one-tenth of its size. By daylight, it was a monstrous thing that seemed to go on forever, but Gray knew it was only about three thousand kilometers across.

Tharsis Rise was a bona fide tourist attraction, no one could deny that. And the Royal Tharsis was a posh resort, so posh that both the manager and the chef were Centauri. Fine, thought Gray, but once you got past a few Centauri luxuries, there wasn’t anything out here to see but a big flat rock. He would have preferred an Earth setting for the conference—with greenery and water—not hot, dusty rocks.

Bester was quiet and thoughtful as he gazed out the convex window. “You don’t see anything of interest out there, do you,” he remarked.

“I’m afraid I don’t,” answered Gray. “I’ve always found the mystique of Mars to be sadly lacking. Behind all these sleek tubes, there’s a lot of poverty, dissension, and nothing. People came here looking for something, and only a few found anything of value. Now they want to blame the planet they came from for all their problems.”

“Yes,” said Bester, staring at the vast, rose-hued horizon. “But if you find something of value here on Mars, it may be priceless.”

Even though the two men were totally alone in the private car, Gray leaned forward conspiratorially and whispered, “There are rumors about what’s going on at our facility in Syria Planum. If I may ask, Mr. Bester, what’s going on out there?”

The little man bristled. “That information is on a need-to-know basis, and you don’t need to know.”

“Sorry, sir,” said Gray, straightening in his seat.

Actually, the military had a good idea what was going on at the Psi Corps training center, and Gray had been secretly briefed about it. But this was not the time or place to pursue the matter.

Bester relaxed a bit, but he still looked preoccupied. “Don’t you see,” he explained, “we can’t tell anyone about Syria Planum, because we’re the only ones who can keep a secret.”