* * * * *
At last it was over, and the proud faces descended upon us in a huge,
babbling wave.
Then I saw him. Good old Stardust Charlie.
His wizened little body was shuffling down an aisle, his eyes shining
like a child's. He'd been sandwiched, evidently, in one of the rear
rows.
But he wasn't the Charlie I'd seen a year ago. He'd become gaunt and
old, and he walked with an unnatural stiffness. He looked so old that
it was hard to believe he'd once been young.
He scratched his mop of steel-gray hair and grinned.
"You made it, boy," he chortled, "and by Jupiter, we'll celebrate
tonight. Yes, siree, I got twenty-four hours, and we'll celebrate as
good spacemen should!"
Then Mickey strode up to us. He was his normal, boyish self again,
walking lightly, his blond, curly-haired skull swaying as if in rhythm
with some silent melody.
And you, Laura, were with him.
"Meet the Brat," he said. "My sister Laura."
I stared almost rudely. You were like a doll lost in the immensity
of your fluffy pink dress. Your hair was long and transformed into a
golden froth where sunlight touched it. But your eyes were the eyes
of a woman, glowing like dark stars and reflecting a softness, a
gentleness that I'd never seen in eyes before.
"I'm happy to meet you, Ben," you said. "I've heard of no one else for
the past year."
A tide of heat crept up from my collar. I stuttered through an
introduction of Charlie.
You and Mickey looked strangely at Charlie, and I realized that old
Stardust was not a cadet's notion of the ideal spaceman. Charlie
scorned the skin-tight uniforms of the government service and wore a
shiny black suit that was a relic of Everson's early-day Moon Patrol.
His tie was clumsily knotted, and a button on his coat was missing.
And the left side of his face was streaked with dark scar tissue, the
result of an atomic blowup on one of the old Moon ships. I was so
accustomed to the scars, I was seldom aware of them; but others, I
knew, would find them ugly.
You were kind. You shook hands and said, softly: "It's a privilege to
meet you, Charlie. Just think--one of Everson's men, one of the first
to reach the Moon!"
Charlie gulped helplessly, and Mickey said: "Still going to spend the
weekend with us, aren't you, Ben?"
I shook my head. "Charlie has only twenty-four hours liberty. We're
planning to see the town tonight."
"Why don't you both come with us?" you asked. "Our folks have their
own plane, so it would be no problem. And we've got a big guest room.
Charlie, wouldn't you like a home-cooked meal before going back to the
Moon?"
Charlie's answer was obscured by a sudden burst of coughing. I knew
that he'd infinitely prefer to spend his liberty sampling Martian
fizzes and Plutonian zombies.
But this night seemed too sacred for Charlie's kind of celebration.
"We'd really like to come," I said.
* * * * *
On our way to the 'copter parking field, Dean Dawson passed us. He was
a tall, willowy man, spectacled, looking the way an academy professor
should look.
"Ben," he called, "don't forget that offer. Remember you've got two
months to decide."
"No, thanks," I answered. "Better not count on me."
A moment later Mickey said, frowning, "What was he talking about, Ben?
Did he make you an offer?"
I laughed. "He offered me a job here at the Academy teaching
astrogation. What a life _that_ would be! Imagine standing in a
classroom for forty years when I've got the chance to--"
I hesitated, and you supplied the right words: "When you've got the
chance to be the first to reach a new planet. That's what most of you
want, isn't it? That's what Mickey used to want."
I looked at you as if you were Everson himself, because you seemed to
understand the hunger that could lie in a man's heart.
Then your last words came back and jabbed me: "That's what Mickey used
to want."
"_Used_ to want?" I asked. "What do you mean?"
You bit your lip, not answering.
"What did she mean, Mickey?"
Mickey looked down at his feet. "I didn't want to tell you yet, Ben.
We've been together a long time, planning to be on a rocket. But--"
"Yes?"
"Well, what does it add up to? You become a spaceman and wear a pretty
uniform. You wade through the sands of Mars and the dust of Venus. If
you're lucky, you're good for five, maybe ten years. Then one thing or
another gets you. They don't insure rocketmen, you know."
My stomach was full of churning, biting ice. "What are you trying to
say, Mickey?"
"I've thought about it a long time. They want me for Cargo Supervisor
of White Sands Port." He raised his hand to stop me. "I know. It's not
so exciting. I'll just live a lot longer. I'm sorry, Ben."
I couldn't answer. It was as if someone had whacked the back of my
knees with the blast of a jet.
"It doesn't change anything, Ben--right now, I mean. We can still have
a good weekend."
Charlie was muttering under his breath, smoldering like a bomb about to
reach critical mass. I shook my head dazedly at him as we got to the
'copter.
"Sure," I said to Mickey, "we can still have a good weekend."
* * * * *
I liked your folks, Laura. There was no star-hunger in them, of course.
They were simple and solid and settled, like green growing things,
deep-rooted, belonging to Earth. They were content with a home that was
cool on this warm summer night, with a 'copter and a tri-dimensional
video, and a handsome automatic home that needed no servants or
housework.
Stardust Charlie was as comfortable as a Martian sand-monkey in a
shower, but he tried courageously to be himself.
At the dinner table he stared glassily at nothing and grated, "Only hit
Mars once, but I'll never forget the kid who called himself a medic.
Skipper started coughing, kept it up for three days. Whoopin' cough,
the medic says, not knowin' the air had chemicals that turned to acid
in your lungs. I'd never been to Mars before, but I knew better'n that.
Hell, I says, that ain't whoopin' cough, that's lung-rot."
That was when your father said he wasn't so hungry after all.
Afterward, you and I walked onto the terrace, into the moonlit night,
to watch for crimson-tailed continental rockets that occasionally
streaked up from White Sands.
We gazed for a few seconds up into the dark sky, and then you said:
"Charlie is funny, isn't he? He's nice and I'm glad he's here, but he's
sort of funny."
"He's an old-time spaceman. You didn't need much education in those
days, just a lot of brawn and a quick mind. It took guts to be a
spaceman then."
"But he wasn't always a spaceman. Didn't he ever have a family?"
I smiled and shook my head. "If he had, he never mentioned it. Charlie
doesn't like to be sentimental, at least not on the outside. As far as
I know, his life began when he took off for the Moon with Everson."
You stared at me strangely, almost in a sacred kind of way. I knew
suddenly that you liked me, and my heart began to beat faster.
There was silence.
You were lovely, your soft hair like strands of gold, and there were
flecks of silver in your dark eyes. Somehow I was afraid. I had the
feeling that I shouldn't have come here.
You kept looking at me until I had to ask: "What are you thinking,
Laura?"
You laughed, but it was a sad, fearful laugh. "No, I shouldn't be
thinking it. You'd hate me if I told you, and I wouldn't want that."
"I could never hate you."
"It--it's about the stars," you said very softly. "I understand why you
want to go to them. Mickey and I used to dream about them when we were
kids. Of course I was a girl, so it was just a game to me. But once I
dreamed of going to England. Oh, it was going to be so wonderful. I
lived for months, just thinking about it.
"One summer we went. I had fun. I saw the old buildings and castles,
and the spaceports and the Channel Tube. But after it was over, I
realized England wasn't so different from America. Places seem exciting
before you get to them, and afterward they're not really."
I frowned. "And you mean it might be the same with the stars? You think
maybe I haven't grown up yet?"
Anxiety darkened your features. "No, it'd be good to be a spaceman,
to see the strange places and make history. But is it worth it? Is it
worth the things you'd have to give up?"