On a desk nearby, a small TV was playing the broadcast from Mars.

"General Winters, sir," said a colonel, approaching nervously, "we confirm Retriever well off course for quarantine. Heading toward populated areas at hypersonic velocity. Its trajectory is way too low for safety."

He handed Winters a sheet of data, which the general absorbed with a rapid glance. Winters stared at the situation map, and then looked over to the TV. A thirtyish woman with red braids was speaking, her dirty NASA coverall adorned with an American flag and a Silver Star. Her thin, lined face and bright eyes spoke of courage, matching that spoken for by the Star. "Our crewmates, who've been through the thick and thin of this place with us, are coming back today," she said. "They can tell you the wonder of this world, and of the new chance that God is giving us here. They can show you what we've seen. Please listen to them."

"Your orders, sir?" the colonel interrupted. "All defensive systems are armed and ready."

The general looked to the rows of weapons officers waiting at their consoles, then back to the brave young mother on the TV. He swallowed hard, then pursed his lips. "At that altitude, if we have to shoot, we'd better be accurate or collateral damage could result." He turned to the colonel and gave his order: "I want an immediate and complete systems check run on the targeting software for all antimissile systems."

That was incredible. It took a moment for the colonel to find his voice. "But sir, that will disable the system for close to an hour."

In response, Winters gave the other officer a blank look. "Then you'd better get to it, Colonel."

Then understanding dawned. Holy shit, the colonel thought. Disabling the system is precisely his intention. Suddenly, the officer felt much prouder of the uniform he wore. A big knowing smile crossed his face. "Yes, sir. Right away, sir. A complete systems check." He rushed off to implement the order.

Moments later, a young captain approached carrying a red telephone. "General Winters, sir, it's the White House."

Winters paused to observe that the systems check was well underway. Then, wearing a mischievous grin, he reached out for the telephone.

When the Reverend Bobby Joe Stone entered his home, he found a group of middle-aged women gathered around the sitting-room television, watching a live broadcast from the three castaways stranded on Mars.

His wife sipped her iced tea and beamed at the image on the screen. "Oh, look at the baby! Isn't she cute?"

The minister came into the room, gave his wife a chaste kiss on the cheek, but the other women didn't even notice his entrance. "Hello, ladies. What's so interesting on TV?"

Charity Stone smiled at her husband. "It's those astronauts who are staying on Mars. See, there's the father, and the mother and the baby. Oh, what a cute little girl! And the mother is such a fine Christian girl. Just listen to her, dear."

Another woman munched daintily on a dish of mixed nuts. "Ooooh, look at that child's adorable little nose. What a cutie!"

Gwen continued to talk from the television. "Our family is going to stay here on Mars, because it's God's plan and because it's what the baby needs. Eventually, we hope that some of you will decide to come here and join us."

McGee leaned forward, picking up the thread. "Because we could use some friends here to help turn this planet into a home. Most importantly, though, don't feel sorry for us. We'll get by, the three of us, because we have love, we have each other, and a new and beautiful world to explore, live, build, and grow on."

Mrs. Stone gasped and turned to her husband. He had seen that fire in her eyes before. "Dear, we've got to do something to help them. It's a true mission you could take on."

The televangelist frowned uncomfortably. "I don't exactly see how. Those people are millions of miles away."

Charity Stone gave him a scolding look. "You saw them, dear. Look at them, look at that baby. We can't leave that family there all alone and in need. We've got to start raising money right now for a campaign for a second expedition!"

Now she had the Reverend's interest. "Raise money?"

"Why, yes! There isn't a Christian family in America that wouldn't give one hundred dollars tonight, right now, to help that poor brave little family. All you need to do is ask them."

The minister blinked. "You really think so?"

The woman with the mixed nuts reached into her purse. "In fact, let me start the ball rolling, Reverend. I'll pledge a thousand dollars right now. My husband will never even notice."

Bobby Joe Stone looked at the entranced women watching Gwen and baby Virginia on the television. "Hmm. I do believe you're right."

Smoky fumes filled the cabin of the Retriever. The entire ship vibrated massively with supersonic buffeting.

Rebecca coughed. "Cabin temperature 130! Hull temperature..."

"Firing drogue," Townsend announced. He opened two switch covers and then closed both switches. An explosion resounded, signaling that the drogue parachute had been mortared out. Suddenly an enormous jerk wrenched the ERV backward in the air, but then things quieted down as the vehicle dropped swiftly, but at subsonic velocity through the Earth's atmosphere.

Luke called off the altimeter readings. "Attitude forty thousand feet, thirty-nine, thirty-eight..."

Rebecca eyed the life-support monitors. Cabin temperature had begun to drop, but the air composition was lethal. "CO₂'s off the scale. Take us down fast, Colonel."

Townsend's breathing was heavy. "Roger that."

The air whistled past the plummeting ERV.

"Twelve thousand... eleven thousand!" Luke cried. "You're coming in too fast. We're going to smash! For God's sake, Colonel, release the main chute!"

"No," Rebecca choked, "get us down."

Townsend armed the parachute release system. "Just a few more seconds."

Luke screamed, "Three thousand feet. Two thousand!"

"Firing main parachute." Townsend threw two more switches and released a huge parasail, subjecting the ship to another enormous lurch. He grabbed a stick to steer the sail. "We're coming in fast. Better brace yourselves, folks." He called off the final approach. "Prepare for impact in eight, seven..."

Seconds later, the cabin shook as the ERV hit water at a terminal velocity of forty miles per hour.

The three explorers stared in amazement at the sight of hissing and steaming seawater splashing over the outside of the porthole. But there was no time to lose. In a blink, the crew was up, madly scrambling for the hatch. Rebecca reached it first and struggled to open the lock, but was too weak. When Luke got beside her, he added his muscle and cranked the wheel a little, but not enough.

Townsend joined in the effort. All of them were on the verge of passing out, suffocating only inches away from fresh, clean air. "OK, together on three. One—two—three!"

The three crew members shoved together, and the wheel rotated a quarter turn, after which the hatch popped open to reveal a patch of blue sky. A blessed whiff of sea air entered the cabin, bringing with it the promise of salvation. Then, as if mocking their renewed hope, the ERV tipped to bring sea level to the bottom of the hatch. Water began to pour in.

"Abandon ship," Townsend shouted.

Closest to the open hatch, Rebecca struggled to get through, but the onrushing water pushed her back. She felt a shove from behind, as the two men pushed her through the opening and into the ocean.

Thrown like a projectile, Rebecca landed headfirst in the sea, then struggled toward the surface. The doctor had once been a fair swimmer, but encumbered with heavy wet clothes, lack of oxygen, and weak from ten months on short rations in zero gravity, she could barely stop herself from sinking farther. She looked upward. Above, light shone on the surface. Air, all the air she could want, was only six feet away.