In six weeks he had found four meteorites in the ice, none of them Martian.

For more than three years Jamie had worked and trained with scientists from a dozen different nations in laboratories and field centers from Iceland to Australia. For most of that time he — and everyone else — had known that he would not be selected as the geologist to land on Mars. Father Fulvio DiNardo was the top choice for the mission, not only a world-class geologist but a Jesuit priest as well.

"He’s what we call a ‘twofer,’ " one of the American mission administrators had explained cheerfully over breakfast, months earlier, when they had been at Star City, outside Moscow. "Fills two slots: geologist and chaplain."

Tony Reed had agreed, a slight smirk twitching at his lips. "Yes. He can hear confessions and baptize any babies born during the mission. No other geologist could be so useful."

Jamie reluctantly accepted the reality of DiNardo’s unassailable position. The priest had been involved in planetary studies since the great second wave of space probes had been sent to Jupiter and the asteroids; he had actually helped design some of the instruments they carried. He had been the first geologist on the moon since the Apollo 17 mission, thirty-some years ago. Even now, while the scientists trained for the first manned mission to Mars, Father DiNardo spent most of his time in the isolation laboratory up in the Soviet space station, Mir 5, directing the geological studies of the rock and soil samples returned by the unmanned probes sent to scout the red planet in advance of the human expedition.

It was Father DiNardo’s backup who bothered Jamie. Franz Hoffman seemed to have the inside track, according to all the gossip. The Viennese had been a physicist originally, then had switched to geology only a few years ago. Jamie was certain that it was his Austrian nationality more than his work in geology that placed him in the number-two slot behind DiNardo. And ahead of Jamie.

For months Jamie had felt a simmering anger rising within him. I’m a better geologist than Hoffman, he told himself. But he’ll get the nod to go to Mars as DiNardo’s backup and I’ll stay here on Earth. Because the politicians want a balance of nationalities and there’s no other Austrian in the group. Worse yet, he knew, the politicians are trying their damnedest to keep the numbers of Americans and Russians equal. And they count me as an American.

As he approached Dr. Li’s door he wondered for the thousandth time what he could do to change the situation. Why has he sent for me? Now that Li’s officially been named as expedition commander is he going to act as a scientist or as a politician? Can he help me? Will he, if he can?

Jamie knocked on Dr. Li’s door.

The position of expedition commander had been selected with extreme care by the politicians and administrators. He had to be a highly regarded scientist, a natural leader, an inspiration to the men and women whom he would command on another world. He had to be able to placate wounded egos and solve emotional problems among his sensitive scientists — and astronauts.

Most of all, he had to be from a neutral nation: neither East nor West, neither Arab nor Jew, neither Hindu nor Moslem.

Dr. Li Chengdu was an ascetically lean, sallow-faced man who had been born in Singapore of a Chinese merchant family, educated in Shanghai and Geneva, and was rumored to be in line for a Nobel Prize for his research in atmospheric physics: he had found a way to reverse the depletion of the ozone layer and close the long-dreaded ozone hole in the upper atmosphere. A man in his early fifties, he was young and hale enough to make the long journey to Mars, yet old and respected enough to be the unquestioned leader of the expedition in fact as well as in name.

"Enter please," came Dr. Li’s voice, only slightly muffled by the thin pressed-wood door.

Jamie stepped into the room that served as Li’s office and living quarters. Li got to his feet from behind the desk that had been shoe-horned in between the bunk bed and the sloping curve of the outer wall. He was so tall that he had to stoop to avoid hitting his head against the curving ceiling panels.

The room had no personality in it at all, no stamp of an individual’s presence. Li had come in only a few days ago and was scheduled to leave with Jamie’s group the following morning. The desk was bare except for a laptop computer that hummed softly, its screen glowing a pale orange. The bed was made with military precision, blankets meticulously tucked in under the thin mattress. The one window was blocked by the plowed snow heaped against the side of the building. A strip of fluorescent lamps ran along the low ceiling, turning Li’s sallow skin tones into something almost ghastly.

When he had first met Dr. Li, two years earlier, Jamie had been surprised at the man’s height. Now he felt surprised all over again. Li was almost six-five, lean to the point of gauntness, a tall scarecrow of a man, with hollow cheeks and long slim fingers. The newly named expedition commander wore a soft velour shirt of deep charcoal that hung loosely on his thin frame.

"Ah, Dr. Waterman. Please sit down." Li indicated the only other chair in the room, a government-issue piece of worn dull-gray steel with a thin plastic cushion that felt iron hard.

Li took his chair behind the desk once again. For a long moment he said nothing. He peered intently at Jamie, as if trying to see inside him. Jamie returned the gaze calmly. He had watched his grandfather conversing with other Navahos often enough; they were never in a hurry to speak. It was important to allow time for thought, for reflection, for sizing up the other man.

Jamie studied Li’s face. His hair was still dark, though receding from his high domed forehead. Decidedly oriental eyes, hooded, unfathomable; with the drooping moustache they made him look like an ancient Chinese sage, or perhaps the villain in an old-fashioned tale of intrigue. He ought to be dressed in a long silk robe and be living in a palace in Beijing, not stuck in the snow down at the ass end of the world.

There was a slightly cloying odor in the tiny room. Incense? Cologne? It almost smelled like marijuana.

"I have a favor to ask of you," said Dr. Li at last. His voice had become soft, almost a whisper. Jamie found himself leaning forward slightly to catch his words over the incessant hiss of the air blowing through the heating ducts.

With an almost furtive glance at the orange display screen of the computer on his desk, Li went on, "You have done very good work here — and in your other training activities, as well."

"Thank you." Jamie bowed his head slightly.

"I wonder if you would consider staying here for another six weeks?"

"Stay? Here?"

"The group you have been working with is scheduled to go to Utah next, I believe." Another glance at the computer screen. "Yes, survival training on high desert."

Before Jamie could reply, Li added, "I would appreciate it if you would remain here at McMurdo and help the next group to acclimatize themselves to the Antarctic environment. It would be extremely helpful to me and to your fellow scientists."

Jamie’s mind was racing. He’s just been appointed expedition commander. It wouldn’t be smart to refuse his request. But why is he asking me to do this? Why is he asking me?

"Uh… the ten of us have been training pretty much as a unit, you know."

"I realize that," said Dr. Li. "But you understand that these groupings made for training will not be the same as the teams selected for the actual flight."

Jamie nodded, wondering what was going on and why.

"Among the group due to come here next is Dr. Joanna Brumado. She is an excellent microbiologist."

"I’ve met her."

Li nodded slowly. In his softest voice he said, "Daughter of Alberto Brumado."