our machines and agencies and extensions of Earth—bursting with the conceits and importance of having conquered space. And, oddly, we did not consider it strange that the Martians displayed no interest in returning our visit.

The spaceport lay outside Marsport, however. When we ventured beyond the protection of the city shelter we wore the pixie-like oxygen hoods and adjusted the thermal dials on our workalls. I never got over being surprised that our technicians on Earth could have been so clever at keeping us comfortable. You got used to nearly everything, as a matter of fact, except the psychological sense that freedom existed within the city shelter—and not in the great outdoors. You could get agoraphobia on Mars; it was rough outside.

When we arrived at the spaceport it seemed as though every citizen in the capital city had turned out. The slender Martian men in their colorful, oddly skirted costumes formed the bulk of the crowd. They had need of extra oxygen, too, and the tall, transparent cones within which they breathed glittered like a thousand needles in the early morning air. Martian women were missing from the crowd, as usual, and as usual you had a strangely wistful feeling about these withdrawn people—who were always friendly but never intimate. Who would not trust you any more than you would mischievous children with the treasures of their ancient and beautiful civilization.

We rode past the crowds in our vehicle, with an R.A. sergeant directing us to the Starfish.

It can be said for the Rocket Auxiliary that they worked like beavers loading the U.F.S. Rocket Fleet. The array of ships was impressive. The sleek, silver hulls mirrored the pastel, candy colors of a clear Martian morning. They lay quiescent like glittering feathers on the broad, red-earth field. Far in the distance, low, brown hills rolled out to meet the horizon. Small yellow clouds swirled over a section of the hills—a dust storm into which we would be heading presently.

Our sergeant hopped off the vehicle when we reached the Starfish. She was a real old dowager, the Starfish, with the broadest beam in the fleet: even slower, but more uncomfortable, than a ride on a three-legged Martian ileh, the only beast of burden on the planet.

When we had piled out of the vehicle the first thing I noticed was Deborah's gear, all neat and ready to be stowed. Then Sam Vechi, sitting on a fibreboard crate with his legs crossed at precise right angles. His face in the transparent visor was thin, darkly 

 Prev. P 6/26 next