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Newmarket, to call the stages of the descent. Daphne was a lab whiz and had done some limited descents in Vents A and C, nearby. She had a ready smile and ample muscles, infectious enthusiasm, blond hair tied back in a ponytail, and at times made Julia feel a thousand years old.
    They all went about their tasks without a word to the newbies, particularly Praknor, who was busy setting up her own office and grousing about its size. The bigger habitats adjoined the first domes, affording views and much more space than the rambling, added-on hab Viktor and Julia shared. They used the minicams distributed through the outpost to be sure Praknor was preoccupied by staff and learning the endless details of life inside the linked cans and domes.
    After the first expedition, the Consortium had reached an accord with their losing Chinese-Euro competitors, the Airbus Group. Once the race for prize money idea worked, big-time, it became the model for all further solar system exploration. In the Vent R descent team were a Brazilian, a Chinese, and an Indian veteran biologist and medical tech, Vaquabal. Those countries plus a dozen others had paid into the International Exploration Coalition, though the Consortium and Airbus still played major roles, grandfathered in—after all, they had put up the money and talent when no single nation would.
    At 0530 they met in the assembly building, a half-cylinder of carbon composite laid flat side down at the edge of the landing field. The three other crew members were old hands, and they made quick work of the systems checks. Their biggest suborbital lifter was ready, maintenance crew certified, and they loaded swiftly. Gear slid into slot-carries, secured by bungee cords and clamps.
    Julia got a good seat in the observing bubble. Viktor was copilot, running inboard systems monitors the whole flight. He would have liked to fly the bird, but the Consortium had its protocols… The liftoff was a steady rumble below them that pressed them at 3 g’s, the rusty land falling away quickly. Mars had just enough atmosphere to allow some aerodynamic lift in the rocket plane, so they spent five minutes flying due west and then flipped and began the parachuted descent. A rumbling burst at an altitude of three kilometers settled them down without a jar in rumpled terrain.
    First, suiting up. Unlike the old days, this was now almost a pleasure. Julia’s skinsuit was a marvel of elastic threads that slipped on like velvet.
    She and Viktor checked and rechecked their seals, oxy, temp. The newer staff rolled their eyeballs a bit, and Julia knew they were thinking, Hey, the new systems self-monitor, y’know. And she did know, but decades of triple-checking did not wear off. One of the job specs for astronauts was an obsessive-compulsive profile. No longer, it seemed. Someday, she was sure, one of the bright, techno-savvy types would end up gasping for air in a remote canyon. There would be a panel review and, my, my, a new malf route would be discovered.
    Second, out into the big rover that rolled forth from their rear cargo bay. There was far more room inside, thick radiation shielding by water in the walls, and eight big tractor wheels. She could close her eyes and imagine she was in a limousine. Viktor insisted on driving, as usual.
    Finally, out. Immediately Julia breathed easier. Here was raw Mars. Smooth basaltic flow below them, nonfriable, visible in the belly cam. They crossed low sandy basins ringed by ruddy hills, scribbling tracks across the belly of an ocean now 100 million years dry.
    The vent mouth was a few klicks away. Viktor wanted to pick up the local geomonitors he had sent over by rocket months before. He yanked each of the silvery lances out of the ground, using the rover robo arm. The crew read them and downloaded their data into a diagnostic program.
    After the fifth geomonitor, Viktor turned over driving the rover and studied the analysis screens. Frowning, he said, “These show same