energy. She was going full blast. I shrank within myself and wanted to crawl under a desk. If Charley thought this was enchanting and feminine, he could have it.

Although—she had the throatiest, most electrifying voice I had ever heard. It was a muted female foghorn with a lovely liquid cold. It turned my spine to wax even though I got angry the minute she opened her mouth and used it to say, witheringly, "What's the matter? How many people have to die before you big shots get interested? You two wouldn't dream of offering to help even if you aren't going after the story!"

"I've been trying to get hold of you," I said coldly.

She just looked her contempt. "I've been at rescue headquarters since 6:00 a.m. You might have tried there. Two thousand people face death, you know."

"And little Deborah has trundled out her armor and is in there pitching like mad," I said.

"You hardboiled newsmen," she said, and she was really upset. "You louses."

"Lice," I said. She had made me feel like a louse. I didn't want it to show, so I got sly and mean. "Don't you think this trip is too dangerous for you?"

She had calmed down. She didn't look like Joan of Arc, any more, just tired and troubled. "No," she said briefly.

"O.K.," I said cheerfully. I was only a little bit sorry to be so mean. "Then there's no bonus involved."

She buttoned a button on her sleek green workalls. "Louse, in the singular. Keep your lousy bonus."

Charley gave me a long, disgusted look and left to get his gear.

From the air all of Marsport seemed enclosed in a shimmering transparent syntho-glass bag. And it was, as were all the other Martian cities, enclosed in some virtually indestructable sheeting that rose to heights of 20,000 feet—contracting and expanding in the extreme temperature changes of the planet. These breathing, nearly invisible skins sheltered the cities, and within them strange hybrid species of flora and fauna flourished. The Martians had evolved a way of life that was tranquil, visually beautiful and civilized—if artificial, by our standards.

Its very artificiality became, in fact, a new kind of reality. The reality of a dream that persists, or a fantasy which retains its unbelievable qualities but becomes actuality. And in this atmosphere we set up 

 Prev. P 5/26 next