I was busy with the Martian mail which had just arrived when the
message from Brett Gryce reached me. I did not apprehend that there
was anything of secrecy about it, since he was using the open air; yet
there was in his voice a note of tenseness and his summons was urgent.
"I can't come, Brett, until I get through the mail." I was rushed, and
in a mood of ill-temper at the universe in general.
"When will that be?" he demanded.
"I don't know. It's accursedly large. Most of it seems to call for
radio distribution--these Martians are always in a hurry."
"Come when you can," he said quietly.
"Tonight?"
"Yes--tonight. No matter how late--I must see you, Frank."
"I'll come," I said, and cut him off.
It was long past trinight, with dawn beginning to brighten the sky
beyond the masonry of lower Great-New York, when I had disposed of
those miserable Martian dispatches. The Gryces lived in the Southern
Pennsylvania area. My aerocar was at hand. I had rather planned to use
it; but I was tired and in no mood for effort. I decided to take the
pneumatic, since there was a branch--little traveled, it is true--which
would drop me within some twenty kilometers of the Gryce home.
They gave me an individual cylinder, with a bed if I cared to sleep.
I did not. I lay there wondering what Brett could want of me; pleased
also that I would see Francine--dear little Frannie. . . .
Occasionally I would call the Director ahead. They are sometimes
careless in the switching of special individual cylinders; and I had
no wish to pass the branch and find myself bringing up at some gulf
terminal with half the morning getting back. Once I called Brett. He
would meet me with his aero at the end of the branch when I arrived.
He, too, reminded the Director. A surly sort of fellow; the Gryces had
already reported him to the General Traffic Staff of Great-London.
I was not misdirected, however; but it was broad daylight when I
emerged to find Brett impatiently awaiting me. And in a few minutes
more we were landing at the aero-stage beside the Gryce home.
It was a simple enough place--for all Dr. Gryce's reputed wealth.
An estate of a few kilometers, set in a heavy grove of trees with
a high metallic wall about it. The granite house itself was small,
unpretentious. There were few outbuildings; one a large rectangular
affair which vaguely I understood was a workshop. I had never been in
it. I knew old Dr. Gryce was interested in science; in his day he had
materially advanced civilization with several fundamental devices. But
what--if anything--he might be doing now, I had no idea.
Brett would tell me nothing beyond the fact that his father had
suggested they send for me. But he seemed excited, tense. Dr. Gryce
greeted me with his familiar kindliness. Though I did not see as much
of this family as I would like (my business with the Interplanetary
Mails was wholly underpaid and miserably confining), yet I counted the
Gryces among my closest friends.
Dr. Gryce said, "We are very glad to see you, Frank. Come outside.
Frannie is preparing breakfast."
His manner was grave and quiet as always. But there was about him also
an air of tenseness; and an aspect of apprehension. And it struck me,
a sort of weary, resigned depression which suddenly made his years sit
more heavily upon him. He was a man of some eighty odd; and though for
him no more than twenty or thirty years of life could be anticipated,
I had never considered him really old. He was small, slight of frame,
but erect, sturdy and vigorous. A smooth-shaven face with no more lines
upon it than a keen intellect and a character once wholly forceful
would engrave. And a mass of snow-white shaggy hair to make his head
appear preternaturally large.
He seemed old now, however, with that sense of depression hanging upon
him. And an indefinable aspect of fear.
I must allot a word to picture the three children of Dr. Gryce,
motherless since childhood. Brett was now twenty-eight--three years
older than myself, and physically my opposite. I am short, slender
and rather dark. And--so they tell me--not too even of temper. Brett
was a blond young giant. Crisp, wavy blond hair, blue eyes and the
strong-featured, ruddy face of a handsome athlete. But not too
handsome, for there was upon him no consciousness of his essentially
masculine beauty. He was wonderfully good-natured. His was a ready,
hearty laugh. He looked at life often from the humorous viewpoint. But
he had also a touch of his father's grave dignity; and a keen intellect
and a soberness of thought and reason far beyond his years.
The two other children--Martynn and Francine--were twins, now just
seventeen. Alike, physically and temperamentally, as children of a
birth traditionally should be. Slim and rather small--Martynn about my
height; Francine somewhat shorter. Both blue-eyed, with blond hair.
Francine's hair was long-waving tresses which she wore generally in
plaits over her shoulders; Martynn's was short and curly. They were
rather alike of feature; a delicacy of mold which gave to Martynn a
girlishness. But not an effeminacy, for he was a young daredevil; and
his sister hardly a lesser one. In childhood and adolescence an impish
spirit of deviltry had always seemed to possess these twins; a spirit
of mischief which had made them a great trial to their father. It had
turned, now that they were nearing maturity, into an apparent desire
for reckless adventure--the product of abounding health, and bubbling,
irrepressible good nature. They adored each other; were constantly
together, with youthful escapades threatening limb and life and
complete disaster, out of which they would emerge or be extricated with
dauntless spirits unperturbed.
The greater maturity of womanhood at seventeen had brought to Frannie
moments of gentleness, sweetness and a simple dignity. But they were
brief moments, and no more than a word or look from her twin was needed
to dispel them. Martt himself was without a vestige of dignity. But
they were no fools, these twins. They could, upon strict necessity,
give sober, intelligent thought to any problem at hand (Martynn had won
honors at the Great-London University); but of sober, matured action
they were incapable. Fearless--unreasonably fearless. But irresistible,
likable, and apparently quite capable of being restrained. A word
from Dr. Gryce, or from Brett--and to a lesser extent from me who had
known them from childhood--brought instant though often very temporary
obedience. They considered themselves quite grown up now. In truth, at
seventeen, Frannie was to my eyes a really beautiful young woman.