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major network was being aired live across the nation. Jamie had postponed his dinner to appear in the studio. He had phoned Vijay at home twice to tell her he’d be late and twice gotten the answering machine’s bland response. Has she heard the news? he wondered.
    His interviewer of the moment was in Los Angeles, speaking with Jamie over a closed video circuit. Rhonda Samuels was a crafty middle-aged woman with a practiced smile and a cobra’s eyes. Her ash blond hair was so carefully coiffed that Jamie thought it could have been a helmet. Her beige suit fit her trim figure without the slightest wrinkle. Jamie felt distinctly grungy in the shirt and jeans he’d been in since early morning. He was glad he’d worn the onyx bolo.
    How can we keep exploring Mars without money from Washington? Jamie fingered the bear fetish in his pocket as he framed his answer.
    He remembered how his grandfather Al would sit in silence for long moments while he was dickering with one of the artisans who produced the jewelry and hand-painted pottery that Al sold in his shop on the Plaza in Santa Fe. Al was never in a hurry when he spoke to his fellow Native Americans. “Take some time, Jamie,” he would advise his grandson. “Size up the person you’re talkin’ to. Get the feel of the situation before you open your mouth.”
    But this was television, where five seconds is an eternity.
    Rhonda Samuels interrupted his silence.
    “I mean,” she said, her voice low but hard-edged, “without government funding you won’t be able to keep the exploration team on Mars, will you?”
    “Actually, Ms. Samuels,” Jamie said, trying to make it bright despite his inner weariness, “the government was only contributing about a tenth of our total funding. Most of our support comes from private sources.”
    Her brows shot up. “Private sources?”
    “The Mars Foundation, which is based here in New Mexico,” Jamie explained. “One of our major backers is the Trumball Trust, in Boston. Then there’s — “
    “But without the government’s contribution, can you afford to keep those men and women on Mars?”
    “I think so. We’re doing the math. And we’re looking for additional donors.”
    “Additional donors?” she asked.
    “People or institutions that want to help us carry on the exploration of Mars.”
    “But in the meantime, if your budget is strained by Washington’s decision, won’t that have repercussions for your exploration team?”
    “Repercussions?”
    “On their safety,” Rhonda Samuels said. “If you have to cut your budget, won’t that affect the safety of the explorers on Mars?”
    Jamie forced a strained smile. “Safety is always uppermost in our minds.”
    “Ahead of everything else?”
    “Yes, of course.”
    “Were you thinking safety first when you were on Mars and you pushed your superiors to allow you to make the first excursion into the Grand Canyon?”
    “Nobody died,” Jamie said tightly.
    “But there certainly were dangers involved.”
    “There are dangers involved in all exploration. You learn to deal with them. We have an excellent safety record.”
    “But what if someone was seriously injured, or came down with an illness you’re not equipped to deal with on Mars. What would happen, with the nearest hospital a hundred million miles away?”
    Jamie smiled gently. “We’d send a fusion torch ship to take the patient back to Earth. It’s not like the old days, when it took months to travel to Mars. Fusion torch ships can make the trip in less than a week.”
    Sharply, she asked, “Why aren’t you on Mars, then?”
    Jamie cursed himself for not expecting that one. He lifted his chin a notch and replied, “Personal reasons. Family reasons.”
    “Your son’s death.”
    Nodding, he said, “He died on Earth, not Mars.”
    Shifting slightly in her chair, Samuels asked, “How old are the members of the exploration team? What’s their average age?”
    She must think I keep all the personnel