Journey Between Worlds (2 page)

You know, much as I loved Dad, I never stopped to think that he might not be completely happy. He hadn't remarried after my mother's death and from his letters I always assumed that his work was everything to him. He had a top position; he was an executive by the time I entered boarding school, and was making loads of money. I didn't realize how much he missed not having a family. Moreover, it just never occurred to me that there might be something else he'd always wanted that he'd never had a chance for. I didn't find out about it until the day of my graduation. If I hadn't been so absorbed with Ross, maybe it wouldn't have been such a shock.

Though I don't know. How would you feel if your father gave you a ticket to Mars for a graduation present?

 

 

I had absolutely no advance warning. As late as that last day at school, I wasn't sure if we were taking a trip at all. I hadn't seen Dad since Christmas, when I had joined him in Washington, D.C., because Dad's current work was in his firm's home office, and he hadn't been able to come to the West Coast for even a few days. In his letters he hadn't given an inkling as to where his next assignment might take him. He hadn't mentioned summer, except to say that he was looking forward to having me with him. It was exasperating. I don't like surprises; I like to have everything mapped out, and it seemed as if Dad should have known that. (Though come to think of it, he really knew very little about me—my personality, I mean—since he hadn't seen me often enough.) As it was, I didn't know if I'd be two days at Gran's or a month before Dad would want me to join him. I didn't even know if he was coming to graduation.

I was depressed that day to begin with, for several reasons. It wasn't only the uncertainty. First, Gran had phoned; she'd come down with a bad cold and wasn't going to be able to make it out to school for the ceremonies, so if Dad didn't show up, I'd have no one at all. Ross's parents would be there, but somehow it isn't the same.

Also, now that the time had come, I was beginning to hate the idea of leaving school. I'd been homesick when I first came from Gran's, but that hadn't lasted, and school had been the center of things for six years. I wanted to graduate, but in some ways it was sad and a little scary. After all, I'd have all the rest of my life to live at Maple Beach, after college. Things were changing too fast.

I've often wondered what it would be like to go to school and live at home at the same time. You wouldn't get so wrapped up in it, maybe; graduation wouldn't seem so—so final. Some things would stay the same. It's not that I regret having gone to Evergreen Central. A residential school was the only choice for me in any case, since there wasn't regular copter service to Gran's house, or even a bus. But I'm sure I wouldn't have liked a city high school. No trees, no lawns, not even gym outdoors! If you're not underground, you might just as well be. And think of the hours some kids devote to commuting. Dad's folks were English, so it seemed more natural to him for me to live at school than it did to Gran. When she was a girl the only boarding schools were private ones, and she never has understood about tax-supported residential schools being the new trend.

Lots of kids like residential schools just because there's less fighting with their parents. Dorm counselors may be a little overbearing at times, but from what I've heard they have a better understanding of your problems than the average parent has. I wouldn't know; I've always wished I could have been close to Dad and Mother, yet if I'd seen them every day we might not have gotten along. The thing I do know, though, is that it's easier to make friends at a residential school. You meet kids from all over, not just those from your own suburb; and even if you're not the kind to go out for activities much, there are always your roommates. I wouldn't have met Julie Tamura or Lorene Smith at a local school, and we turned out to be best friends. Of course, if we hadn't just naturally liked one another, sharing a room might have been worse than being lonely. I admit I've always found it hard to get on intimate terms with people. Especially with boys. I hate to think what it would have been like if I hadn't had Ross.

If it hadn't been for Ross, I would have looked forward to college with a certain amount of apprehension, I think. Neither Julie nor Lorene was going to the University of Oregon. But Ross would be there, which was why I'd chosen it; we'd spend all our free time together. It really wasn't going to matter, not knowing anyone else. To get my teaching credentials in minimum time I'd have to study hard; the first year would go fast. And after that we'd be married.

Only, this summer we were going to be separated. That was another thing that depressed me on graduation day. Because the night before, while we were walking back from the coffee shop, Ross had brought it up again, and the evening hadn't ended happily. It wasn't exactly a fight—Ross and I never fought, because I almost always saw things his way—but it certainly didn't put me in a mood to enjoy graduation. The trouble was, Ross had never been really resigned to my spending the summer with Dad.

“Can't you get out of going?” he'd complained. It wasn't the first time he had asked that, either.

“You know I can't. You know I don't want to. Do we have to go through it all again?”

“If you loved me you'd want to.”

“You're not being fair, Ross. Of course I love you. But can't I love my own father, too?”

“What am I supposed to do all summer while you're gone?”

“I thought you were going to work.”

“I don't mean that.”

I said slowly, “If you want to date, you can.” I didn't think he'd take me seriously, and naturally he didn't; neither of us had dated anyone else for more than a year. But he didn't laugh it off, either. He didn't say a word until we got back to the dorm, and I finally had to try to fix things up myself.

“Oh, Ross, we'll never be separated again,” I said. “I promise we won't. It's just that I've wanted to see more of Dad for so long, and I'll never have another chance.”

“Sure, Mel. Go ahead, have your trip. See you in the fall.”

For a moment I thought he meant not until fall. “I'll see you tomorrow, won't I? At lunch? And after—”

“Of course. Unless you'd rather go out with your father than with me.”

“On Grad Night? Don't be ridiculous.” I refrained from saying that Dad might not even be coming. Ross and I had been planning our Grad Night date for a long time; we were going into Portland. Ross would drive me out to Gran's house later, whether Dad showed up or not. “It may be the last date we'll have for a long time,” I reminded him. “Please don't spoil it.”

“Well, there's nothing left to argue about, is there? It's settled; you're going.” He smiled then, and his kiss was the same as always.

