"Certainly, Doctor." She poured for him, then went on. "James, I am not sorry you decided to let Jim take Willis. It will be a relief."
"Why, dear? Jim was correct when he said that the little beggar isn't much trouble."
"Well, he isn't really. But-I just wish he weren't so truthful."
"So? I thought he was the perfect witness in settling the children's squabbles?"
"Oh, he is. He'll play back anything he hears as accurately as a transcriber. That's the trouble." She looked upset, then chuckled. "You know Mrs. Pottle?"
"Of course."
The doctor added, "How can one avoid it? I, unhappy man, am in charge of her 'nerves'."
Mrs. Marlowe asked, "Is she actually sick. Doctor?"
"She eats too much and doesn't work enough. Further communication is forbidden by professional ethics."
"I didn't know you had any."
"Young lady, show respect for my white hairs. What about this Pottle female?"
"Well, Luba Konski had lunch with me last week and we got to talking about Mrs. Pottle. Honest, James, I didn't say much and I did not know that Willis was under the table."
"He was?" Mr. Marlowe covered his eyes. "Do go on."
"Well, you both remember that the Konskis housed the Pottles at North Colony until a house was built for them. Sarah Pottle has been Luba's pet hate ever since, and Tuesday Luba was giving me some juicy details on Sarah's habits at home. Two days later Sarah Pottle stopped by to give me advice on how to bring up children. Something she said triggered Willis-I knew he was in the room but I didn't think anything of it-and Willis put on just the wrong record and I couldn't shut him up. I finally carried him out of the room. Mrs. Pottle left without saying good-bye and I haven't heard from her since."
"That's no loss," her husband commented.
"True, but it got Luba in Dutch. No one could miss Luba's accent and Willis does it better than she does herself. I don't think Luba minds, though-and you should have heard Willis's playback of Luba's description of how Sarah Pottle looks in the morning-and what she does about it."
"You should hear," answered MacRae, "Mrs. Pottle's opinions on the servant problem."
"I have. She thinks it's a scandal that the Company doesn't import servants for us."
The doctor nodded. "With collars riveted around their necks."
"That woman! I can't see why she ever became a colonist."
"Didn't you know?" her husband said. "They came out here expecting to get rich in a hurry."
"Hummph!"
Doctor MacRae got a far-away look. "Mrs. Marlowe, speaking as her physician, it might help me to hear what Willis has to say about Pottle, distaff. Do you suppose he would recite for us?"
"Doctor, you're an old fraud, with a taste for gossip."
"Granted. I like also eavesdropping and window peeping."
"You're shameless."
"Again granted. My nerves are relaxed. I haven't felt ashamed in years."
"Willis may just give a thrilling account of the children's chit-chat for the past two weeks."
"Perhaps if you coaxed him?"
Mrs. Marlowe suddenly dimpled. "It won't hurt to try." She left the room to fetch Jim's globular friend.
CHAPTER THREE
Gekko
WEDNESDAY MORNING DAWNED clear and cold, as mornings have a habit of doing on Mars. The Suttons and the Marlowes, minus Oliver, were gathered at the Colony's cargo dock on the west leg of Strymon canal, ready to see the boys off.
The temperature was rising and the dawn wind was blowing firmly, but it was still at least thirty below. Strymon canal was a steel-blue, hard sheet of ice and would not melt today in this latitude. Resting on it beside the dock was the mail scooter from Syrtis Minor, its boat body supported by razoredged runners. The driver was still loading it with cargo dragged from the warehouse on the dock. The two families waited nearby.
The tiger stripes on Jim's mask, the war paint on Frank's, and a rainbow motif on Phyllis's made the young people easy to identify. The adults could be told apart only by size, shape, and manner; there were two extras. Doctor MacRae and Father Cleary. The priest was talking in low, earnest tones to Frank.
He turned presently and spoke to Jim. "Your own pastor asked me to say good-bye to you, son. Unfortunately the poor man is laid up with a touch of Mars throat. He would have come anyhow had I not hidden his mask." The protestant chaplain, as well as the priest, was a bachelor; the two clergy shared a house.
"Is he very sick?" asked Jim.
"Not that sick. He'll not die till I convert him. But take his blessing-and mine too." He offered his hand.
Jim dropped his travel bag, shifted his ice skates and Willis over to his left arm and shook hands. There followed an awkward silence. Finally Jim said, "Why don't you all go inside before you freeze to death?"
"Yeah," agreed Francis. "That's a good idea."
"I think the driver is about ready now," Mr. Marlowe countered. "Well, son, take care of yourself. We'll see you at migration." He shook hands solemnly.
"So long. Dad."
Mrs. Marlowe put her arms around him, pressed her mask against his and said, "Oh, my little boy-you're too young to go away from home!"
"Oh, mother, please!" But he hugged her. Then Phyllis had to be hugged. The driver called out:
'"Board!"
" 'Bye everybody!" Jim turned away, felt his elbow caught.
It was the doctor. "Keep your nose clean, Jim. And don't take any guff off of anybody."
"Thanks, Doc." Jim turned and presented his school authorization to the driver while the doctor bade Francis good-bye.
The driver looked it over. "Both deadheads, eh? Well, seeing as how there aren't any pay passengers this morning you can ride in the observatory." He tore off his copy; Jim climbed inside and went up to the prized observation seats behind and above the driver's compartment. Frank joined him.
The craft trembled as the driver jacked the runners loose from the ice, then with a roar from the turbine and a soft, easy surge the car got under way. The banks flowed past them and melted into featureless walls as the speed picked up. The ice was mirror smooth; they soon reached cruising speed of better than two hundred fifty miles per hour. Presently the driver removed his mask; Jim and Frank, seeing him, did likewise. The car was pressurized now by an air ram faced into their own wind of motion; it was much warmer, too, from the air's compression.
"Isn't this swell?" said Francis.
"Yeah. Look at Earth."
Their mother planet was riding high above the Sun in the northeastern sky. It blazed green against a deep purple background. Close to it, but easy to separate with the naked eye, was a lesser, pure white star-Luna, Earth's moon. Due north of them, in the direction they were going, Deimos, Mars' outer moon, hung no more than twenty degrees above the horizon. Almost lost in the rays of the sun, it was a tiny pale disc, hardly more than a dim star and much outshone by Earth.
Phobos, the inner moon, was not in sight. At the latitude of Charax it never rose more than eight degrees or so above the northern horizon and that for an hour or less, twice a day. hi the daytime it was lost in the blue of the horizon and no one would be so foolhardy as to watch for it in the bitter night. Jim did not remember ever having seen it except during migration between colonies.
Francis looked from Earth to Deimos. "Ask the driver to turn on the radio," he suggested. "Deimos is up."
"Who cares about the broadcast?" Jim answered. "I want to watch." The banks were not so high now; from the observation dome he could see over them into the fields beyond. Although it was late in the season the irrigated belt near the canal was still green and getting greener as he watched, as the plants came out of the ground to seek the morning sunlight.