They threaded their way through the crowded and muddy streets. Landing
City wasn't big, compared to some of the cities on Altair, where he had
been raised, but Karl was proud of it. Some day it would be as big as
any city on any planet--maybe even have a population of ten thousand
people or more.
"Joe," Karl said suddenly, "what's supposed to make women from Earth
better than women from any other world?"
Hill located a faint itch and frowned. "I don't know, Karl. It's hard
to say. They're--well, sophisticated, glamorous."
Karl absorbed this in silence. Those particular qualities were, he
thought, rather hard to define.
The battered shack that served as rocket port office and headquarters
for the colonial office on Midplanet loomed up in front of them. There
was a crowd gathered in front of the building and they forced their way
through to see what had caused it.
"We saw this the last time we were here," Hill said.
"I know," Karl agreed, "but I want to take another look." He was
anxious to glean all the information that he could.
It was a poster of a beautiful woman leaning toward the viewer. The
edges of the poster were curling and the colors had faded during the
last six months, but the girl's smile seemed just as inviting as ever.
She held a long-stemmed goblet in one hand and was blowing a kiss to
her audience with the other. Her green eyes sparkled, her smile was
provocative. A quoted sentence read: "I'm from _Earth_!" There was
nothing more except a printed list of the different solar systems to
which the colonial office was sending the women.
She was real pretty, Karl thought. A little on the thin side, maybe,
and the dress she was wearing would hardly be practical on Midplanet,
but she had a certain something. Glamour, maybe?
A loudspeaker blared.
"All colonists waiting for the wife draft assemble for your numbers!
All colonists...."
There was a jostling for places and then they were in the rapidly
moving line. Grundy, fat and important-looking, was handing out little
blue slips with numbers on them, pausing every now and then to tell
them some entertaining bit of information about the women. He had a
great imagination, nothing else.
Karl drew the number 53 and hurried to the grassy lot beside the
landing field that had been decorated with bunting and huge welcome
signs for the new arrivals. A table was loaded with government
pamphlets meant to be helpful to newly married colonists. Karl went
over and stuffed a few in his pockets. Other tables had been set out
and were loaded with luncheon food, fixed by the few colonial women in
the community. Karl caught himself eyeing the women closely, wondering
how the girls from Earth would compare with them.
He fingered the ticket in his pocket. What would the woman be like
who had drawn the companion number 53 aboard the rocket? For when it
landed, they would pair up by numbers. The method had its drawbacks, of
course, but time was much too short to allow even a few days of getting
acquainted. He'd have to get back to his trapping lines and he imagined
that Hill would have to get back to his sawmill and the others to their
farms. What the hell, you never knew what you were getting either way,
till it was too late.
"Sandwich, mister? Pop?"
Karl flipped the boy a coin, picked up some food and a drink, and
wandered over to the landing field with Hill. There were still ten
minutes or so to go before the rocket landed, but he caught himself
straining his sight at the blue sky, trying to see a telltale flicker
of exhaust flame.
The field was crowded and he caught some of the buzzing conversation.
"... never knew one myself, but let me tell you...."
"... knew a fellow once who married one, never had a moment's rest
afterward...."
"... no comparison with colonial women. They got culture...."
"... I'd give a lot to know the girl who's got number twenty-five...."
"Let's meet back here with the girls who have picked our numbers," Hill
said. "Maybe we could trade."
Karl nodded, though privately he felt that the number system was just
as good as depending on first impressions.
There was a murmur from the crowd and he found his gaze riveted
overhead. High above, in the misty blue sky, was a sudden twinkle of
fire.
He reached up and wiped his sweaty face with a muddy hand and brushed
aside a straggly lock of tangled hair. It wouldn't hurt to try to look
his best.
The twinkling fire came nearer.