Joanna seemed barely awake. But she said, "Knowing what the problem is, somehow it does not seem so bad. It was the unknown that frightened me."

"It can still kill us, whether we know what it is or not."

She smiled wanly. "You won’t let us die, Jamie. I know you won’t."

Why is she putting this load on me? he wondered, half angry. But aloud he said to her, "There’s not much any of us can do now except wait."

Joanna’s weak little smile widened slightly, as if she knew something that Jamie did not.

The comm unit buzzed. Jamie flicked the switch and Abell’s frog-like face appeared on the control panel screen. He looked just as sallow and gaunt as the four in the rover, his sunken cheeks making his protruding eyes seem to pop out even more than usual.

"There’s a message coming in for Joanna from Kaliningrad," Abell said. "Is she up and about?"

"I am here," Joanna said, leaning enough from the pilot’s seat so that Abell could see her even though the miniature camera built into the control panel was aimed at Jamie.

"Oh, good. I’ll tell them up in Mars 2 to pipe it right down to you."

"How are you doing?" Jamie asked.

Abell swung his head back and forth. "Reed’s pumping so much vitamin C into us that I feel like I’m turning into an orange grove. I can shake my head without getting woozy, but I still feel like canned dog food."

Jamie realized that he felt like used dog food. And that Abell refrained from asking how he felt.

"Dmitri and Ollie are outside rerigging the spare rover. Mikhail’s straw-bossing them over the TV link and making their lives miserable. He’s too weak to go out there himself so he’s giving them hell every inch of the way."

"How long before they get under way?" Jamie asked.

"Another hour. Two at most. Mikhail’s taking Dmitri with him. Ollie’s sore as hell."

"No sense risking more skins than you have to," Jamie said.

"Reed’s coming, too."

"Tony? Going outside?"

"Yeah. He says you’ll need a medic by the time they get to you."

That’s a comforting thought, Jamie said to himself.

Abell said, "Okay. I’ll tell them to shoot you the message from Kaliningrad."

The screen cleared briefly, flickered; then the image of a tired old man took form. His red hair was rumpled, his sharp little Vandyke beard messy, his shirt collar unbuttoned. He identified himself as the chief of mission control.

"My message is for Dr. Joanna Brumado, and it is of a personal nature. It is a question, actually, that Dr. Brumado must answer for us."

Jamie swiveled the little ball-mounted camera on the control panel toward Joanna while the mission controller hesitated, as if waiting for him or expecting a reply. Then he took a deep breath and plunged onward:

"Dr. Brumado, this question concerns your father. As you know, he has been quite close to the day-to-day operations of our mission. Naturally, he has been informed of your… predicament. He is already heading for Houston. I have given strict orders that no one outside mission control is to know about the problem we are now facing until the situation has been resolved. This is to forestall the media from sensationalizing the situation, you see."

Jamie thought, I sure as hell see that they don’t want the media to know the fix we’re in. They’d be buried alive by reporters.

"However," the chief controller went on, "apparently your father is being accompanied by a representative of the American news media, a young woman television reporter. We have not been able to learn her affiliation, although we have her name." The Russian looked down, obviously reading from a piece of paper. He pronounced stiffly, "Edie Elgin."

Joanna frowned. Jamie felt a jolt of surprise. Edith? With Brumado?

The chief controller looked distinctly uncomfortable. "Your father will want to speak with you, of course. Apparently this newswoman with him wants permission to tape your conversation for possible broadcast — after this crisis is resolved. The tape would not be released, of course, without the permission of the Mars Project administrators. And your father’s permission also, of course."

She’s hooked up with Brumado, Jamie realized. Son of a bitch! And she wants to make a tape of their conversation. What a coldblooded piece of genius that is! If we die she’ll have terrific footage of the last tender moments between father and daughter. If we live, it’ll still be great human — interest material for her.

And she hasn’t asked to contact me. She doesn’t give a damn about me. Why the hell should she? She’s got Brumado now.

The chief controller was asking Joanna, "Will you be able to conduct a brief conversation with your father — allowing for the time lag between transmission and reception of messages, of course."

Joanna glanced at Jamie, then seemed to draw herself up taller and straighter in the cockpit seat.

"I appreciate your solicitude toward my father and myself, and I thank you for it. But please do not bother to arrange a special transmission for us," Joanna said, more firmly than Jamie had ever heard her speak before. "I repeat: do not set up a link with Houston. I want no special privileges. If you have chosen to maintain a news blackout about this problem we are facing, then please do not consider me to be an exception."

Jamie cut off the transmission switch. "Wait a minute," he said. "Doesn’t your father have a right…"

Her red-rimmed eyes flared at him. "I am not a little girl who must talk with her papa when she is in trouble. I want to be treated just the same way you and the others are treated."

"But he’s Alberto Brumado," Jamie said. "It’s not you that they want to give special treatment to; it’s him."

Joanna tried to shake her head. The effort made her grip the edge of the control panel with a white-knuckled hand. "No. I would not be able to keep my strength in front of him. I would break down and cry. I will not have that put on videotape."

"Oh. I see. I guess."

"Jamie — if we… if it becomes certain that we are going to die here, then there will be plenty of time to speak to my father. Each of us will tape messages for our families, I am sure."

"I guess so." And Edith will get it all for the goddammed prime-time news.

"But not now. I have not given up hope. You have not given up hope, have you?"

"Hell no," he said, with a fervor that he did not truly feel.

"Then turn the transmitter on once again."

Jamie did. Joanna took a breath, brushed her hands unconsciously through her tousled hair.

"I appreciate your offer," she said calmly, with great dignity, "but my decision is that I want to be treated exactly like the others. I expect you to keep my father informed of our situation — and the newswoman with him. Thank you very much."

She’s as sore about Edith as I am, Jamie saw. The realization gave him no comfort at all.

Dmitri Iosifovitch Ivshenko was at the controls of the backup rover, a crooked grin on his pinched face. He is happy to be on the ground doing something useful instead of sitting up in orbit, Vosnesensky thought.

Reed sat back on one of the midship benches. Vosnesensky wondered about the Englishman. He is here with us out of a sense of guilt; he wants to atone for the accident with the vitamins. Will he be a positive help to us or will he just get in our way? He doesn’t know how to drive the rover. He has no real experience in EVA. I doubt that he has been outside the dome more than a few hours, total, since we landed. What good will he be in an emergency?

The Russian turned in the cockpit seat and looked over his shoulder at Reed. The physician seemed lost in thought, dazed almost, as he leaned back on the bench, both hands gripping its edge.

Vosnesensky shook his head, then immediately regretted it. He still felt woozy and terribly weak. Having my own private physician aboard has done nothing to improve my health, he grumbled to himself.