He might have added a qualifying "often," but he did not.
The City-Stater said derisively, "He has or will come here now."
"Why?" asked Derech.
"He needs help. Where else could he go for it?"
"Anywhere. He has many friends. And he knows Mars better than most Martians, probably a damn sight better than you do."
"But," said Wales quietly, "outside of the City-States all Earthmen are being hunted down like rabbits, if they're foolish enough to stay. For Carey's sake, if you know where he is, tell us. Otherwise he is almost certain to die."
"He's a grown man," Derech said. "He must carry his own load."
"He's carrying too much ..." Wales said, and then broke off. There was a sudden gabble of talk, both in the room and outside. Everybody moved toward the door, out of Carey's vision, except Derech who moved into it, relaxed and languid and infuriatingly self-assured. Carey could not hear the sound that had drawn the others but he judged that another flier was landing. In a few minutes Wales and the others came back, and now there were some new people with them. Carey squirmed and craned, getting closer to the crack, and he saw Alan Woodthorpe, his superior, Administrator of the Rehabilitation Project for Mars, and probably the most influential man on the planet. Carey knew that he must have rushed across a thousand miles of desert from his headquarters at Kahora, just to be here at this moment.
Carey was flattered and deeply moved.