Harley's hand slammed down on the table. He wrestled his heavy body
up out of his chair, stamped halfway across the room toward her and
stopped.
"Young lady, I'm not going to have this. I'm not going to have
anything like this! You hear? You want to get tangled up with him? My
God, you've been communicating with him for a _year_?"
"Whenever I was able to," Joyce said hoarsely, looking at the floor.
"Joyce!" He came to her, reached down and lifted her chin. "Joyce,
you're not--you're not in love with this--this creature!"
She nodded, suddenly angered at her weakness, angered at the wetness in
her eyes.
"Oh, my God!" Harley raised his arms, brought them down with a slap
against his thighs. He turned away from her. He glared at his wife, who
was drifting nervously up out of her chair. He turned back to Joyce.
"You're not serious. You can't be. This can't--this just can't happen
to us. You'll have to get this foolishness out of your head right now.
Right this minute. My God, the next thing you know, you'll be wanting
to marry one of those things."
"I do...." The sound barely came out. She swallowed, forced her voice
up. "I am going to marry him."
* * * * *
A blast of silence swept the room, but, strangely, the shock of it
didn't touch her. All at once, she was calm, quiet. She had said it,
and now she was armored against everything.
"No," her father was saying dully. "No, Joyce. No."
"I'm sorry, Dad," she said all in a rush. "I've thought about it a long
time. I thought I'd forget him after a little while. I wasn't able to.
I'm in love with him--I'll always be in love with him. When I come
back, I'm bringing him with me. We're going to be married here."
Now, finally, the storm broke out of him. He yelled at her, he stamped
around, his fists pounded the air--it was just as she had pictured it,
dreaded it. Yet she was unshaken now, detachedly able to watch him as
if he were some unruly, unintelligent child. I am going to marry him,
she had said, and once the words were out, everything else was easy.
There were no problems. There was nothing to be afraid of.
"His name is Gregrill," she said. "They don't have last names. We'll
have to make one up or perhaps use mine."
"I'll see my daughter dead before I let her marry a Martian!" Harley
roared.
"But if she really loves him--" Ethel intruded timorously.
"Loves him? Love that miserable scum?"
"Dad, please," Joyce said quietly. "You're condemning somebody you've
never seen."
"I don't have to see him! He's a Martian, isn't he? He has horns,
doesn't he?"
"They're not horns. They're antennae."
"Call them what you like, they're horns!"
"They're antennae, Dad," Joyce repeated firmly. "They're proof of
advanced development. They can communicate with each other hundreds of
miles. They can sense instantly--"
"I don't want to hear about it!"
"But, dear," Ethel tried again, "sometimes, when they marry an
Earthling girl, they cut those horns off, and then they look just like
us."
"I wouldn't let him--" Joyce bit off each word--"do any such thing. I'd
be utterly ashamed of him. I wouldn't marry him if he knuckled under
to our prejudices like that. What does he have to be apologetic about?
He's a superior being--"
"Superior?" her father howled at her, but his voice was losing its
power.
* * * * *
"In spite of our buildings and machines and things, they're far richer
than we are, really. They have such a richness of feeling, such warmth,
such sensitivity. They understand and feel so much more than we do.
It's--it's fantastic. It's just something we can't comprehend."
"I see," he said bitterly. "And how are you going to comprehend them?"
"Gregrill can speak Earthling as well as I can," Joyce said. "He's a
graduate of the university there in Memnonia. Maybe, with his guidance,
I'll eventually get some insight into--"
"My God," Harley said dully. He walked unsteadily away from her and
fell into his chair. "A daughter of mine...." He looked at her again.
"Joyce, can't you see it's impossible? It couldn't work. These mixed
marriages have never worked out. Never! Don't you see how it would be?
You'd be an outcast. None of your friends would ever want to see you
again."
"Well, if they should happen to be stupid and prejudiced--"
"_I'm_ that stupid and prejudiced! I wouldn't let a Martian in my
house! They're the scum of the Solar System!"
