"I feel honored, gentlemen." Gail smiled at us, showing her dimples. I
decided that, under different circumstances, I could have proposed to
her on my own initiative and been as conventional as hell about it. But
this was like a political convention.
"Which?" asked Morrie.
"Not you," she said. "You're younger than I am. And not Dr. Joel--he's
at least ten years older." She paused, stared at me and then went on.
"Because this marriage is one of convenience--a propaganda wedding
to satisfy propriety--we ought to be convincing. Bill Drake is the
pin-up boy to millions of panting secretaries and shopgirls who see his
picture in newspapers and on television. Would this public believe in
a marriage between us? I think so. For no one could possibly imagine I
could resist such a prize."
She paused and waited for comments. None came. Five astronauts,
including Dr. Spartan, sat tensely waiting for her inevitable decision.
"Believe me," Gail went on, "I could resist this handsome young
astronaut very well. He's somewhat conceited, you know, and he is too
much aware that he's the answer to a maiden's prayer. But millions of
man-hungry women wouldn't see it that way. I'm not panting over Bill
Drake, and that's why he's the logical choice. It'll look like a love
match and who'll know the difference?"
She paused once more, then turned to me. "Forgive the insults, Bill.
Will you marry me? Or do you want to back out?"
It was the first time she had ever called me Bill without adding my
last name. I sat there for a moment, somewhat dazed by the outcome.
Should I take her in my arms and kiss her tenderly, passionately?
Hardly. My ears still burned from her statement that I considered
myself the answer to a maiden's prayer, and that I was a conceited
pin-up boy. Considering her attitude, should I back out? Or should
I cold-bloodedly allow her the use of my last name for the sake of
science? My male ego told me she cared a little, secretly, or at the
very least, would learn to care before Operation Jehad ended. I began
to feel happy about the whole deal.
Dr. Spartan's voice came through my thoughts. "You're not acting very
enthusiastic, Drake."
"I was thinking of the conditions," I said.
"I won't sue for breach of promise if you want to back out," said Gail.
That decided me. "When's the wedding?" I asked.
As I spoke, Joel and Morrie looked at me with ill-concealed
disappointment. They'd hoped, down to the wire, that something would
happen which would turn the scales in their favor. Even now, I noticed
that Morrie hadn't quite given up. He turned his eyes toward Gail. You
could practically see him hoping that, in reality, it would turn out to
be a marriage in name only, that he'd have a chance to win her before
we returned.
"Just before the lift-off," said Gail.
"Humph," said Dr. Spartan. "That settles it, I suppose." He didn't like
it, but he couldn't back out now.
He turned his eyes toward me.
They were full of hatred.
_Chapter 3_
Some unscrupulous public relations genius attached to Operation Jehad
was informed of Gail Loring's betrothal and, in the remaining four
days before the lift-off, the entire world was told the most romantic
story since Romeo and Juliet--and it was lies, mostly.
Only the marriage was a fact. But the world was informed that William
Drake and Gail Loring, high ranking astronauts, had fallen deeply in
love some months before. They had secretly agreed to be married after
the completion of Operation Jehad. Drake, brave man that he was, and
Gail, self-sacrificing young woman that she was, had pushed their
personal desires into the background for science; the cruel, tragic
death of Willy Zinder had left a vacancy in the Jehad crew and Gail and
Bill had agreed to marry immediately so that both could further this
important expedition into the unknown. The fact that inadvertently the
trip would also serve as a honeymoon cruise, put the whole project on a
more romantic note.
Space officials in Washington, fully apprised of the reasons for the
wedding, and sold on the idea by Dr. Spartan, were not only gratified
by the world-wide acceptance of these lies, but they announced that
the ceremony would be included as part of the countdown proceedings
prior to the launching of the big Saturn that would carry us all to the
plasma ship, already in orbit around the earth.
The bride and groom and all of the members of the wedding party, with
the exception of a federal judge who was to perform the rites, would be
wearing spacesuits. The only charitable thing the officials did was to
forbid interviews with either the bride-to-be or her intended. There
just wasn't time, they said. Actually they didn't trust us to conceal
the real reason behind the marriage. The project's publicity team,
however, issued handouts of purported interviews, a fictional history
of our love affair, and pictures.
On the day before the launching, I received two mail sacks full of
letters from the panting shopgirls mentioned by Gail and a United
States post-office truck delivered a full cargo of gifts to Gail.
I didn't read the mail, and the gifts were stored in a government
warehouse, pending our return from Mars. I don't know how much mail and
parcel post came the fourth day. We were too busy to find out.
I developed a monumental guilty feeling when I realized the magnitude
of our deception. I was sick of the whole business. There had been many
marriages of convenience, of course, and some had turned out better
than marriages for love, but this was pure fraud. The only consolation
was that through it we had acquired a full crew. Still, I couldn't help
feeling that a quiet, secret ceremony would have accomplished the same
purpose. Why compound a fraud with a spectacle?
Twelve precious minutes were squeezed out of the countdown for the
ceremony. We marched in spacesuits, sans helmets, to the launching
pad--five male astronauts and one female, accompanied by a federal
judge named Lockhart who had no part in the conspiracy but who had been
asked to perform the rites because he was a friend of some governor.
No ring was used, since it would have been impossible to slip it
over the spacesuit glove Gail wore. We joined hands while the judge
spoke into a microphone and the words were carried, via radio and
television, to the far reaches of our planet, even to the fur-clad
outposts at Thule and Antarctica.
Nearby were photographers to record the lie for posterity.
A conventional bridegroom is in a state of shock and he scarcely
realizes what is going on. I heard everything, realizing I was
perjuring myself every step of the way. I accepted Gail as my lawful,
wedded wife, knowing we would not really be married. She accepted me as
her lawful, wedded husband, knowing it was all a lie.