"Be a helluva thing to go all the way to Mars and then drown coming home," said one of the trainees, a grinning tanned blond from California with the build of a weight lifter.

"Right now," said one of the other women, "I wouldn’t mind drowning. It would be a relief."

The chief made each one of them slide over the raft’s round gunnel and into the water for an hour at a time. "You won’t sink, not with your flotation gear inflated. Only thing you gotta worry about is sharks."

Jamie spent his entire hour in the water worrying about sharks while the chief explained how to watch the water for their telltale dorsal fins. " ’Course, if one comes up from deep we won’t see him until it’s prob’ly too late. Not much you can do about that."

The water seemed warm at first, but as the minutes plodded by Jamie felt the heat leaching out of his body. I’m raising the temperature of the Pacific Ocean, he told himself. I hope the sharks appreciate it.

Joanna’s hour came near sunset. She seemed rigid with terror, but she managed to swing her legs stiffly up on the water-slicked gunnel and slide almost noiselessly into the sea. She hung in the water almost like a corpse, legs unmoving, arms stretched out tensely, her eyes staring, her lips pressed into a tight bloodless line.

She drifted away from the raft time and again without making the slightest effort to swim back toward it. The chief yelled and bellowed at her, but each time he ended by hauling on the umbilical line to bring her closer.

As Jamie lay on his bunk in the darkened rover, the Martian wind calling to him, he saw Joanna once again alone in the cold black sea, terrified, enduring the chief’s exasperated hollering and the embarrassed attention of the other trainees until finally the chief pulled her back aboard the raft. Shivering, Joanna wrapped a blanket around herself and crept to a corner of the raft. There she huddled into a fetal position without speaking a word to anyone.

Why would she endure such fear? Jamie asked himself. Why has she pushed herself to get through all the rigors of training and come here to Mars?

Then he remembered their foray onto the glacier at McMurdo and he finally realized what Joanna was truly afraid of.

She’s scared of her father! She’s afraid of disappointing him. She’s more frightened of failing Brumado than she is of sharks or freezing or dying a hundred million miles from home. It’s not her own failure she’s afraid of. She’s afraid of disappointing him.

He really does own her soul. He fills her entire life. What will she do when we get back to Earth? Especially if we don’t have any evidence of life to show her old man?

He turned over and fell into a troubled sleep. He dreamed of Navaho hogans dotting the barren desert of Mars and of splendidly feathered gods descending from the heavens on pillars of fire. The most magnificent of all the gods looked exactly like Alberto Brumado, and he glared at Jamie with the angry glittering eyes of an eagle.

WASHINGTON: Harvey Todd was short enough to have been compared with Alexander Hamilton. Like Hamilton, he had never held an elective office in his life. He had a boyishly pleasant face, modishly styled sandy hair, and a reputation for being dynamic and ruthless. Not yet thirty-five years old, he had been involved in government since his college days, when he had made himself one of the tireless young men in the New Jersey campaign that had elevated a shrill schoolteacher into a congresswoman.

Now that congresswoman was Vice-President of the United States and Harvey Todd was her aide for science and technology. He was already spending most of his time preparing for next year’s primaries.

He seemed at ease sitting across the small table from Alberto Brumado. The luncheon crowd at the Jefferson Hotel was quiet, subdued, as if each table full of people had its own secrets to whisper, huddling in the deep plush banquettes so that it was almost impossible to see who was sitting with whom.

Brumado sipped from his tulip-shaped glass of Portuguese vinho verde. He barely noticed its taste, so intent was he on what Todd was saying.

"I brought a copy of the speech." The Vice-President’s aide pulled a tiny computer disk from his inside jacket pocket and placed it on the damask tablecloth. "I think you’ll be pleased with it."

"She accepts the necessity of further missions to Mars?" Brumado asked, hunching forward slightly.

"Unequivocally."

"Wonderful." Brumado reached his hand toward the disk.

Todd covered it with his own hand. "Has the Indian written his statement supporting the Vice-President?"

"Not yet. He’s been quite busy."

Sliding the disk back toward himself, "Well, when you can show me his written statement I can show you her speech."

"I see."

"I’ve scheduled it for the NASA anniversary, as you suggested. Your Indian doesn’t have much time to get his statement to us."

"He will. As soon as he comes back from this traverse to Tithonium Chasma."

"Where?"

"The Grand Canyon of Mars."

"Oh, right, of course. The scientific jargon always throws me for a loop."

Brumado made an understanding smile.

Todd’s boyish face held the searching, probing eyes of an opportunist. "You realize, of course, that if there’s some calamity between now and the date of the speech, all bets are off. I can’t have her backing a dead horse."

"I understand," Brumado replied slowly, "that no politician wants to be identified with a failure."

"On the other hand, if the mission should be a terrific success… if they find something alive up there, that would guarantee support all up and down the line."

"They are searching for life right now."

"It’d be a good idea if they found something. Even just a hint, let them send back word that they found something that makes it look like life existed there once. That might be even better than finding real live Martians."

"They will find what they find," said Brumado.

Todd grinned at him. "That’s right. They’re scientists, aren’t they? They never slant their reports, do they?"

Brumado did not like the implication, nor the sly expression on the young man’s face.

Leaning closer to the Brazilian and lowering his voice, Todd went on, "You know, if they do find something spectacular, like an ancient city or something, your Indian could write his own ticket."

"The Vice-President’s support for further missions is what he wants."

With an impatient gesture Todd said, "I don’t mean that. I mean he could work with me. He could even run for office."

"I’m sure that is the furthest thing from his mind."

Todd leaned back in his chair again and turned his gaze toward the ceiling. "You know, the Vice-President isn’t going to get the party’s nomination automatically. She’s going to face some stiff opposition from Masterson and his coalition."

"I am not very familiar with American politics," Brumado murmured.

The young man said almost dreamily, "You tell your Indian that if he finds something really good up there he can write his own ticket when he gets back. He could hold the balance of power at the national convention, you know that?"

Brumado was not certain that he was hearing correctly. "Are you saying that you would abandon the Vice-President if it seemed expedient?"

"Oh no, of course not!" Todd smiled like a cobra. "But after all, the most important thing is for the party to nominate the man — I mean, the candidate — who can win the election in November. Isn’t it?"

Brumado was not staying at the Jefferson Hotel. That was far too expensive for him. During these weeks in Washington he lived in the Georgetown home of a friend who was away in South Africa on State Department business. The house was a pleasant old red-brick Colonial, beautifully furnished and staffed by a cook and butler.