Jesus graciously said that he would wait one more day.

'But I will not forget that there are many among you who have hardened their hearts against me. And there are many who have not said that they are against me or for me. Whoever does not declare himself for me is against me. Woe to the hard of heart and the neutrals!'

That night Orme prayed again, hoping that his Lord would show himself once more. But He did not.

The Maranatha was to land at noon. Early in the morning, however, Rabbi Ram Weisinger, the prime minister pro tem, called the ship. Under his black hat he was sweating.

'Master, we beg you to wait for still another day. The crowds are so great that we must call in more troops. We can't guarantee your safety. Many evil men, Moslem, Christian, and Jewish, have sworn to kill you. There is no way we can screen all of them out, though we've made many arrests.'

'Do not worry about them,' Jesus said. 'I cannot be killed.'

Weisinger's eyes widened, and his expression was strange. But he did not protest.

At 10:00, the three Marsnauts received instructions from Hfathon on their part in the day's activities after landing. Orme asked no questions, and when he was dismissed, went at once to his cabin. Shirazi and Bronski did not come with him.

At 11:30 he was supposed to be in the large room next to the central starboard lock. The instructions had ended at 10:30, giving him a little less than an hour to do what he hoped he would have the courage to do. He got down on his knees and prayed for guidance. When he rose, his heart was still beating hard and his stomach was clenched.

He sat down on the edge of his bunk and placed a large copy of a Krsh translation of the Holy Writings on his knees. Using this as a desk, he wrote quickly a three-page letter, making no corrections. He signed and dated all three pages and placed on each his right-hand fingerprints. After the ink was dry, he folded the letter into a compact bundle and stuck it in an inside pocket of his uniform.

At 10:45, he left the cabin. Instead of heading towards the middle-level main lounge, where his compatriots and many off-duty officers were, he walked towards the aft. At approximately 10:55, he found his victim, a private coming out of a room he shared with nine others. It was empty, the soldier was alone, and there was no one else in sight. Orme, disliking intensely the violence he was subjecting the man to, slugged him with his fist on the side of the head, punched him in the belly as he staggered back, and then gave him a judo chop across the neck. After dragging the unconscious private outside the room, he removed his laser gun from his holster.

At 11:05 he left the room. The soldier was still senseless, his mouth gagged and taped, his legs and hands taped, lying on the floor under a bunk. His sergeant would note that he wasn't present, but it was doubtful that he'd send someone after him. He'd note down his name for punishment afterwards. Still, it was best to make sure that no one would investigate. Having learned the soldier's name, rank and unit from his insignia, Orme located his sergeant through the intercom.

'Private Yokhanan ben-Obed has been assigned to me,' Orme told him. 'It was decided that I should have a Hebrew interpreter with me, and so I picked him.'

'Very well, sir,' the sergeant said.

The Martian army was just like any other. You didn't question the orders of a higher-up.

At 11:15 Orme entered the designated room. Jesus had exchanged his blue robe for a scarlet. Since this was the first time Orme had seen him in this colour, he wondered why the switch had been made. Then he recalled that, shortly before Jesus had been crucified, he had been dressed in a scarlet robe by the authorities. He must have chosen this colour to remind the Earthmen of this. He also could have put on a crown of thorns and carried a cane, which the Roman soldiers had first given him and then taken away to strike him over the head. But that would be too theatrical even for this dramatic man.

Jesus, who was talking with some officers, gave Orme a strange look as he entered. Orme sweated even more heavily. Could he detect that his disciple was nervous? Or could he even know all? He'd once said that he could read minds, though he never permitted himself to do so. In this instance, noting Orme's expression, though Orme was trying to look normal, perhaps registering the emotions inside him - by the electrical fields on Orme's skin? - had Jesus broken his rule?

If so, all was lost. But since Jesus said nothing to him or to the officers, he must not think anything was gravely wrong. After all, everybody here, except the Messiah, was nervous. They were also feeling fatigued, since the Martian gravity field had been cut off, and they were subject to that of Earth. It would take them a long time to get accustomed to their increased weight, three-fifths more than that of their native planet. However, they would soon ride in vehicles enclosed in a field equivalent to that of Mars, and all, except the Master, wore a belt to which was attached an adjustable gravity unit. When the strain got too much for them, they would switch that on.

That device alone was worth a fortune here, Orme thought, and he smiled wryly. Even now, he was speculating on the fortunes to be made from the sale of Martian artefacts.

'Ah, Lord, forgive me.'

The lock swung open. Bright, harsh sunlight, hot air, and the roar of a mob poured in. Jesus stepped out first and paused a moment. Those behind halted. He lifted up a hand and said, loudly, 'May the Creator, our Father, bless you, children of Earth and Mars alike!'

Awaiting him were a regiment of soldiers, squads of policemen, an honour guard, many TV crews, and perhaps five hundred dignitaries. Around the field and lining the road from it, people covered the low hills and the roofs of houses. They roared as he stepped out, roared so loudly that they could not have heard his greeting. But the microphones of the TV men must have picked them up.

Orme came out with the others then. There was much confusion for a while. Jesus had to meet and exchange a few words with the assembled heads of state. He held out his hand, not to be shaken but to be kissed. Sheila Pal, the president of the NAC, did not hesitate, though she must have been aware that millions of her constituents would be enraged. Neither did the Italian ambassador, though the Pope had denounced the Messiah and his government was officially Communist. To kiss Jesus's hand would, theoretically, offend the majority of the populace, still devout Roman Catholic, and also the officially atheistic high-state officials. But the government had announced that its ambassador was sent only to greet the head of a foreign state, Mars. The Messiah's religion had nothing to do with political protocol.

Most of the other Communist nations and many of the socialist democracies had adopted this line. China and the southeastern Asiatic nations had sent no representative, but India, though Communist, was represented by its president and prime minister. The Soviet ambassador to Israel had been given instructions, obviously, to follow the example of Italy. Hand-kissing was excepted, since no self-respecting atheistic Marxian would emulate this capitalistic opiate-of-the-masses custom. But when Anatoly Shevchenko extended his hand to grip Jesus's, the Russian was not only kissing his hand, he was down on his knees.

Speaking English, he said, 'Master, forgive me! I doubted, but now I know that you are indeed the Messiah and that there is a God! Forgive me my sins, which are many, and allow me to take sanctuary with you!'