Even though he was only nine, Jamie immediately recognized that the girl was imitating an Anglo school teacher.

Her mother called from the cool darkness of the house, through its open door, and spoke sternly in Navaho to her. Jamie realized his grandfather was standing beside him now, laughing at the scene.

Scrambling to his feet, Jamie asked, "What’d she say, Al?"

"Aw, she just told her daughter not to hurt the puppy." He laughed. "Then she told her not to make jokes about her teacher in front of a white man."

"A white man?"

"You, son!"

"But I’m not a white man."

"Guess you look like one to her," said Al.

The following week Jamie was sent back to Berkeley, where his parents expressed great pleasure that their son had not turned into "a wild Indian."

It was damned annoying to be a sage.

Li Chengdu stared at the blank comm screen and still saw James Waterman’s stubborn face. An honest face, slightly square with broad cheekbones and just a hint of distant Asian ancestry in the shape of his eyes. Piercing black eyes that were an open pathway to the young man’s soul.

I should not have lost my temper with him, Li scolded himself. I was angry because he is down there on the planet and I am forced to ride in this celestial tin can without ever setting foot on Mars.

There was more to it than that, he knew. Russians, Americans, Japanese — nineteen different nationalities living cheek by jowl a hundred million kilometers from Earth. If there isn’t a mental breakdown before we return home I’ll be surprised beyond words. Not even the Japanese were meant to live this close together.

The engineers had anticipated all the physical problems of the Mars mission, but they had studiously ignored the worries of the psychologists. No, rather, they had passed over all those worries by ordering the psychologists to pick "well-balanced" personalities who could remain stable even under the pressure-cooker conditions of this mission. Li did not know whether he should laugh or weep. Remain stable under these conditions! How does a man remain stable when he is supposed to deny himself sex for nearly two years? This mission should have been planned by Polynesians, not Russians and Americans. The two most prudish peoples in the world.

And now this American Indian has his government upset with his foolish words. That is something none of us had planned for.

At least the crowding had eased now that half the ship’s complement had departed for the surface. Li leaned back in his softly yielding chair. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the ruddy curve of Mars float past in his compartment’s round window. The orbiting Mars 2 spacecraft was still tethered to its Mars 1 twin, five kilometres away, the two of them still rotating about their common center to maintain a feeling of Martian-level gravity. If it became necessary to send one of the backup personnel down to the surface, he or she could go instantly. They were all acclimated to the gravity of Mars.

Li was grateful that their long voyage had not required them to live in zero gravity for any length of time. He always became nauseous in zero gravity; even thinking of unending months of it made him feel queasy.

Sighing heavily, he pushed his chair away from the comm console and stood up, almost six and a half feet tall, lean as a broom handle. The tightly buttoned collar of his coveralls hid the old scar on his throat, a reminder of the riots during his student days in Shanghai. The only decoration on the olive drab outfit was his name tag on the left breast and the shoulder patch of the First Martian Expedition.

Silly of the Americans to be troubled over a few words, he thought. Yet they have never fully resolved their problems with the Indians. Li frowned. No, they did not call them "Indians" anymore. Native Americans? Amerinds? Words are important, he realized, especially in a nation ruled by its media.

As commander of the First Martian Expedition, Li Chengdu had both absolute power and absolute responsibility. Two dozen human beings were under his charge, their very lives in his hands. Half of them, the envied half, were down on the surface of Mars. Waterman was not the first choice among the geologists, not even the second. But the young man is down there on the surface of Mars; his Tao is so powerful that it shapes and transforms the paths of all others who come in touch with him, even my own.

Those of us remaining up here, coasting in orbit, secretly consider ourselves second-rate. There is important work for us to do here in orbit, but except for the few who are going to probe the tiny moons, the scientists here would gladly commit murder for the chance to replace any one of the men or women down on the planet’s surface.

I am being melodramatic, he sighed to himself. These are all adult human beings, the healthiest and most stable men and women who could be selected out of the thousands who sought positions on this expedition. The best of the best. They have their problems, naturally. We all face stresses and emotional tensions. It would be foolish to expect otherwise. My task is to reconcile these problems and make certain that they do not interfere with the performance of our mission.

But how healthy and stable was it for that American to speak Navaho to the world’s media? How healthy and stable is it for anyone to want to fly off to another world, risking one’s life for the thrill of setting foot where no one has stepped before?

Ah, said Li to himself, perhaps that is a form of madness that is divine. The human beast is an explorer, a wanderer, and always has been. Young Waterman’s ancestors would never have roamed from Asia to America if it were not thus.

Dealing with two dozen such wandering souls while simultaneously trying to keep their overseers back on Earth placated — that requires the patience of a Confucius, the intelligence of an Einstein, and the guile of a Machiavelli. I am none of them.

Yet as far as these young men and women are concerned, as far as the mission controllers in Kaliningrad and Houston are concerned, I am all of those things and more. And so I must continue to appear to them. If for no other reason than to protect them from their politicians back on Earth. Even when I really want to pursue that slender young blonde who is running the cartographic cameras. Such a tempting smile!

Li sighed heavily. Damned annoying being a sage.

"TOSH-ima," the Japanese corrected. "Not Tosh-EE-ma."

Jamie unconsciously bowed his head slightly, acknowledging the meteorologist’s pronunciation. Toshima’s voice was soft and he smiled as he spoke, but it was clear that he wanted his name pronounced his way. He seemed big for a Japanese: slightly taller than Jamie himself, thick-bodied, with a round flat-featured face.

The wardroom felt almost crowded with all twelve of them sitting together. They had pushed the three tables together and, after a long day of unloading supplies and equipment, were celebrating with a festive dinner.

Vosnesensky and his fellow Russian, Mironov, sat shoulder to shoulder at one end of the table, two squat fireplugs in gray coveralls. The American astronauts, Connors and Paul Abell, Were on the Russians’ left. The three women sat across from the Americans, and the other scientists had seated themselves around the rest of the table.

Jamie had spent more than an hour during the free time after they had finished unloading the second L/AV composing a conciliatory note for Houston. He had used Li’s words as exactly as he could remember them: "I was overwhelmed with emotion upon stepping onto the surface of Mars and relapsed into the language of my ancestors." That ought to satisfy the pisspot sons of bitches, he thought as he transmitted his apology to the spacecraft orbiting above.