"But, Miss Prince, why are you and your brother going to Ferrok-Shahn?
His business--"
Even as I voiced it, I hated myself for such a question. So nimble in
the humble mind that mingled with my rhapsodies of love, was my need
for information of George Prince.
"Oh," she said. "This is pleasure, not business, for George." It
seemed to me that a shadow crossed her face. But it was gone in an
instant, and she smiled. "We have always wanted to travel. We are
alone in the world, you know--our parents died when we were children."
I filled in her pause. "You will like Mars. So many interesting things
to see."
She nodded. "Yes, I understand so. Our Earth is so much the same all
over, cast all in one mould."
"But a hundred or more years ago, it was not, Miss Prince. I have read
how the picturesque Orient, differing from ... well, Greater New York
or London, for instance--"
"Transportation did that," she interrupted eagerly. "Made everything
the same--the people all look alike ... dress alike."
We discussed it. She had an alert, eager mind, childlike with its
curiosity, yet strangely matured. And her manner was naively earnest.
Yet this was no clinging vine, this Anita Prince. There was a
firmness, a hint of masculine strength in her chin and in her manner.
"If I were a man, what wonders I could achieve in this marvelous age!"
Her sense of humor made her laugh at herself. "Easy for a girl to say
that," she added.
"You have greater wonders to achieve, Miss Prince," I said
impulsively.
"Yes? What are they?" She had a very frank and level gaze, devoid of
coquetry.
My heart was pounding. "The wonders of the next generation. A little
son, cast in your own gentle image--"
What madness, this clumsy, brash talk! I choked it off.
But she took no offense. The dark rose-petals of her cheeks were
mantled deeper red, but she laughed.
"That is true." She turned abruptly serious. "I should not laugh. The
wonders of the next generation--conquering humans marching on...." Her
voice trailed away. My hand went to her arm. Strange tingling
something which poets call love! It burned and surged through my
trembling fingers into the flesh of her forearm.
The starlight glowed in her eyes. She seemed to be gazing, not at the
silver-lit deck, but away into distant reaches of the future.
Our moment. Just a breathless moment given us as we sat there with my
hand burning her arm, as though we both might be seeing ourselves
joined in a new individual--a little son, cast in his mother's gentle
image and with the strength of his father. Our moment, and then it was
over. A step sounded. I sat back. The giant gray figure of Miko came
past, his great cloak swaying, with his clanking sword ornament
beneath it. His bullet head, with its close-clipped hair, was hatless.
He gazed at us, swaggering past, and turned the deck corner.
Our moment was gone. Anita said conventionally, "It has been pleasant
to talk with you, Mr. Haljan."
"But we'll have many more," I said. "Ten days--"
"You think we'll reach Ferrok-Shahn on schedule?"
"Yes. I think so.... As I was saying, Miss Prince, you'll enjoy Mars.
A strange, aggressively forward-looking people."
An oppression seemed on her. She stirred in her chair.
"Yes they are," she said vaguely. "My brother and I know many Martians
in Greater New York." She checked herself abruptly. Was she sorry she
had said that? It seemed so.
Miko was coming back. He stopped this time. "Your brother would see
you, Anita. He sent me to bring you to his room."
The glance he shot me had a touch of insolence. I stood up and he
towered a head over me.