occupied building useless lifeships, and the other two thirds
are busy behaving themselves and trying to catch some tinpot lieutenant's
eye."
Pat was worried. I felt a great respect for her and Sammy. I knew --
I didn't know how, but I knew they were concerned, not for themselves,
for neither expected to go to Mars, but for the duped millions who thought
they had a chance when (according to Sammy's theory) they had none.
No use to point out that even if it were true there might be something to
be said for that method of ensuring that as many as possible of the right
people should be taken to the new colony. Pat and Sammy were overcome
by the horror of a world kept quiet by a cruel lie. I couldn't see it
quite the same way, though it concerned me more than them.
I put my arm around Pat's shoulders.
"I won't argue with your theory, Sammy," I said, "though I could. I'll just
say this. When you got that idea -- had you ever been lower in your life?
Weren't you miserable, in despair, half dead? Would you admit anything
but the blackest, gloomiest thoughts?"
He grinned wryly. "You may have something there."
"Then suppose you get yourself feeling a little happier about things,
and then have another look at this idea. It may look a little different."
"Pat wasn't feeling low," Sammy retorted. "And she seems to think there
might be something in it."
"Pat thinks there's something in everything. On the surface she refuses to
believe anything. But that often hides romanticism and imagination. And who
said she isn't feeling low? She thinks she's made a mess of her life.
She thinks she has no right to go to Mars. She wishes -- "
Pat jammed her hand against my mouth, hard. I caught her wrists and
scuffled mildly with her. She seemed to feel better after that.
Even Sammy almost smiled.
7
While Sammy was still with us the phone rang. Pat took it. She seemed
determined that everyone should know she was with me -- though what
good that would do her I couldn't see. Quite the reverse. But people
who set a lot of store on being honest and outspoken are often honest
and outspoken when it does no good and a lot of harm.
The call was for Pat. She listened, slammed down the phone, and turned
to us angrily. "Well, what do you know about that!"
"Nothing," said Sammy patiently, "until you tell us."
"That was my aunt. Somebody got into my room last night and destroyed
everything -- clothes, books, furniture, letters. The whole shooting
match. Imagine anyone doing a thing like that!"
Sammy took the practical view. "Their usefulness has only been shortened
by a day or two, anyway," he remarked. "Why should you care?'
"But -- "
"It's just spite," I said. "Why be surprised, Pat? You're cynical about
so many things -- it should be no shock that when people hate you they
take any small revenge they can."
Pat grinned involuntarily. "No, it isn't really," she admitted. "And as
Sammy says, it hardly matters now. But it's pretty petty, isn't it?"
"What an odd juxtaposition," Sammy murmured. "Pretty petty. Pretty petty.
Pretty petty."
Pat said she was going over to have a look around. I offered to take her,
but surprisingly Sammy stood up and said he'd go with her. He put it
neatly, using precisely the words that made any other arrangement impossible.
In fact he cut me out. He must have been feeling a whole lot better than
when he came in and talked despondency.
There was a knock on the door so soon after they had gone that I thought
they had come back. I threw the door open casually, so sure it was Pat
and Sammy that anyone else would have surprised me.
But I certainly didn't expect the melodrama of three masked men who
brushed past me and shut the door.
I wasn't perturbed. Nothing could happen to me. I wouldn't have been