'Yes, but they'll generate even more questions, which we won't be able to answer,' Bronski said.

They went to bed late that night, tired out but unable to get to sleep. All had the feeling that the morning would bring the most important day of their life.

Finally, Orme fell asleep, Bronski having subsided into a gentle snoring. But he awoke an hour later. Someone, he felt, had been standing by his bedside.

'Tomorrow's the Day,' Orme said.

The four Terrestrials were sitting in the living room of the Shirazis. After supper, they had dropped the cassette - actually a cube about an inch across - into the receptacle on the side of the TV set. They had watched, for the fourth time, the programme they'd put together. As the Martians had promised, little of it was censored. The last half hour had been made by their hosts, and this was composed in the main of films of Jesus's activities when he 'visited'. There were also some scenes of Earth life taken by the Krsh about 50 AD, of the space fight with the Sons of Darkness, and of the digging into Mars after the Krsh's vessel had crashlanded.

The programme ended with Hfathon speaking briefly in Greek except for his final word.

'This is all true. We will communicate with you again in a few days. Shalom.'

Orme could imagine the shock, the consternation, the bewilderment, the frustration on Earth. Of course, there would be many who would deny the validity of the programme. They would denounce it as a hoax perpetrated by the Martians, by their own government, or by some other government. However, those in authority would have to accept that, whatever the content of the transmission, it had originated from Mars. Also, the programme had been repeated enough times to ensure that both hemispheres of Earth received it.

'Yes, tomorrow,' Bronski said gloomily.

Madeleine Danton laughed, though not merrily.

'You're afraid that you're going to have to believe in Christ, aren't you? You, the agnostic, will see and touch and hear, and therefore have to believe! I say, nonsense! It's a charade put on by the Martians for some sinister purposes of their own!'

'You're a scientist,' Bronski said, 'but you're not thinking like one. I believe that, even if the evidence becomes overwhelming, 100 per cent authenticated, you'd still reject it. You'd allow your emotional, irrational attitude to control you.'

'And you,' she said, 'aren't even waiting until the evidence is in. You're ready to believe!'

He shook his head. 'No, I'm not. But all that's happened so far... well... you must admit it's been totally unexpected, it's fantastic, and yet it's happened. Do you doubt for one minute that Matthias did exist, and that Matthias knew Jesus very well indeed? Or that a person called Jesus does dwell in that sun?'

Madeleine said, 'I admit nothing. How can I? I haven't had a chance to examine the evidence in a scientific manner.'

'How can you?' Nadir Shirazi said. He threw his hands up. 'This is something to which science can't be applied.'

'Oh, yes it can!' Madeleine said, and at this moment Orme interrupted.

'It's useless to argue about what might happen. Why don't we shelve speculation now, since it's just going to make everybody angry. I'm going out to watch the celebration. Anyone want to join me?'

Bronski and Shirazi said they'd like to. Madeleine refused, saying she was tired. Evidently she wanted the Iranian to stay, too, but she would not say so. He just looked at her and shrugged. Orme wondered how long they'd be able to stay together. Though he hadn't witnessed any arguments, he had noticed a coolness between them lately, one interspersed with restrained disagreements.

'I'll be back early,' Nadir said.

This time, she shrugged.

He laughed, and he followed the other two out.

Once outside the well-insulated house, they could hear the music and the shouting and laughter several blocks away. They walked to the big square of the village, lit by hundreds of torches, where many acquaintances grabbed them and offered them wine and food. Orme drank several glasses and then joined in the dancing. This was very active, involving much whirling and kicking and hopping. It reminded him more of Russian peasant dancing than Israeli, and the music was, literally, unearthly, since it was derived from that of the Krsh.

After an hour he was worn out, though the lesser gravity should have permitted him to continue longer. Perhaps it was all the wine he drank, since many of the dances also required the participants to leap around without spilling the wine, and at certain pauses everybody downed their drinks and then people ran and refilled them. Or perhaps it was the nervous strain he'd been under. He hadn't been sleeping well lately. Nightmares, visions of the Last Judgement, of mysterious faceless figures pointing their fingers accusingly at him, of groping through a fog and suddenly finding himself on the edge of an abyss, had filled his nights. And more than once he'd been awakened by the feeling that someone had been standing by his bed.

Panting, he'd walked away. 'I've had it! I'm going home!'

The others decided to retire, too. But as they made their way through the noisy throng, he felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned and looked into Gulthilo's blue eyes.

'What're you doing here?' he said. Then, 'I'm sorry to speak so abruptly. But you startled me. You're so far from your village.'

She smiled and moved closer to him so he could hear her above the din.

'I'm being bold and brash again. I came here just to be with you.'

'What'll your family say?'

'They don't own me. Would you like to dance with me?'

Orme looked at his colleagues, who were standing a few feet away.

'You guys go on!' he shouted. 'Avram, don't wait up for me!'

Bronski, frowning, walked up to him.

'Richard, don't get into any trouble. You know the moral code. They...'

'I can take care of myself,' he said. 'You go on. I'll be all right.'

Bronski, still looking grave, walked off, said something to Shirazi, and they left, though not without some backward glances.

'I'm too pooped out to dance,' he said to the woman. 'Maybe we could just sit down and talk.'

Gulthilo took his hand and led him through the crowd. When they were out of the square, she stopped, gracefully sat down on to the grass of a front yard under a tree, and said, 'Sit with me.'

He did so, but he looked worriedly around him. There were at least a dozen couples sitting or lying nearby in the shadows. From what he could see of one, he imagined that their marriage would have to be announced soon.

She kissed him on his cheek and he almost jumped.

'Don't be so nervous, Richard,' she whispered. 'I'm not going to seduce you.' She laughed softly. 'Not that I would mind if you seduced me.'

'Don't talk that way,' he said. 'I'm very vulnerable. It wouldn't take much, you know. But here, well, you're supposed to be in love when you, ah, lie with a woman. I think you're very beautiful, very attractive, but... I'm not in love with you.'

She didn't draw away from him.

'Thanks for being frank. How could you be in love with me when we've only been together once for a short time? But,' she paused, drew in her breath sharply, and said, 'I think I'm in love with you.'

The sweat pouring down his face was not just from dancing. Nor was the shaking entirely caused by over-exertion. He put his arm around her shoulders but dropped it after a few seconds.

'I don't think we should be so close. I need cooling off, not heating up.'

She laughed again.

'But if we mated, you'd be doing it because of passion, for lust, right?'