in the only statement they released they claimed that they had set up ‘defences’ of some kind. Well, I’ve known the Springers since great-granddaddy Matt was showing off on Pluto—and that’s why Port Lowell asked me to come up here. This is a gamble on my unique status, and it’s not the first time I’ve been used this way: a gamble that while they may stop others, maybe they won’t stop me.”
Dhoni said, “It all sounds damn flaky.”
“Maybe, but this is Planetary Security policy: peaceful means if at all possible. That’s been the standing order since Mercury. And, flaky or not, Hope, if it all goes wrong, what have they lost? One rusty old robot.”
Dhoni snorted. “I’ll claim the scrap value.”
“Then, if we’re doing this—” Pandit dug into a pocket of his coverall, and produced an acorn, fat and healthy. “I’m honoured to accompany you, Commander. My family cherishes the story of my ancestor’s encounter with you at Jupiter.”
“I remember it well. Nicola was a worthy opponent.”
“You know, acorns on Mars are still pretty precious. The dip in sunlight hurt us too, as we tried to progress the terraforming. We plant acorns, we don’t waste them. But those of us on Mars who want nothing but a peaceful future—and a flourishing planet when the Eos Programme is done—would like you to have this, sir. As a token of our good wishes for this mission.”
Falcon took the acorn carefully, in a claw of a hand that could have crushed it in a microsecond. “I’ll treasure it.”
Pandit glanced at a chronometer. “Let’s make the best of what’s left of the day.” He looked back at the rover that had brought Falcon’s party here from Port Lowell over in Aurorae Sinus, still Mars’s greatest city. Dhoni had made her own way across Mars, having come down at Port Schiaparelli in Trivium Charontis. “Sir, I’ll be tracking you all the way in the rover, with my crew.”
“Well, I hope you have a repair kit on board,” Dhoni said.
“Hope—”
“And for the first few hours at least, Howard, you will walk at a reasonably sedate pace. Because I will be walking with you.” She held up a small case. “Time for your five-yearly check over, Commander Falcon. And if you think you can escape that by climbing the biggest volcano there is, you’ve another think coming.”
“Yes, Doctor,” Falcon said, resigned.