"Save your breath," Jamie said.

"Yeah…"

The two women were inside battening down the lab modulo for the trip. Their precious specimens of lichen were already safely protected in insulated containers. Ilona had worried that the lichen might die for lack of sunlight until Joanna pointed out that they obviously could lie dormant for long periods without light when sandstorms covered the rocks for days or even weeks on end.

"I think… that’s… good enough," Connors panted as Jamie dug around the rearmost wheel on the logistics module.

"Think we’ve got… enough traction?" Jamie was gasping too.

"Yeah… Looks okay."

"Let’s try it."

They trudged back to the airlock, utterly weary, and clambered inside. Jamie would have left his shovel outside, but Connors insisted that they stow both shovels in their proper place in the outside equipment bay of the lab module. Pete hasn’t lost his sense of detail, at least, Jamie thought. Must be his astronaut training.

It took more than an hour for them to squirm out of their suits and vacuum them clean, even with Joanna and Ilona helping them. Ilona was not much help; she was very weak. We must look pathetic, Jamie thought. I’m glad Mikhail isn’t here to see us.

"Get some food into you," Joanna said, looking ashen herself.

Jamie’s insides were boiling. "I don’t think I could keep anything down."

"Energy bars, at least. The glucose will do you good."

Ilona slumped on the bench in the midship area, her eyes barely open.

Connors pulled the refrigerator open. "Maybe some juice… I feel like I’ve got a hangover. A bad one."

"Juice will raise your blood sugar," Joanna said. "That will be good."

The orange juice was entirely gone. There was no other juice in the capacious refrigerator except tomato. Connors grabbed the plastic container and pulled off its cap. Raising it to his lips he took four big gulps, then handed it to Jamie.

Thinking that if whatever was ailing them was infectious it didn’t matter now, Jamie drained the container almost to the end.

"There are juice concentrates in the freezer," Ilona called weakly from where she sat.

"Do we have enough water?" Jamie asked.

"Yes, we should," Joanna said. "I’ll see to it."

Connors shambled off toward the cockpit. But he got no farther than the benches halfway there. He sagged onto the bench opposite Ilona.

"My… legs… Jesus, they… won’t carry me."

Jamie pushed past Joanna toward the astronaut, driven on a sudden spurt of adrenaline. Connors’s eyes looked frightened. Joanna’s, terrified.

"What’s the matter, Pete?"

"Can’t… I just feel… so damned weak…"

"Okay. Okay. Just sit there. Get your strength back."

"But we got… to get started."

"I can drive."

"You?"

"I can do it. I know how."

"Yeah… but…"

Jamie made a smile big enough for them all to see. "Just like driving pickups in New Mexico. No sweat."

Wishing he truly felt that confident, Jamie made his way to the cockpit and slid into the driver’s seat. He had been trained to operate the rover as a backup, of course, and he had watched Vosnesensky and Connors for enough hours. He had even driven the rover under their skeptical eyes.

Can you do it all alone? Jamie asked himself. Hell yes, he replied silently. I’ve got to.

Taking his time, going deliberately slowly, carefully, Jamie checked out the control panel from one end to the other. Then he touched the switch that started the drive motors. Beneath his seat the electric generator whined to a higher pitch. Funny how you never notice the damned thing humming away until it changes its tune, Jamie said to himself. Or stops altogether.

"Here we go," he called over his shoulder. Ilona made a weak smile back at him. Joanna was sitting beside Connors, holding a plastic cup in one hand. She’s turning into Florence Nightingale, Jamie thought. Will Pete be okay? Will Ilona make it? God, they could both die. We could all die.

The rover lurched forward, slewed slightly to the left, then straightened as Jamie eased off the accelerator and held the steering wheel firmly.

"We’re moving!" he yelped. "We’re on our way."

Not a sound came from the three behind him.

Then Jamie thought, We’re heading in the wrong direction. The cliff village is the other way; we’re leaving it behind.

Despite his own pain and the terrible weariness that was sapping the strength from his body, Mikhail Vosnesensky grimly donned his hard suit. Abell and Mironov helped him, but neither of them looked any better than Vosnesensky felt.

It is the dust, the Russian told himself. It has to be. Outwardly he had dismissed the idea of some weird Martian infection as too preposterous even to consider. Yet deep in his heart he feared the possibility that they had all been poisoned by some alien bug for which there was no cure.

Although Dr. Li said it was not necessary for him to be outside when the lander arrived, Vosnesensky quoted regulations until the expedition commander reluctantly bowed acquiescence.

I may be sick, Vosnesensky told himself, but I still know my duty. The regulations call for a cosmonaut to be suited up and ready to assist the landing party once they touch down. There is a good reason for this rule and as long as I can stand on my own two legs I will not allow any rule to be broken.

So he tottered weakly out through the airlock hatch and stood waiting, a fire-engine red figure standing stolidly on the rusty soil of Mars. Exactly on schedule the L/AV streaked across the pink sky and deployed its parachutes. They billowed into perfect white hemispheres dangling the cup-and-saucer lander beneath them. At the precise moment the chutes detached the retro-rockets fired. The lander, with cosmonaut Dmitri Iosifovitch Ivshenko at its controls and astronaut Oliver Zieman beside him, touched the sands of Mars about two hundred meters away.

The lander had one passenger only: Dr. Yang Meilin. And a cargo of pharmaceuticals packed in hard plastic boxes.

In less than half an hour the diminutive Dr. Yang was deep in conference with Tony Reed in the dome’s infirmary.

Hard to tell what’s going on behind those slanted eyes, Reed said to himself as he showed her the data from all his tests of the ground team.

"The people in the rover seem to be the worst off," Reed was saying aloud. "Although god knows that most of the people here in the dome are in bad-enough shape."

"How did you permit this to happen?" Dr. Yang asked. Her voice was silky, low. But still the question startled Reed.

"Permit it?" His voice sounded shrill, defensive, even to himself. "How can anyone combat a disease unless he has a clear diagnosis?"

"You have no idea of what is affecting your comrades?"

"None," he snapped. "Do you?"

Her face was a perfectly impenetrable mask. "I cannot say until I have performed some tests."

Reed pushed back his stubborn lock of sandy hair. "Then I suggest we get started on your tests."

"Yes. I notice that you do not seem to be troubled by this illness. Therefore I will use you as a baseline control, if you have no objection."

"None whatsoever."

"Good," said Dr. Yang. Then, matter-of-factly, "Roll up your sleeve, please."

Reed obediently bared his left arm, thinking, You come down here all fresh and businesslike, certain that you’ll discover whatever it is that I’ve overlooked. Perhaps you will. Perhaps you’ll be luckier than I’ve been. Or smarter. It’s my own fault. I’ve missed something, I’ve done something wrong. Or failed to do something I should have. And she knows it. They all know it. They all blame me.

As Dr. Yang deftly slipped a needle into his vein, Tony insisted silently, But it isn’t me. It’s this blasted alien world we’re on. We have no business here. We’re out of our depth. I’m out of my depth. I should never have come to Mars. None of us should have. Mars has defeated me. Mars has defeated us all.