Journey Between Worlds by Sylvia Engdahl Read Free Book Online

launch-pads, I got a definitely queasy feeling in my stomach.
    You hear a lot about the discomforts of spaceships—acceleration, zero gravity, and all that—but you don’t stop to think that most of it doesn’t apply to commercial liners. The spacelines don’t expect you to be astronaut material any more than the airlines expect passengers to have the physique of test pilots. They do accelerate at several gravities and the shuttles go into zero-g when the power’s cut; even the big ships are weightless for a short time while they maneuver, before they put on spin. That’s one reason a medical exam is required for your passport. But it’s not anything like what astronauts go through. And besides, what with the spacesickness shots you get, and the tranquilizers—well, it just doesn’t bother you.
    But beforehand, your idea of all this is rather hazy. At least mine was. I looked around the terminal at the people getting ready to leave—middle-aged, many of them, and families with small children, babies, even—and told myself that there couldn’t be anything to get panicky about. But it didn’t change the way I felt inside.
    Of course, only a small percentage of these people were going to Mars. Most of them were on their way to Luna City and the majority would be away only a few weeks for a business trip or a short vacation. There’s lots of traffic between Earth and the Moon all the time; departures for Mars are comparatively rare. If we missed the Susan Constant there wouldn’t be another for months. I confess that I’d have been awfully glad if I could have figured out some way to miss it.
    That’s not entirely true, though. When I looked at Dad and saw how elated he was, I knew I wouldn’t want anything to spoil his trip, no matter how I felt secretly.
    The one thing I just couldn’t understand was why he was so anxious to go. I admit that most of the past week I’d avoided mentioning Mars, and usually when he had started to talk about the trip, I’d managed to change the subject. So maybe it was my own fault. I don’t think Dad knew how to explain it, though. This longing to see Mars had been in the background of his mind for so long, it seemed perfectly natural to him, the way my wanting to stay at Maple Beach seemed natural to me.
    â€œIt won’t be long now, Mel!” he said, as we carried our baggage over to the long TPC desk under the revolving triple globes emblem.
    â€œI guess not,” I agreed.
    He grinned at me. “I suppose you think I’m behaving just like a little boy.”
    I said, “Of course not, Dad,” though that was exactly what I thought.
    â€œI’m as excited as a little boy,” he told me. “I’m more thrilled than I used to be at Christmas. I remember the Christmas I was eight, my dad gave me a model ship—the Fortune, it was, which had just been put into service at the time. I feel like acting the way I did then! However, I’ll try to maintain the appropriate dignity.”
    â€œIs an executive supposed to be dignified?” I inquired, laughing.
    â€œWell, I’m representing the firm, after all; can’t give anyone the impression I’m an overgrown kid playing spaceman.” Suddenly he sobered, and put his hand on my arm. “Mel, honey—if only your mother were here. She wanted this so much.”
    I touched Mother’s silver beads, which filled the neckline of my suit. “Dad,” I asked, “what did Mother’s family traditions have to do with her wanting to go to Mars?”
    He turned to me, surprised. “Why, they were pioneers, that’s all. One of them was on the original Mayflower, I think; anyway they went west step by step, until finally they got to Oregon.”
    â€œI don’t see the connection. They weren’t doing it for the good of science, or anything like that. They just wanted—”
    I