The transport swung past Centaurus on the last leg of her long journey
to Sol. There was no flash, no roar as she swept across the darkness of
space. As silent as a ghost, as quiet as a puff of moonlight she moved,
riding the gravitational fields that spread like tangled, invisible
spider webs between the stars.
Within the ship there was also silence, but the air was stirred by a
faint, persistent vibration from the field generators. This noiseless
pulse stole into every corner of the ship, through long, empty
passageways lined with closed stateroom doors, up spiraling stairways to
the bridge and navigational decks, and down into vast and echoing holds,
filled with strange cargo from distant worlds.
This vibration pulsed through Lenore's stateroom. As she relaxed on her
couch, she bathed in it, letting it flow through her to tingle in her
fingertips and whisper behind her closed eyelids.
"Home," it pulsed, "you're going home."
* * * * *
She repeated the word to herself, moving her lips softly but making no
sound. "Home," she breathed, "back home to Earth." Back to the proud old
planet that was always home, no matter how far you wandered under alien
suns. Back to the shining cities clustered along blue seacoasts. Back to
the golden grainlands of the central states and the high, blue grandeur
of the western mountains. And back to the myriad tiny things that she
remembered best, the little, friendly things ... a stretch of
maple-shadowed streets heavy and still with the heat of a summer noon; a
flurry of pigeons in the courthouse square; yellow dandelions in a green
lawn, the whir of a lawnmower and the smell of the cut grass; ivy on old
bricks and the rough feel of oak bark under her hands; water lilies and
watermelons and crepe papery dances and picnics by the river in the
summer dusk; and the library steps in the evening, with fireflies in the
cool grass and the school chimes sounding the slow hours through the
friendly dark.
She thought to herself, "It's been such a long time since you were home.
There will be a whole new flock of pigeons now." She smiled at the
recollection of the eager, awkward girl of twenty that she had been when
she had finished school and had entered the Government Education
Service. "Travel While Helping Others" had been the motto of the GES.
She had traveled, all right, a long, long way inside a rusty freighter
without a single porthole, to a planet out on the rim of the Galaxy that
was as barren and dreary as a cosmic slag heap. Five years on the rock
pile, five years of knocking yourself out trying to explain history and
Shakespeare and geometry to a bunch of grubby little miners' kids in a
tin schoolhouse at the edge of a cluster of tin shacks that was supposed
to be a town. Five years of trudging around with your nails worn and
dirty and your hair chopped short, of wearing the latest thing in
overalls. Five years of not talking with the young miners because they
got in trouble with the foreman, and not talking with the crewmen from
the ore freighters because they got in trouble with the first mate, and
not talking with yourself because you got in trouble with the
psychologist.
They took care of you in the Education Service; they guarded your diet
and your virtue, your body and your mind. Everything but your happiness.
* * * * *
There was lots to do, of course. You could prepare lessons and read
papers and cheap novels in the miners' library, or nail some more tin on
your quarters to keep out the wind and the dust and the little animals.
You could go walking to the edge of town and look at all the pretty gray
stones and the trees, like squashed-down barrel cactus; watch the larger
sun sink behind the horizon with its little companion star circling
around it, diving out of sight to the right and popping up again on the
left. And Saturday night--yippee!--three-year-old movies in the tin
hangar. And, after five years, they come and say, "Here's Miss
So-and-So, your relief, and here's your five thousand credits and
wouldn't you like to sign up for another term?"
Ha!
So they give you your ticket back to Earth. You're on the transport at
last, and who can blame you if you act just a little crazy and eat like
a pig and take baths three times a day and lie around your stateroom and
just dream about getting home and waking up in your own room in the
morning and getting a good cup of real coffee at the corner fountain and
kissing some handsome young fellow on the library steps when the Moon is
full behind the bell tower?
"And will the young fellow like you?" she asked herself, knowing the
answer even as she asked the question.
She whirled about in the middle of the stateroom, her robe swirling
around her, and ended with a deep curtsy to the full-length mirror.
"Allow me to introduce myself," she murmured. "Lenore Smithson, formerly
of the Government Education Service, just back from business out on the
Rim. What? Why, of course you may have this dance. Your name? Mr.
Fairheart! Of the billionaire Fairhearts?" She waltzed with herself a
moment. Halting before the mirror again, she surveyed herself
critically.
"Well," she said aloud, "the five years didn't completely ruin you,
after all. Your nose still turns up and your cheeks still dimple when
you smile. You have a nice tan and your hair's grown long again.
Concentrated food hasn't hurt your figure, either." She turned this way
and that before the mirror to observe herself.
Then suddenly she gave a little gasp of surprise and fright, for a
cascade of laughter had flooded soundlessly inside her head.
* * * * *
She stood frozen before the mirror while the laughter continued. Then
she slowly swung around. It ceased abruptly. She looked around the
compartment, staring accusingly at each article of furniture in turn;
then quickly spun around to look behind her, meeting her own startled
gaze in the mirror.
Opening the door slowly, she ventured to thrust her head out into the
corridor. It was deserted, the long rows of doors all closed during the
afternoon rest period. As she stood there, a steward came along the
corridor with a tray of glasses, nodded to her, and passed on out of
sight. She turned back into the room and stood there, leaning against
the door, listening.
Suddenly the laughter came again, bursting out as though it had been
suppressed and could be held back no longer. Clear, merry, ringing and
completely soundless, it poured through her mind.
"What is it?" she cried aloud. "What's happening?"
"My dear young lady," said a man's voice within her head, "allow me to
introduce myself. My name is Fairheart. Of the billionaire Fairhearts.
May I have the next dance?"
"This is it," she thought. "Five years on the rock pile would do it to
anyone. You've gone mad."