<h2>II</h2>
<p>I stood on the turret balcony of the <i>Planetara</i> with Captain<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_14" id="Page_14"></SPAN></span> Carter
and Dr. Frank, the ship surgeon, watching the arriving passengers. It
was close to the zero hour; the level of the stage was a turmoil of
confusion. The escalators, with the last of the freight aboard, were
folded back. But the stage was jammed with incoming passenger luggage,
the interplanetary customs and tax officials with their x-ray and
zed-ray paraphernalia and the passengers themselves, lined up for the
export inspection.</p>
<p>At this height, the city lights lay spread in a glare of blue and
yellow beneath us. The individual local planes came dropping like
birds to our stage. Thirty-eight passengers to Mars for this voyage,
but that accursed desire of every friend and relative to speed the
departing voyager brought a hundred or more extra people to crowd our
girders and add to everybody's troubles.</p>
<p>Carter was too absorbed in his duties to stay with us long. But here
in the turret Dr. Frank and I found ourselves at the moment with
nothing much to do but watch.</p>
<p>Dr. Frank was a thin, dark, rather smallish man of fifty, trim in his
blue and white uniform. I knew him well: we had made several flights
together. An American—I fancy of Jewish ancestry. A likable man, and
a skillful doctor and surgeon. He and I had always been good friends.</p>
<p>"Crowded," he said. "Johnson says thirty-eight. I hope they're
experienced travelers. This pressure sickness is a rotten
nuisance—keeps me dashing around all night assuring frightened women
they're not going to die. Last voyage, coming out of the Venus
atmosphere—"</p>
<p>He plunged into a lugubrious account of his troubles with space sick
voyagers. But I was in no mood to listen to him. My gaze was down on
the spider incline, up which, over the bend of the ship's sleek,
silvery body, the passengers and their friends were coming in little
groups. The upper deck was already jammed with them.</p>
<p>The <i>Planetara</i>, as flyers go, was not a large vessel. Cylindrical of
body, forty feet maximum beam, and two hundred and seventy-five feet
in length. The passenger superstructure<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_15" id="Page_15"></SPAN></span>—no more than a hundred feet
long—was set amidships. A narrow deck, metallically enclosed, and
with large bull's-eye windows, encircled the superstructure. Some of
the cabins opened directly onto the deck. Others had doors to the
interior corridors. There were half a dozen small but luxurious public
rooms.</p>
<p>The rest of the vessel was given to freight storage and the mechanism
and control compartments. Forward of the passenger structure the deck
level continued under the cylindrical dome roof to the bow. The
forward watch tower observatory was here, officers' cabins, Captain
Carter's navigating rooms and Dr. Frank's office. Similarly, under the
stern dome, was the stern watch tower and a series of power
compartments.</p>
<p>Above the superstructure a confusion of spider bridges, ladders and
balconies were laced like a metal network. The turret in which Dr.
Frank and I now stood was perched here. Fifty feet away, like a bird's
nest, Snap's instrument room stood clinging to the metal bridge. The
dome roof, with the glassite windows rolled back now, rose in a mound
peak to cover the highest middle portion of the vessel.</p>
<p>Below, in the main hull, blue lit metal corridors ran the entire
length of the ship. Freight storage compartments; gravity control
rooms; the air renewal system; heater and ventilators and pressure
mechanisms—all were located there. And the kitchens, stewards'
compartments, and the living quarters of the crew. We carried a crew
of sixteen, this voyage, exclusive of the navigating officers, the
purser, Snap Dean, and Dr. Frank.</p>
<p>The passengers coming aboard seemed a fair representation of what we
usually had for the outward voyage to Ferrok-Shahn. Most were Earth
people—and returning Martians. Dr. Frank pointed out one. A huge
Martian in a grey cloak. A seven foot fellow.</p>
<p>"His name is <i>Set</i> Miko," Dr. Frank remarked. "Ever heard of him?"</p>
<p>"No," I said. "Should I?"<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_16" id="Page_16"></SPAN></span></p>
<p>"Well—" The doctor suddenly checked himself, as though he were sorry
he had spoken.</p>
<p>"I never heard of him," I repeated slowly.</p>
<p>An awkward silence fell between us.</p>
<p>There were a few Venus passengers. I saw one of them presently coming
up the incline, and recognized her. A girl traveling alone. We had
brought her from Grebhar, last voyage but one. I remembered her. An
alluring sort of girl, as most of them are. Her name was Venza. She
spoke English well. A singer and dancer who had been imported to
Greater New York to fill some theatrical engagement. She'd made quite
a hit on the Great White Way.</p>
<p>She came up the incline with the carrier ahead of her. Gazing up, she
saw Dr. Frank and me at the turret window, smiled and waved her white
arm in greeting.</p>
<p>Dr. Frank laughed. "By the gods of the airways, there's Alta Venza!
