Free Impact by Douglas Preston Page A

“Mr. Corso, I think we might have a fundamental misunderstanding here about how this department is run. We work as a team and I’m the team leader. I’m sorry, but I thought I made it clear that the SHARAD images were your first priority. I want it all done— all of it—and presented at the meeting next week.”
    Corso said nothing.
    “Do you understand, Mr. Corso?”
    “I do,” he said.
    Corso waited until Derkweiler had left, and then he sank into his chair, trembling. The man was intolerable, a mediocrity who somehow rose into a supervisory position and was now relishing every moment. He cast a sour eye over the gamma ray plots, sitting on top of the other papers. He would have to bust ass to finish crunching all that SHARAD image data by five. Why was he so insistent on the SHARAD images? It wasn’t like Mars was going anywhere soon. At the same time, the gamma ray data was truly bizarre. He had taken it a step beyond what Freeman had done. If Derkweiler didn’t see the value of it, surely Chaudry would.
    A soft knock came at the open door and he turned to see Marjory Leung standing in the doorway like a gazelle, one leg straight, the other cocked, leaning on the door with a smile on her face, her long torso flexed like a bow.
    “Hey,” she said.
    Corso smiled and shook his head. “Is he gone?”
    “Turning the corner now.”
    He passed his hand through his hair. “Come on in.”
    She flopped herself down in the chair in the corner and leaned her head back, her hair spreading on the seat back. “Lunch?”
    He shook his head. “I’ve got to finish this data.”
    “How’s it going?”
    “It’s a number grind. I’ve been spending all my time on gamma rays.”
    “Progress?”
    Corso glanced at the open door and she got the message, reached out and closed it.
    “A little. I’m pretty sure whatever it is is on the surface somewhere. The periodicity is just too close to the planet’s rotation to be otherwise. I’ve been combing through the images, trying to find some visual artifact that might correspond to the gamma ray emitter. Mars is a big place and we’ve got over four hundred thousand high-res photos. Needle in a haystack.”
    She heaved herself up and Corso watched her stretch, her shirt riding up, exposing her flat belly. A very graphic memory of their night together flashed into his mind.
    “If not lunch,” she said, tossing her hair, “then how about dinner?”
    “With pleasure.”
    “The pleasure will be mine,” she said.

17

    Ford pulled the Land Cruiser up next to a row of battered motorbikes and eyed the hand-painted sign above the door of the small government office. In French and Khmer, the sign identified it as the Office of the Sub-Councilman of the District of Kampong Krabey, Commune of Svay Por. Ford stepped out into the heat, so great it rose in sheets around him, distorting the air.
    “God help us,” said Khon, squinting at the shabby, cinder block building. “I hope you brought a lot of dollars.”
    Ford patted his pocket.
    They knocked on the wooden door. A voice called them in. The sub-councilman’s office consisted of a single room, with cement walls and floor, freshly whitewashed, with a desk in the middle, facing the door, and two secretaries’ desks flanking either side. Two metal chairs were placed in rigid formality in front of the desk. A back door led to an outhouse behind. The room stank of cigarettes.
    The sub-councilman, a handsome man with a scar on his face, rose with a huge smile, displaying the biggest, whitest rack of teeth Ford had ever seen, which contrasted sharply with the man’s olive drab shirt, sagging blue pants, and flip-flops. His neck was thick and fleshy, his face a shining mask of good cheer.
    “Welcome! Welcome!” the councilman cried in English, his arms extended. His face wore an expression that would not have been out of place on someone who had just won the lottery. And maybe he had , thought Ford, thinking of the inevitable