"Dad, I won't listen to you talk like that."
"What do you want to do--be the wife of a janitor?" he went on
relentlessly. "Porters and janitors, that's all they're fit for."
"If they were ever given a chance--"
"A chance? What would they do with it? Loaf around dreamily, get
nowhere. Nowhere at all! And pull us down to their level while they're
fouling up our civilization!"
Joyce stood up, her hands trembling.
"You're not going to Mars!" Harley shouted. "You're not going, you
hear? You're staying right here on earth!"
"I'm afraid," she said unsteadily, "that you're too late. I already
have my ticket. I expected you'd make a fuss. My--my trunk is at the
spaceport. Nothing can stop me now, Dad."
"I'll stop you. You'll never marry that scum. By God, if I have to take
it to the Panterrestrial Court--"
"Good-by, Dad. I'm not booked to sail till Thursday, but I think
it's better if I spend the remaining days in a hotel. It'll be more
comfortable for all of us."
"Joyce, come back here!"
"Good-by, Dad." She waved a shaky hand at her mother. "Good-by, Mom.
See you soon."
"Joyce! Come back!"
She went out, quietly closing the door behind her.
* * * * *
The huge 1200-passenger spaceship settled down slowly toward the
landing field, its braking jets making a queer whistling sound in the
thin Martian air. The passengers crowded to the windows. Most of them
were already in their thermosuits, though the daylight temperature
was close to fifty degrees. Some were even adjusting their oxygen
packs. These weren't necessary at all, except for long hikes or intense
exertion, which few of the visitors would indulge in. But they'd
bought the things and they were going to use them--it was part of the
adventure.
Most of the passengers were working people on vacation, taking
advantage of the special two-in-a-room rate. There were a few salesmen,
nervous but hopeful about the possibilities of opening up the
hinterlands; so far, only Memnonia, the Martian capital, had provided
Earthlings with any business.
In the bow of the spaceship was a crowd of girls, a college graduating
class. Some of them were dressed in the new skin-tight thermosuits
which were stirring up so much fuss in the fashion magazines. Listening
to their ecstatic, senseless chatter, Joyce suddenly felt immensely
older. The day, thirteen months ago, when she first sighted the
Memnonian landscape with her own class, seemed impossibly long ago....
The ship nestled in against the vast loading ramp. A whistle sounded.
The doors slid open. Husky, bare-chested Martian porters crowded
aboard, began wheeling out the luggage. Joyce stepped out into the
pale sunlight. The clear, thin air tingled at her nostrils, dizzied
her, as she'd known it would till she got used to it. She followed
her porter down the ramp. It seemed to her, in her giddiness, that
Gregrill himself was down there, down at the end of the ramp, bronzed,
bare-armed, coming toward her--
It _was_ he!
He had made the two-hundred-mile trip to meet her!
She began to run. She stumbled, caught herself on somebody's arm, ran
again, plunged against him, lost herself against his big, powerful
chest.
"Oh, Greg! Greg, you're here!"
It was a long while before she could pull herself away to look at him.
She had forgotten his strength, the magnificent arch of his chest. He
was wearing a white fiber vest in the traditional style, sleeveless,
cut low in front. His sun-washed skin glowed like polished bronze. The
highlights shone on the strong, high arc of his nose, the ridge of his
cheekbones. His fragile russet antennae swayed like wheat stalks in the
wind.
There were muttered complaints around her. She was being shoved,
prodded. She'd hardly realized they were standing in the midst of the
swarming passengers.
"Oh," she laughed tremulously, "let's move. My luggage. Where--oh,
there it is, that man over there with the cart."
"I will get it," Gregrill said.
"Oh, no, please."
But he was already striding away, big and powerful, towering over most
of the Earthlings who were scurrying past. She saw him give something
to the Martian porter, watched him swing the trunk up on his shoulder.
It writhed in her, it devastated her, her father's contemptuous
dismissal--"porters and janitors, that's all they're fit for."
"Greg, put it down," she said frantically. "I won't have you carrying
it!"