n the eyes of the public."

That seemed to be what worried Lattimer most. She was framing a reply
when the communication-outlet whistled shrilly, and then squawked:
"Cocktail time! One hour to dinner; cocktails in the library, Hut Four!"

* * * * *

The library, which was also lounge, recreation room, and general
gathering-place, was already crowded; most of the crowd was at the long
table topped with sheets of glasslike plastic that had been wall panels
out of one of the ruined buildings. She poured herself what passed,
here, for a martini, and carried it over to where Selim von Ohlmhorst
was sitting alone.

For a while, they talked about the building they had just finished
exploring, then drifted into reminiscences of their work on Terra--von
Ohlmhorst's in Asia Minor, with the Hittite Empire, and hers in
Pakistan, excavating the cities of the Harappa Civilization. They
finished their drinks--the ingredients were plentiful; alcohol and
flavoring extracts synthesized from Martian vegetation--and von
Ohlmhorst took the two glasses to the table for refills.

"You know, Martha," he said, when he returned, "Tony was right about one
thing. You are gambling your professional standing and reputation. It's
against all archaeological experience that a language so completely dead
as this one could be deciphered. There was a continuity between all the
other ancient languages--by knowing Greek, Champollion learned to read
Egyptian; by knowing Egyptian, Hittite was learned. That's why you and
your colleagues have never been able to translate the Harappa
hieroglyphics; no such continuity exists there. If you insist that this
utterly dead language can be read, your reputation will suffer for it."

"I heard Colonel Penrose say, once, that an officer who's afraid to risk
his military reputation seldom makes much of a reputation. It's the same
with us. If we really want to find things out, we have to risk making
mistakes. And I'm a lot more interested in finding things out than I am
in my reputation."

She glanced across the room, to where Tony Lattimer was sitting with
Gloria Standish, talking earnestly, while Gloria sipped one of the
counterfeit martinis and listened. Gloria was the leading contender for
the title of Miss Mars, 1996, if you liked big bosomy blondes, but Tony
would have been just as attentive to her if she'd looked like the Wicked
Witch in "The Wizard of Oz." because Gloria was the