It never occurred to either one of us that
where
I was going would make any difference. But it did; it brought on the only real fight we ever had. And if it hadn't been for that fight with Ross, I might never have come to Mars at all. It's funny the way things happen.

 

 

Graduation day was gorgeous, lush and green as only a terrestrial June can be. I remember everything about that afternoon: the way the clouds looked, and how the sun broke through and shone warm on my shoulders, and threw soft shadows across the stone floor of the quadrangle. The rhododendrons were in bloom, brilliant pink against the green mass of the maples. I always loved the rhododendrons.

Dad arrived less than half an hour before the ceremonies, on the fifteen-forty copter. We'd had the morning free for getting our things together and clearing up details like returning discs to the library, so by fifteen o'clock I'd finished packing. Julie and I had our caps and gowns on and were sitting in the quad near the fountain, just outside the entrance to the auditorium where the line was to form. I was miserably nervous; if only Dad had told me, one way or the other. Since he hadn't, I'd keep hoping right up to the last moment, no matter how hard I tried not to.

From where we sat we could see the school copter busily ferrying people in from the parking compound—it was running every five minutes instead of keeping to the regular schedule—but we couldn't see who was getting off. We would have gone over to the copter pad if it were not that students had been told to keep away because of the crowds; arriving parents were being directed over to the quad. Julie's folks hadn't come yet, either, but they were local people and would be arriving on the monorail instead of driving in from the airport.

The stereo system had been shut off temporarily and we could hear the school band tuning up somewhere in the background. The fountain splashed noisily off to our left. (I marvel, now, at the amount of water used in fountains on Earth!) I twisted my hands in my lap and wished that sixteen o'clock would hurry up and come.

“Where's Ross?” Julie asked.

“Oh, meeting his folks, I guess. He said they might not see me until afterward.” This should be a happy, exciting time, I was thinking; instead, it was flat and empty. Perhaps the evening would be flat, too. I could hardly wait until it was over and I was on my way out to Maple Beach.

Just as the loudspeakers came on and told us to start lining up, Julie spotted her parents. I was left standing there, knowing that it was foolish to wait any longer. Even if Dad did come, I couldn't talk to him until after it was over; the band was already starting on the introduction to the march.

But when he came rushing down the steps from the copter pad, I forgot everything except what a joy it was to see him, and it didn't matter if I ever went inside for the ceremonies or not.

The first thing I noticed was how excited he seemed, and how happy. Dad grabbed my hands and then hugged me tight, almost smashing my mortarboard, and I began to think I'd been silly to wonder if he cared anything about my graduation. Of course he cared. He was positively ecstatic!

Then he thrust the long white envelope into my hands. From that point on, everything I'd ever known or felt or believed in began to come apart.

“Mel, honey,” Dad said. “It's all settled! They're sending you. I didn't tell you because I wasn't sure; I was so afraid you'd be disappointed—”

“Sending me where?” I began, but just then the band burst out with the main chorus of the march from
Aida
and the line started to move.

“Happy graduation, honey!” Dad shouted, and he disappeared in the mob of people pouring in through the now-closing doors. I had to run to find my place in line, and by that time we were already moving into the auditorium. I started to stick the envelope away under the white folds of my gown, but as I did it I caught sight of the imprint in its top left-hand corner.

Whenever I hear
Aida,
I'll close my eyes and I'll see that envelope again, just the way it was as I first looked at it. The triple globes—blue, white, and red—and the tall blue lettering,
Three Planets Corporation.
The triple globes as I'd seen them a thousand times on billboards and in magazines and on TV: blue for Earth, white for the Moon, and red for Mars. The words slanted in blue script across the front of the envelope: SPACELINER RESERVATIONS. The precise computer-printed characters on the ticket inside, confirming that Melinda Ashley held Berth 2, Cabin G-11, in the S.S.
Susan Constant,
departing at 0415 Greenwich mean time on June 10 for the planet Mars.

I didn't hear one word of the graduation speeches. The thrill you're supposed to get from such a solemn occasion bypassed me completely.

Dad, Dad,
I thought that day,
you must know me better than this. You must know this isn't necessary, that I don't even want it.

That there isn't anything I want less!
I knew very little about Mars at the time, but I had a general idea of what that ticket must have cost; even for a man who's well-to-do, interplanetary fares are out of sight. I appreciated Dad's wanting to give me a really supercolossal graduation gift to make up for all those years. But I didn't want a trip to Mars, I wanted to be with
him.

What I didn't know yet was that Dad had just received an assignment from his firm to investigate the feasibility of their opening a branch office on Mars.

I still don't like to think about graduation day. I still hate to relive that evening, the first evening that I knew we were going to Mars.

What surprised me most was that Dad was so happy about it. We sat on one of the benches in the quad and talked while I was waiting for Ross to get his car packed. (I'd explained about our date, when Dad wanted to take me out for something to eat.) I held the ticket envelope next to my diploma, my damp fingers making a soiled blotch over the triple globes.

“Aren't you excited, honey?” Dad demanded.

Excited wasn't the word for it. Flabbergasted would have been closer. But I was trying to act calm while I got up courage to tell Dad that I'd rather not go to Mars at all.

It wasn't that I was afraid to go. I wouldn't want anyone to get that idea. Or maybe I was and didn't know it; but if so it wasn't physical fear, not then. I had as matter-of-fact an attitude toward space travel as most people have, though I had no personal interest in it, not being the scientific type. But going to Mars is not like going to Europe. For one thing, you're gone longer. At the very least, I would miss two or three terms of college. For another, a different planet is so—well, so foreign.

Not that I was thinking about those drawbacks then. I was thinking about Ross. Perhaps, after all, it had been wrong not to have told Dad long ago how I felt about Ross. Since I hadn't, though, it seemed wisest to bring up the educational angle first.