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***

The face of Richard Michaels filled the huge video screen. The crowd at the National Space Museum cheered.

He was playing to the television audience, which clearly made him a bit nervous. 'Hel o there, this is Mars 97. The pictures you are seeing now are coming from a long way away. Mars is nearly sixty million miles away from Earth.

Or, to put it another way, back on Earth Washington and Moscow are about seven thousand miles apart but my crew and I are eight thousand six hundred times as far away from you. That means that even at the speed of light, our radio signals take nearly five minutes to reach you. These pictures are five minutes old and by now, God willing, we're walking around on Mars. Hope that doesn't take the shine off the live coverage!'

A round of applause and a little laughter, with al eyes fixed on the screen.

'OK, London Control. All systems ready. Lander is go. Andy, could you do the honours?'

A spacesuited figure, Benny couldn't work out whether it was a man or a woman, pulled a control and a rumble sounded along the ship.

The picture cut to an exterior view. A camera mounted about halfway along the length of the Command Module.

Now, the Lander was emerging slowly from its compartment, edging out like a butterfly from a chrysalis. It looked vaguely insect-like, with stubby landing gear, delicate solar panels and communications arrays. Beneath the craft, Benny recognised the southern hemisphere of Mars. She'd made the same trip, although by her native twenty-sixth century shuttlecraft were fitted with antigravs and the journey was as routine as InterCity train travel in the nineteen-nineties. That was only because of pioneers like these people, of course.

An engine on the underside of the Lander flared and it shot away.

'London, Lander is good. Entering radio blackou-.'

Behind them, a dozen reporters explained to their audience that this was perfectly normal as the craft entered an atmosphere.

After a couple of tense moments, a message crackled through the loudspeaker: 'London. This is Mars Lander.

We're down and safe.'

Everyone in the room was on their feet, cheering. Benny found to her surprise that so was she. After a couple of seconds, a picture of a barren landscape flashed up onto the screen. The rusty soil and pink sky were familiar to Benny, everyone else, the Doctor included, was fixed to the screen. The camera was mounted to the landing gear, metal struts were visible in the foreground, and the ladder that the astronauts would climb down was also in plain view. After a minute or so it was clear that no-one was going to be coming down that ladder for a while.

'What's the delay?' she asked the Doctor.

'The astronauts have to get used to the gravity, they check the conditions outside. They triple-check the airlock and the spacesuits and they radio to London for the go-ahead.'

'That sounds a pretty lengthy procedure.'

'About quarter of an hour, perhaps less.'

Benny craned her neck. At the back of the room, the journalists were interviewing scientists and politicians. This event was going out live. She felt for the reporters forced to find something to say to fill the gap, the only picture from another world being a static image that could have been Arizona if it wasn't for the pink sky.

28

Benny recognised the twilight from her expedition: even at noon on the Mare Sirenum the brightest it got was a late-evening grey.

The guests were gradually realising that there was going to be a delay, and were breaking off to replenish their drinks or chat to their friends. The man the Home Secretary had mentioned in his speech, Lord Greyhaven, wasn't there, although the rest of his circle were.

Benny turned to the Doctor to see what he planned to do for the next ten minutes. A young man, Ralph Cornish's friend, was leaning over him, whispering something, passing something to him. Then he had gone.

Benny bent across. 'What's up?'

'That young man just passed me a note,' the Doctor explained. He unfolded