Jesus said, 'You are forgiven, and you will hereafter be at my right side. Though you are not of the seed of Abraham, you are a son of those with whom the Creator made a covenant in the time of Noah. Rise, and from now on bend your knees only when you pray to the Presence.'

Orme was as shocked as the others, though not so much that he could not imagine the effect of this unexpected conversion behind the Iron Curtain. Or, for that matter, on this side of it. Every TV set was showing this; what a sensation it must be causing!

Surely the ambassador, though probably a third-generation Marxist atheist, had had some doubts. He may have been as unaware of them as St Paul was when he was persecuting the Christians. But, like Paul, he had been overwhelmed without warning. Paul had his road to Damascus; the ambassador, his road to. Jerusalem.

Or, and here Orme cursed himself for his ever-present suspicions, had the ambassador been given instructions by his government to pretend to this conversion? Then he could spy on Jesus. But the Soviets would be aware of the tremendous impact this public defection would make on the world. Would they dare to risk this just to plant an agent? It didn't seem likely.

Orme felt even more doubtful and weakened, physically and emotionally. This man, or being, spoke and acted as if with authority from God Himself. Yet, the Antichrist would seem to be good, to be, in fact, Christ Himself. Only by its fruit could you judge the tree. The Antichrist must be judged by the long-term results of his actions. But, so far, the Martian Jesus had done nothing the real Jesus would not do.

In time, the fruit would be ripe for the plucking. Then anyone with a good heart might see who was who, what was what.

Orme wondered if he should wait, should put off what he'd planned for this day. He hadn't given the so-called Messiah enough time to reveal the evil behind the seeming good. The seed should be allowed to grow until, instead of food, the harvest was weeds.

'Oh, Lord,' Orme thought, 'let me not take the road to the right nor to the left. Let me go straight ahead on the road that leads to Your beloved city.'

He looked around, and, seeing a familiar face, felt joy. Was this man's presence here a sign from God? It was Jack Tarlatti, a well-known TV-documentary producer and newsman.

Orme strolled over to him, aware that two Martian soldiers were watching him. But they would be doing so only to ensure his security. He grabbed Tarlatti by the hand and said, 'Jack, my old drinking buddy, my blessing and my cross! There were times I thought I'd never see you again! How are you?' Tarlatti, feeling the compactly bundled letter in his hand, quit smiling.

Orme said, 'Just take it. Put it in your pocket when no one's looking. Read it after you get back to your hotel. It's self-explanatory. Do as I say, please, Jack. It'll be the biggest scoop you ever had.'

Tarlatti, trying to smile as widely as before, said, 'Sure. Anything you say, Dick. How about an interview right now?'

Orme looked around. Azzur, Jesus's secretary, was gesturing at him to come immediately. Obviously, he was wanted for the greeting of the dignitaries.

Orme clapped Tarlatti on the shoulder. 'Sorry, I'm too busy right now. Sure good to see you, Jack. Have to run now.'

As he walked away he hoped that Tarlatti's curiosity would not overcome him. He must not read that letter until what had to be done had been done.

After what seemed to Orme an interminable time, the greetings and the diplomatic compliments ended. From the Maranatha issued thirty large canoelike vessels. Into these the Martians and a number of honoured Terrestrial guests seated themselves. The lead vehicle contained the pilot, Jesus, the Russian ambassador, the Israeli prime minister, the three Marsnauts, the fleet admiral, Jesus's secretary, and the presidents of the NAC, Uganda, and West Germany. Orme thought that the selection of the last three was curious, but he didn't doubt that Jesus knew exactly what he was doing.

The procession started with squads of motorcycle police and an armoured car leading. Behind them was a car with a TV crew and three cars of Israeli secret service men. Then Jesus's vehicle, two cars of more secret service personnel, then the Martian vehicles, then the cars with the Israeli and visiting dignitaries and behind them more secret service men, uniformed policemen, and soldiers. On both sides of the parade soldiers kept the crowd from pressing in or attempted to do so. The heat and the tumult were almost overwhelming. So great was the noise that Orme could not hear Bronski when he shouted something at him.

The plan was that the procession would go first to the Wailing Wall. There Jesus would pray for a few minutes. After that, he would to go the Knesset and make a short televised speech, and then to the new King David Hotel which would be occupied only by the Martians and several hundred security men.

Orme felt the butt of the laser under his baggy uniform. When he got to the Wailing Wall and Jesus got out, he would use the weapon. The whole world would see Richard Orme, captain of the Marsnauts, a recent convert to the Jesus of Mars, draw the laser and shoot the ray into him. Orme did not expect to live long afterwards. Nor was he sure that Jesus would be hurt. If he was indeed the energy-being, he would absorb the energy of the laser beam. If he were not the energy-being but the Antichrist - though they might be one and the same - he still might be invulnerable. A man who could walk in an atomic reactor, as Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego had walked in the furnace, would not be touched even by the ravening fire of a laser. On the other hand, if he were just a man, he might not have entered the reactor. He might have just pretended to do so.

In any event, the whole world, Earth and Mars, would see Richard Orme try to kill the Messiah. It might even hear his words of denunciation, though there was little likelihood of this. But Jack Tarlatti would produce his letter, and then everybody would know the truth. Whether they chose to believe it or not was in the hands of God.

At least, he, Richard Orme, would have done what God would want him to do. He would die a martyr for the true faith. The world would see, though it might not fully understand until later, that a man who had walked and talked with this Jesus did not believe that he was the true Jesus. And the man who did not believe this was an Earthman. Therefore, other people of Earth might conclude that one of their own knew the truth and, knowing it, had acted as his conscience told him to act.

Or would his act be misinterpreted? Would he be called a Judas Iscariot?

It did not matter. He had to do what was right.

Gulthilo would be very hurt and very ashamed when she saw this. Perhaps she and their child would be disgraced, even though they had no blame. He grieved because of this, but he still must act.

He was thinking of this when the vehicle came over the top of a hill and the sprawling city of Jerusalem was in view. There it is, he thought. How differently I feel now. On Mars I had been in ecstasy envisioning the return of Jesus to the city that had crucified him. But then I did not know that the Jesus who was nailed to the cross was not the Jesus who returned two thousand years later in triumph.

At that moment there was a flurry on his right side, men and women and children caught in a human whirlpool. The soldiers halted and the procession with it.

'What's going on?' Orme shouted to no one in particular.

Suddenly, there were pistol shots. A soldier staggered and fell, and a man, tall, lean, bearded, wild-eyed, burst from the melee. He raised a pistol in his left hand and pointed it at Jesus. Shots from at least a dozen soldiers struck him; others must have missed, since four spectators fell to the ground.