Free Olympus Mons by William Walling Page B

Frankly, the consensus of opinion is that the hiatus in our water supply may well be temporary. Should it prove otherwise, at this juncture it is nevertheless extremely difficult, if not impossible, to make a realistic assessment of what might be done in the way of, er . . . corrective measures. With only minuscule data available, making a hasty determination would be meaningless at this juncture.”
    â€œI understand,” lied my partner. “In that case, I move that a crawler be dispatched to telescopically inspect the vertical segment of downfall pipeline attached to the escarpment, as well as the holding tanks at the base, the windmill power sources, and of course the Tharsis pipeline. Learning every aspect of a problem is the first step toward solving it.”
    â€œQuite so, quite so. An excellent suggestion! Does the Chair hear a second?”
    The motion was seconded by none other than Jesperson’s chief stooge and spear carrier.
    Scheiermann nodded twice to confirm his confirmation, his usual way of endorsing any suggestion and making it his own. “Mr. Jesperson, since you appear to be most concerned about this problem, perhaps you are also the likeliest candidate to undertake the inspections.”
    â€œOrdinarily I would be eager do so, Mr. Director. However, late yesterday Mr. Barnes and I were returning from our scheduled monthly inspection tour and were severely shaken up by the quake. We are both very tired.”
    Scheiermann nodded sagely. “Ah, yes. The council appreciates the candid nature of your response, Mr. Jesperson. Someone else, then.”
    â€œYes, sir. Thank you, sir.” To me, Jess sounded so polite he was in danger of falling out of character. “If the council considers it appropriate,” he added, “I would also like to move that an action committee be appointed to research and recommend ways and means of restoring the aqueduct to usefulness.”
    Before I could do my yes-man bit and second the motion, a Marsrat with a deep bass voice spoke up from the rear row of chairs. “What’s the bleedin’ rush? Lets take care of cleanin’ up Burroughs ‘fore we start worryin’ about what’s not comin’ outta the water pipe.”
    Jesperson leaned forward and said something to Black-like-me, who came to his feet and stalked the loudmouthed bo, telling him to either address the Chair or get out. He went about it in a most undiplomatic way.
    Trusting Charlie that I am, I seconded the motion. After a few more minutes of feinting, bobbing, weaving and playing word games, Jesperson got himself appointed head of the Aqueduct Action Committee; he did me the huge favor of putting my name in nomination as the only other member. As we left the meeting area, I blessed him for his consideration, and asked why he’d declined a shot at seeing firsthand what there was to see of the pipeline’s visible condition.
    â€œIt’s a time-waster,” he told me. “Someone else can run the errand. The break, or blockage, has to be somewhere up on Big Oly’s middling heights.”
    â€œWhat makes you so cocksure?”
    â€œI’m omniscient.”
    â€œDon’t smartmouth me, Bwana! This no-water deal is for serious, and one-liner comebacks don’t fit the bill. You said so yourself.”
    â€œA true statement, and I apologize. I’m delighted hear that you appreciate that diamond-hard fact of life. Now go home and put your place in order. Crash early this evening and get a good night’s rest. We’re going to have a strenuous day tomorrow.”
    â€œWe are . . ?”
    â€œStrenuous, if not exhausting,” he promised. “Meet me outside North Tunnel at first light, and wear your heaviest overboots. We have to start getting in shape.”
    â€œIn shape for . . ?”
    â€œGuess!” he said, the word coming out of his mouth a bit snappishly.
    I’d already guessed, and my guesswork