It surprised Jamie when the screen lit up to show, not Li Chengdu up in the orbiting command spacecraft or even one of the mission controllers at Kaliningrad. He found himself looking into the sad gray eyes of Alberto Brumado.

Brumado had flown to Washington the morning after the tumultuous celebration in Rio. There was a public relations furor brewing in the States and no less than the Vice-President herself was making outrageous demands that one of the scientists be removed from the team of explorers on the surface of Mars.

He had spent two days calming the politicians, but he could not deny that the American media was in a hot-breathed frenzy over the fact that a Native American was among the Martian explorers and he had refused to speak the speech that the space agency public relations officers had written for him.

Brumado had met with the media as well as the politicians and discovered that, like sharks attracted by the scent of blood, the media were circling around the figure of James Waterman, ready to close in for the kill.

Brumado had one goal and one only: to make such a success of this first mission to Mars that the people of the world would demand further exploration of the red planet. He was not going to allow one man — foolish or stubborn or simply a victim of circumstances — to wreck what he had fought for thirty years to accomplish. He would not permit one man — red, yellow, white, or green — to turn public opinion against Mars.

Now he sat before a display screen in an office in Washington. Through the half-drawn blinds he could see the modernistic square facade of the Air and Space Museum, with thousands of people streaming through its front doors.

"Ready to transmit to Mars, sir," said the young woman sitting across the office. She had a headset clamped across her curly dark hair and a jumble of electronic gray boxes piled on the desk in front of her.

Brumado saw on the screen a man in white coveralls with a smiling frog’s face. The NASA patch on his chest identified him as the astronaut Abell. He looked relaxed, perfectly at ease; his lips were moving.

Brumado realized this transmission had taken place more than ten minutes ago, and the technicians had turned off the sound so that he would not be confused. They wanted him to begin speaking now, knowing that it would take almost ten minutes for his words and image to reach Mars. By then James Waterman should be sitting where the astronaut was.

Unconsciously, Brumado smiled as he began, "Dr. Waterman, this is rather awkward for me, for several reasons. First, I don’t see you on the screen yet since it takes so much time to send messages back and forth. Second, I have to ask you for a favor. I recall that we met once during your training, and I regret that we did not have the chance to spend more time together and get to know each other better." Brumado hesitated, then plunged ahead. "I suppose you realize that you have caused something of an uproar here in the United States."

Jamie watched Brumado’s neatly bearded face: kindly, a bit sad, his gray hair slightly rumpled. Just three lousy words, Jamie thought as Brumado talked to him. Three little words and there’s an uproar back home.

"… So what I have done is to sit down with the major networks and smooth things over as much as possible for you. They will not be satisfied, however, unless they have the chance to interview you. They have agreed to have one reporter ask the questions, and I have reviewed the questions they have put on tape. We have no objections to your answering any of them. They have your complete biographical file from the agency, of course, and there have already been several interviews with your parents and other people you have known in school and socially. So far, the coverage has been very sympathetic, very favorable to you. But now they want to speak to you."

Brumado pulled in a deep breath, then went on. "I know it must sound almost ridiculous to you, where you are now and with what you are trying to accomplish, but you must understand that you have touched on a very sensitive nerve back here. Indian activists are proclaiming you a hero. The Vice-President is quite angry with the space agency for allowing you to become part of the Mars mission. She thinks you are a troublemaker, although she used much stronger language than that. I pointed out to her that I myself pushed to get you assigned to the mission, but that only made her angrier, I think. So — what to do?"

Jamie almost started to answer the question, then realized that Brumado was not waiting for an answer. "We will transmit the media’s questions to you immediately after I finish talking to you. We want you to answer the questions as honestly and openly as you can. The tape of your answers will be screened here in Washington by the Space Council before being released to the media. The Vice-President herself will make the decision to release your tape to the media or not. I suggest you review the entire tape, listen carefully to every question, and then go back and answer each one in turn."

Brumado seemed to hunch closer to the screen. His face took on a more intense, more sorrowful look. "I must warn you that the quality of your answers will determine whether or not you are allowed to remain with the surface team. I have spoken at length with Li Chengdu and he is vehemently against your being replaced for political reasons. But if the Vice-President insists upon it, we will have no choice but to send you up to the orbiter and send the Australian, Dr. O’Hara, to the surface in your place."

Brumado leaned back again, then said, "Well, that’s it. I regret that this is happening, but we must try to deal with it as quickly and honestly as we can. The interviewer’s questions will follow immediately. Good-bye for now. And good luck."

The screen flickered momentarily, then the smooth smiling face of a network anchorman appeared. Jamie recognized the face, but could not recall the name. From somewhere in the dome Jamie could hear music floating softly through the air: a Rachmaninoff piano concerto, no loss. Dark and melancholy. Must be one of the Russians’ tapes, he thought. Strange that Brumado didn’t ask to speak with his daughter. Maybe he already did. Maybe Paul told him Joanna’s busy in her lab.

The anchorman did not bother to introduce himself; perhaps he felt that he was so famous that no introduction was necessary.

"Dr. Waterman, I’m going to read off a list of questions we would like you to answer. As I understand it, your answers will be screened by the government before they’re turned over to us. Please feel free to answer as completely as you want. Don’t worry about time. We can edit any redundancies or coughs or sneezes out of the final interview."

His smile grew wider although his eyes seemed hard and intense, like a wolf’s. Jamie remembered Edith warning him that a videotape could be edited to make an interviewee look good or bad, but he barely had time to think of that before the anchorman asked his first question.

"Your records from Berkeley and the University of New Mexico show no indication that you were involved in pro-Indian activism or any causes at all, other than student housing, even though you were president of the student council in your senior year at Albuquerque. Were you politically active in secret? If not, when did you become active?"

And so it went. Jamie followed Brumado’s advice and went through the entire tape before trying to answer any of the questions. It was all the same: an attempt to get Jamie to take a stand on Indian affairs and against the U.S. government’s handling of them. The Anglo even had the gall to bring up Wounded Knee and Custer.

Abell laughed out loud at several of the questions. When the tape was finished he showed Jamie how to rewind it and then stop it at the end of each question, so that he could give his response.