Podkayne of Mars

But I could see that it simply puzzled Mrs. Royer, so we passed to other matters, speaking from her seniority as an "old space hand," based on her one

just-completed trip out from Earth, she told me a great many things about ships . and space fravel, most of which weren't so, but I indulged her. She introduced me to a number of people and handed me a large quantity of gossip about passengers, ship's officers, et cetera. Between times she filled me in on her aches, pains, and symptoms, what an important executive her son was, what a very important person her late husband had been, and how, when I reached Earth, she really must see to it that I met the Right People. "Perhaps such things don't matter in an outpost like Mars, my dear child, but it is Terribly Important to get Started Right in New York."

I tabbed her as garrulous, stupid, and well intentioned.

But I soon found that I couldn't get rid of her. If I passed through the lounge-which I had to do in order to reach the control room-she would snag me and I couldn't get away short of abrupt rudeness or flat lies.

She quickly started using me for chores. "Podkayne darling, would you mind just slipping around to my stateroom and fetching my mauve wrap? I feel a tiny chill. It's on the bed, I think-or perhaps in the wardrobe-that's a dear." Or, "Poddy child, I've rung and I've rung and the stewardess simply won't answer. Would you get my book and my knitting? Oh, and while you're at it, you might bring me a nice cup of tea from the pantry."

Those things aren't too bad; she is probably creaky in the knees and I'm not. But it went on endlessly... and shortly, in addition to being her personal stewardess, I was her private 'nurse. First she asked me to read her to sleep. "Such a blinding headache and your voice is so soothing, my sweet."

I read to her for an hour and then found myself rubbing her head and temples for almost as long. Oh

well, a person ought to manage a little kindness now and then, just for practice-and Mother sometimes has dreadful headaches when she has been working too hard; I know that a rub does help.:

That time she tried to tip me. I refused it. She insisted. "Now, now, child, don't argue with your Aunt Flossie."

I said, "No, really, Mrs. Royer. If you want to give it to the fund for disabled spacemen as a thank-you, that's all right. But I can't take it."

She said pish and tosh and tried to shove it into my pocket. So I slid out and went to bed.

I didn't see her at breakfast; she always has a tray in her room. But about midmorning a stewardess told me that Mrs. Royer wanted to see me in her room. I was hardly gruntled at the summons, as Mr. Savvonavong had told me that if I showed up just before ten during his watch, I could watch the whole process of a ballistic correction and he would explain the steps to me. If she wasted more than five minutes of my time, I would be late.

But I called on her. She was as cheery as ever. "Oh, there you are, darling! I've been waiting ever so long! That stupid stewardess- Poddy dear, you did such wonders for my head last night ... and this morning I find that I'm positively crippled with my back. You can't imagine, dear; it's ghastly! Now if you'll just be an angel and give me a few minutes massage-oh, say a half hour-I'm sure it'll do wonders for me. You'll find the cream for it over there on the dressing table, I think ... And now, if you'll just help me slide out of this robe . .

"Mrs. Royer-"

"Yes, dear? The cream is in that big pink tube. Use just-"

"Mrs. Royer, I can't do it. I have an appointment."

"What, dear? Oh, tosh, let them wait. No one is

ever on time aboard ship. Perhaps you had better warm your hands before-'

"Mrs. Royer, I am not going to do it. If something is wrong with your back, I shouldn't touch it; I might injure you. But I'll take a message to the Surgeon if you like and ask him to come see you."

Suddenly she wasn't at all cheery. "You mean you won't do it!"

"Have it your way. Shall I tell the Surgeon?"

"Why, you impertinent-Get out of here!"

I got.

I met her in a passageway on my way to lunch. She stared straight through me, so I dldn t speak either. She was walking as nimbly as I was; I guess her back had taken a turn for the better. I saw her twice more that day and twice more she simply couldn't see me.

The following morning I was using the viewer in the lounge to scan one of Mr. Clancy's study tapes, one on radar approach and contact. The viewer is off in a corner, behind a screen of fake potted palms, and perhaps they didn't notice me. Or perhaps they didn't care.

I stopped the scan to give my eyes and ears a rest, and heard Mrs. Garcia talking to Mrs. Royer.

"... that I simply can't stand about Mars is that it is so commercialized. Why couldn't they have left it primitive and beautiful?"

MRS. ROYER: "What can you expect? Those dreadful people!"

The ship's official language is Ortho but many passengers talk English among themselves-and often act as if no one else could possibly understand it. These two weren't keeping their voices down. I went on listening.

MRS. GARCIA: "Just what I was saying to Mrs. Rimski. After all, they're all criminals."

MRS. ROYER: "Or worse. Have you noticed that

little Martian girl? The niece_-or so they claim-of that big black savage?"

I counted ten backwards in Old Martian and reminded myself of the penalty for murder. I didn't mind being called a "Martian." They didn't know any better, and anyhow, it's no insult; the Martians were civilized before humans learned to walk. But "big black savage"!- Uncle Tom is as dark as I am blond; his Maori blood and desert tan make him the color of beautiful old leather... and I love the way he looks. As for the rest-he is learned and civilized and gentle... and highly honored wherever he goes.

MRS. GARCIA: "I've seen her. Common, I would say. Flashy but cheap. A type that attracts a certain sort of man."

MRS. ROYER: "My dear, you don't know the half of it. I've tried to help her-I really felt sorry for her, and I always believe in being gracious, especially to one's social inferiors."

MRS. GARCIA: "Of course, dear."

MRS. ROYER: "I tried to give her a few hints as to proper conduct among gentle people. Why, I was even paying her for little trifles, so that she wouldn't be uneasy among her betters. But she's an utterly ungrateful little snip-she thought she could squeeze more money out of me. She was rude about it, so rude that I feared for my safety. I had to order her out of my room, actually."

MRS. GARCIA: "You were wise to drop her. Blood will tell-bad blood or good blood-blood will always tell. And mixed blood is the Very Worst Sort. Criminals to start with ... and then that Shameless Mixing of Races. You can see it right in that family. The boy doesn't look a bit like his sister, and as for the unclehmmm- My dear, you halfway hinted at something.

Do you suppose that she is not his niece but something, shall we say, a bit closer?"

MRS. ROYER: "I wouldn't put it past one of them!" MRS. GARCIA: "Oh, come, 'fess up, Flossie. Tell me what you found out."

MRS. ROYER: "I didn't say a word. But I have eyes-and so have you."

MRS. GARCIA: "Right in front of everyone!"

MRS. ROYER: "What I can't understand is why the Line permits them to mix with us. Perhaps they have to sell them passage-treaties or some such nonsense-but we shouldn't be forced to associate with them ... and certainly not to eat with them!"