and a bit— because the next morning I was hustled out of bed by two Embassy guards, bundled into a station car, hurried to the port, packed into a shuttle. In three hours I was in orbit. In three hours and a half I was lying in a freezer cocoon, waiting for the sleepy drug to put me out and the chill-down to start. The space liner was not due to start its main engines for another nine orbits—more than half a day—but the Ambassador had given orders to get me put away. And get me put away they did.
The next thing I knew I was being eaten alive by fire ants, that unbearable arm’s-asleep feeling you get when you’re first thawed. I was still in the cocoon but I was wearing an electrically warmed skinsuit with only my eyes exposed, and bending over me was somebody I knew. “Hello there, Tenn,” said Mitzi Ku. “Surprised to see me?”
I was. I said I was, but I doubt that I managed to express just how surprised I was, because the last thought I remembered, just before the whirly-down sleepiness took over, was rueful regret that I hadn’t had that last farewell appearance in Mitzi’s bed, and was not likely ever to get a chance to make it up.
I was startled at her appearance. Half her face was bandaged, only the mouth and chin exposed, with two little slits in the dressing for eyes. Of course, that was natural enough. Healing doesn’t take place when you’re frozen. Effectively Mitzi was only a few days out of surgery. “Are you all right?” I asked.
She said sharply, “Sure I am. I’m fine! I mean,” she qualified, “I probably won’t be all fine for weeks yet, but I’m ambulatory. As you see,” she grinned. I think she was grinning. “When the doctors said I could leave the hospital I made up my mind that Venus had seen the last of me. So I tore up my reenlistment papers and they got me on the last shuttle. I stayed unfrozen for a while, until they could get the stitches out—and here I am!”
The itching had dwindled to the almost bearable range. The world suddenly looked brighter, and I started to peel off the hotsuit. Mitzi nodded. “That’s the spirit, Tenn! We touch down on the Moon in ninety minutes— better get your pants on!”
TARB’S HOMECOMING
I
To my surprise, the two deported Marines were on the same ship. That was a good thing. Without them helping me limp off I doubt I would have made it. Mitzi, all bandaged and broken, was fine. I was not. I was sick, and by that I mean, man, sick. I’ve always been susceptible to motion sickness, but it had never occurred to me that it was just as bad to be on the Moon.
Venus is terrible, sure, but at least on Venus you weigh what you expect to weigh. The Moon isn’t that friendly. They say after the first six weeks you stop throwing your coffee across the room when you only want to put it to your lips but I’ll never know that for myself —I don’t like the place. If we’d come on a regular Earth rocket we’d have shuttled down to the surface right away, but it was a Veenie vessel and had to stop at quarantine.
And that, really, was a farce! I’m not saying anything against the Agencies. They run the Earth very well. But the whole idea of quarantine is to keep Veenie diseases out, right? That includes the worst Veenie disease, the political pestilence of Conservationism. So you’d expect that on the Moon they’d give the Veenies a hard time in Customs and Immigration. In fact Immigration waved them past with no more than a cursory look at their passports. I don’t mean just the crew, who weren’t going anywhere but the nearest flopjoint anyway. Even the handful of Veenie business people and dips, transshipping to the Earth, got greased through in no time.
But us Terrestrials—wow! They sat Mitzi and me down and magnetic-checked our papers and pried through our bags, and then the questions began. It was report all contact with Venusian nationals in line of duty for past eighteen months; give purpose of contact and nature of
The next thing I knew I was being eaten alive by fire ants, that unbearable arm’s-asleep feeling you get when you’re first thawed. I was still in the cocoon but I was wearing an electrically warmed skinsuit with only my eyes exposed, and bending over me was somebody I knew. “Hello there, Tenn,” said Mitzi Ku. “Surprised to see me?”
I was. I said I was, but I doubt that I managed to express just how surprised I was, because the last thought I remembered, just before the whirly-down sleepiness took over, was rueful regret that I hadn’t had that last farewell appearance in Mitzi’s bed, and was not likely ever to get a chance to make it up.
I was startled at her appearance. Half her face was bandaged, only the mouth and chin exposed, with two little slits in the dressing for eyes. Of course, that was natural enough. Healing doesn’t take place when you’re frozen. Effectively Mitzi was only a few days out of surgery. “Are you all right?” I asked.
She said sharply, “Sure I am. I’m fine! I mean,” she qualified, “I probably won’t be all fine for weeks yet, but I’m ambulatory. As you see,” she grinned. I think she was grinning. “When the doctors said I could leave the hospital I made up my mind that Venus had seen the last of me. So I tore up my reenlistment papers and they got me on the last shuttle. I stayed unfrozen for a while, until they could get the stitches out—and here I am!”
The itching had dwindled to the almost bearable range. The world suddenly looked brighter, and I started to peel off the hotsuit. Mitzi nodded. “That’s the spirit, Tenn! We touch down on the Moon in ninety minutes— better get your pants on!”
TARB’S HOMECOMING
I
To my surprise, the two deported Marines were on the same ship. That was a good thing. Without them helping me limp off I doubt I would have made it. Mitzi, all bandaged and broken, was fine. I was not. I was sick, and by that I mean, man, sick. I’ve always been susceptible to motion sickness, but it had never occurred to me that it was just as bad to be on the Moon.
Venus is terrible, sure, but at least on Venus you weigh what you expect to weigh. The Moon isn’t that friendly. They say after the first six weeks you stop throwing your coffee across the room when you only want to put it to your lips but I’ll never know that for myself —I don’t like the place. If we’d come on a regular Earth rocket we’d have shuttled down to the surface right away, but it was a Veenie vessel and had to stop at quarantine.
And that, really, was a farce! I’m not saying anything against the Agencies. They run the Earth very well. But the whole idea of quarantine is to keep Veenie diseases out, right? That includes the worst Veenie disease, the political pestilence of Conservationism. So you’d expect that on the Moon they’d give the Veenies a hard time in Customs and Immigration. In fact Immigration waved them past with no more than a cursory look at their passports. I don’t mean just the crew, who weren’t going anywhere but the nearest flopjoint anyway. Even the handful of Veenie business people and dips, transshipping to the Earth, got greased through in no time.
But us Terrestrials—wow! They sat Mitzi and me down and magnetic-checked our papers and pried through our bags, and then the questions began. It was report all contact with Venusian nationals in line of duty for past eighteen months; give purpose of contact and nature of
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