information communicated. Report all such contacts not in line of duty—purpose and information included. We were three hours in that sealed cubicle, filling out forms and answering questions, and then the interrogator got serious. “It has been ascertained,” he said—grammatically speaking the voice was passive, but the actual voice rang with loathing and contempt, “that certain Earth nationals, to secure easy admission to Venus, have performed ritual acts of desecration.”
Well, that was true enough. It was just another typical lousy Veenie trick, like the Japanese making Europeans trample on Bibles centuries ago. When you got to the Veenie Immigration checkpoints you had a choice. You could go through four or five hours of close questioning, with all your belongings opened and most likely a body search. Or you could take an oath renouncing “advertising, publicity, media persuasion or any other form of manipulation of public opinion”; toss off a few slanders of your Agency; and then, depending on how good an actor you were, breeze right through. It was a big joke, of course. I chuckled and started to explain it to him, but Mitzi cut in ahead of me. “Oh, yes,” she said, nodding earnestly, her expression as disapproving as his own, “we’ve heard that, too.” She gave me a warning look. “Do you happen to know if it’s true?”
The Immigration man put down his stylus to study her face. “You mean you don’t know whether that happens or not?”
She said carelessly, “One hears stories, sure. But when you try to put your finger on it, you just can’t find a single concrete bit of evidence. It’s always, no, it didn’t happen to me, but I heard from this person that he had a friend who— Anyway, I can’t really believe a decent Terrestrial would do such a thing. I certainly wouldn’t, and neither would Tennison. Apart from the plain immorality of it, we know we’d have to face the consequences when we came back!”
So grudgingly the man passed us, and as soon as we were outside I whispered to Mitzi, “You saved my tail—thanks!”
“They just started doing that a couple years ago,” she said. “If we’d admitted taking a false oath it would go on our records—then we’d be in the stuff.”
“Funny you heard that that was happening and I didn’t.”
“I’m glad you can see the humor of it,” she said bitingly, and for some reason, I perceived, she was furious. Then she said, “Sorry. I’m in a bad mood. I think I’ll try to get a few more of these bandages off—then it’ll be time for the shuttle!”
Earth! The birthplace of homo sapiens. The homeland of true humanity. The flowering of civilization. When we came to the shuttle in its lock and I caught a glimpse of its graffiti I knew I was home. “Everett Loves Alice.” “Tiny Miljiewicz has herpes in his ears.” “Rams all the way!” There’s nothing on Venus like our native Terrestrial folk art!
So we came down from the sky, jolting and slamming; I worried about Mitzi’s healing scars, but she only mumbled and turned over to sleep. Out over the wide ocean, greeny gray with slime—clear across the wide, welcoming North American continent, with its patchwork carpet of cities glowing welcomingly up through the smog—then the sun we had left behind rising again before us as we skidded out over the Atlantic, made our U-turn to spill out the last of our altitude and speed, and touched down finally on the broad runways of New York Shuttleport. Little old New York! The hub the universe spins on! I felt my heart throbbing with pride, and with joy at homecoming … and Mitzi, strapped in beside me, had slept through the whole thing.
She sat up drowsily while we were waiting for the tractor to hook on and tow us to the terminal. She made a face. “Isn’t it great to be back?” I demanded, grinning at her.
She leaned over me to stare out the window. “Sure is,” she said, but her tone was a long way from
Well, that was true enough. It was just another typical lousy Veenie trick, like the Japanese making Europeans trample on Bibles centuries ago. When you got to the Veenie Immigration checkpoints you had a choice. You could go through four or five hours of close questioning, with all your belongings opened and most likely a body search. Or you could take an oath renouncing “advertising, publicity, media persuasion or any other form of manipulation of public opinion”; toss off a few slanders of your Agency; and then, depending on how good an actor you were, breeze right through. It was a big joke, of course. I chuckled and started to explain it to him, but Mitzi cut in ahead of me. “Oh, yes,” she said, nodding earnestly, her expression as disapproving as his own, “we’ve heard that, too.” She gave me a warning look. “Do you happen to know if it’s true?”
The Immigration man put down his stylus to study her face. “You mean you don’t know whether that happens or not?”
She said carelessly, “One hears stories, sure. But when you try to put your finger on it, you just can’t find a single concrete bit of evidence. It’s always, no, it didn’t happen to me, but I heard from this person that he had a friend who— Anyway, I can’t really believe a decent Terrestrial would do such a thing. I certainly wouldn’t, and neither would Tennison. Apart from the plain immorality of it, we know we’d have to face the consequences when we came back!”
So grudgingly the man passed us, and as soon as we were outside I whispered to Mitzi, “You saved my tail—thanks!”
“They just started doing that a couple years ago,” she said. “If we’d admitted taking a false oath it would go on our records—then we’d be in the stuff.”
“Funny you heard that that was happening and I didn’t.”
“I’m glad you can see the humor of it,” she said bitingly, and for some reason, I perceived, she was furious. Then she said, “Sorry. I’m in a bad mood. I think I’ll try to get a few more of these bandages off—then it’ll be time for the shuttle!”
Earth! The birthplace of homo sapiens. The homeland of true humanity. The flowering of civilization. When we came to the shuttle in its lock and I caught a glimpse of its graffiti I knew I was home. “Everett Loves Alice.” “Tiny Miljiewicz has herpes in his ears.” “Rams all the way!” There’s nothing on Venus like our native Terrestrial folk art!
So we came down from the sky, jolting and slamming; I worried about Mitzi’s healing scars, but she only mumbled and turned over to sleep. Out over the wide ocean, greeny gray with slime—clear across the wide, welcoming North American continent, with its patchwork carpet of cities glowing welcomingly up through the smog—then the sun we had left behind rising again before us as we skidded out over the Atlantic, made our U-turn to spill out the last of our altitude and speed, and touched down finally on the broad runways of New York Shuttleport. Little old New York! The hub the universe spins on! I felt my heart throbbing with pride, and with joy at homecoming … and Mitzi, strapped in beside me, had slept through the whole thing.
She sat up drowsily while we were waiting for the tractor to hook on and tow us to the terminal. She made a face. “Isn’t it great to be back?” I demanded, grinning at her.
She leaned over me to stare out the window. “Sure is,” she said, but her tone was a long way from
Similar Books