You saw that look, Gregg? That was for me, not you."</p>
<p>"Reasonable enough," I retorted. "But I doubt it—the Venza is nothing
if not impartial."</p>
<p>I wondered what could be taking Venza now to Mars. I was glad to see
her. She was diverting. Educated. Well traveled. Spoke English with a
colloquial, theatrical manner more characteristic of Greater New York
than of Venus. And for all her light banter, I would rather put my
trust in her than any Venus girl I had ever met.</p>
<p>The hum of the departing siren was sounding. Friends and relatives of
the passengers were crowding the exit incline. The deck was clearing.
I had not seen George Prince come aboard. And then I thought I saw him
down on the landing stage, just arrived from a private tube car. A
small, slight figure. The customs men were around him. I could only
see his head and shoulders. Pale, girlishly handsome face; long, black
hair to the base of his neck. He was bare-headed, with the hood of his
traveling cloak pushed back.</p>
<p>I stared, and I saw that Dr. Frank was also gazing down. But neither
of us spoke.<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_17" id="Page_17"></SPAN></span></p>
<p>Then I said upon impulse, "Suppose we go down to the deck, Doctor?"</p>
<p>He acquiesced. We descended to the lower room of the turret and
clambered down the spider ladder to the upper deck level. The head of
the arriving incline was near us. Preceded by two carriers who were
littered with hand luggage, George Prince was coming up the incline.
He was closer now. I recognized him from the type we had seen in
Halsey's office.</p>
<p>And then, with a shock, I saw it was not so. This was a girl coming
aboard. An arc light over the incline showed her clearly when she was
half way up. A girl with her hood pushed back; her face framed in
thick black hair. I saw now it was not a man's cut of hair; but long
braids coiled up under the dangling hood.</p>
<p>Dr. Frank must have remarked my amazed expression. "Little beauty,
isn't she?"</p>
<p>"Who is she?"</p>
<p>We were standing back against the wall of the superstructure. A
passenger was near us—the Martian whom Dr. Frank had called Miko. He
was loitering here, quite evidently watching this girl come aboard.
But as I glanced at him, he looked away and casually sauntered off.</p>
<p>The girl came up and reached the deck. "I am in A22," she told the
carrier. "My brother came aboard a couple of hours ago."</p>
<p>Dr. Frank answered my whisper. "That's Anita Prince."</p>
<p>She was passing quite close to us on the deck, following the carrier,
when she stumbled and very nearly fell. I was nearest to her. I leaped
forward and caught her as she nearly went down.</p>
<p>With my arm about her, I raised her up and set her upon her feet
again. She had twisted her ankle. She balanced herself upon it. The
pain of it eased up in a moment.</p>
<p>"I'm all right—thank you!"</p>
<p>In the dimness of the blue lit deck I met her eyes. I was holding her
with my encircling arm. She was small and soft<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_18" id="Page_18"></SPAN></span> against me. Her face,
framed in the thick, black hair, smiled up at me. Small, oval
face—beautiful—yet firm of chin, and stamped with the mark of its
own individuality. No empty-headed beauty, this.</p>
<p>"I'm all right, thank you very much—"</p>
<p>I became conscious that I had not released her. I felt her hands
pushing at me. And then it seemed that for an instant she yielded and
was clinging. And I met her startled upflung gaze. Eyes like a purple
night with the sheen of misty starlight in them.</p>
<p>I heard myself murmuring, "I beg your pardon. Yes, of course!" I
released her.</p>
<p>She thanked me again and followed the carriers along the deck. She was
limping slightly.</p>
<p>An instant she had clung to me. A brief flash of something, from her
eyes to mine—from mine back to hers. The poets write that love can be
born of such a glance. The first meeting, across all the barriers of
which love springs unsought, unbidden—defiant, sometimes. And the
troubadours of old would sing: "A fleeting glance; a touch; two wildly
beating hearts—and love was born."</p>
<p>I think, with Anita and me, it must have been like that.</p>
<p>I stood, gazing after her, unconscious of Dr. Frank, who was watching
me with his quizzical smile. And presently, no more than a quarter
beyond the zero hour, the <i>Planetara</i> got away. With the dome windows
battened tightly, we lifted from the landing stage and soared over the
glowing city. The phosphorescence of the electronic tubes was like a
comet's tail behind us as we slid upward.</p>
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