Bartlet Goes To Mars by Stuart Atkinson

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If she was pleased the President had recognised her picture's subject she didn't show it.

Bartlet studied the picture carefully, growing more and more impressed by its accuracy. The planet's surface showed more detail than the illustrations he'd seen in some astronomy text books and NASA reports; around a dozen small valleys, channels, volcanoes and craters were all in exactly the right place, and had been drawn to the correct scale too. And the shading...

"That's very good, very good indeed..." Bartlet said admiringly. "I'd like a copy of that, if your teacher could get one to me - "

"You don't have to say that you know," Amy replied sharply, "I know it's not that good really, and you're the President, you can have any NASA map or picture you want. You don't need some kid's painting, I'm sure."

Bartlet didn't know whether to feel amused or offended by the girl's response, so he let it go. But something was riling her, that much he could tell. But what? Resting his chin on his arm he continued to look at the picture as he spoke.

"You know," he began, keeping his voice low so Amy would - hopefully - know he was talking just to her, "I was visiting the Jet Propulsion Laboratory in 1976 when the first pictures from Viking came in," he began, deciding against explaining anything, figuring she would know what he was talking about. "Amazing day, just amazing, standing there watching the first images of the surface of Mars appearing on tiny TV screens, one line at a time, so, so slowly... nothing like today... they have much bigger screens now, and the pictures flash up in moments..."

Beside him Amy was trying not to look impressed, but failing. "It must have been exciting, to be there on that day," she said, her voice dropping to an almost reverent whisper, and Bartlet smiled, sensing he was in the presence of a real space enthusiast. "And you're right," Amy added, "Global Surveyor's download speed is much faster than Viking's..." Bartlet silently congratulated himself. He'd made a good call: the girl clearly knew her stuff. Talking down to her would have been fatal.

Time to go for the kill, he decided.

"I spilled coffee on Carl Sagan," he added matter-of-factly, gambling she knew who he meant. Amy's eyes went wide with shock, confirming she did. "I know," he grinned, looking up at her, "not exactly the best way for a young politician to make an impression in a room full of Government officials..." Amy smiled back at him, warmth finally coming through. Around them the class continued: boys and girls chattered away in their workgroups, passing or stealing paintbrushes and pencils, complimenting or insulting the works of their neighbours. Secret Service agents kept a discrete watch on the proceedings, and his Staffers stood together in an uncomfortable group, mentally counting down the minutes remaining until they could escape from the school and whisk Bartlet away in the Presidential motorcade. But he himself was in no hurry. Amy was interesting, and there was clearly a story behind her quiet, thoughtful smile.