“Yeah,” he said. “Someday, maybe.” But he knew it was all wrong. Could he bring this girl to Spacertown with him? No; she must be merely playing a game, looking for an evening’s diversion. Something new: make love to a Spacer.
They fell silent and he watched her again, and she watched him. He heard her breath rising and falling evenly, not at all like his own thick gasps. After a while he stepped close to her, put his arm around her, tilted her head into the crook of his elbow, bent, and kissed her.
As he did it, he saw he was botching it just like everything else. He had come too close, and his heavy boot was pressing on the tip of her shoe; and he had not quite landed square on her lips. But still, he was close to her. He was reluctant to break it up, but he felt she was only half-responding, not giving anything of herself while he had given all. He drew back a step.
She did not have time to hide the expression of distaste that involuntarily crossed her face. He watched the expression on her face as she realized the kiss was over. He watched her silently.
“Someday, maybe,” he said. She stared at him, not hiding the fear that was starting to grow on her face.
He felt a cold chill deep in his stomach, and it grew until it passed through his throat and into his head.
“Yeah,” he said. “Someday, maybe. But not you. Not anyone who’s just playing games. That’s all—you want something to tell your friends about, that’s why you volunteered for tonight’s assignment. It’s all you can do to keep from laughing at me, but you’re sticking to it. I don’t want any of it, hear me? Get away.”
She stepped back a pace. “You ugly, clumsy clown. You ape!” Tears began to spoil the flawless mask of her face. Blinded with anger, he grabbed roughly for her arm, but she broke away and dashed back inside.
She was trying to collect me, he thought. Her hobby: interesting dates. She wanted to add me to her collection. An Experience. Calmly he walked to the end of the veranda and stared off into the night, choking his rage. He watched the moon making its dead ride across the sky, and stared at the sprinkling of stars. The night was empty and cold, he thought, finally. But not more so than I.
He turned and looked back through the half-opened window. He saw a girl who looked almost like her, but was not tall enough and wore a different dress. Then he spotted her. She was dancing with one of the Conforms, a frail-looking man a few inches shorter than she, with regular, handsome features. She laughed at some sly joke, and he laughed with her.
Rolf watched the moon for a moment more, thinking of Laney’s warning. They just want to make fun of you. Look at the big ape, they’ll say.
He knew he had to get out of there immediately. He was a Spacer, and they were Earthers, and he scorned them for being contemptuous little dolls, and they laughed at him for being a hulking ape. He was not a member of their species; he was not part of their world.
He went inside. Kal Quinton came rushing up to him.
“I’m going,” Rolf said.
“What? You don’t mean that,” the little man said. “Why, the party’s scarcely gotten under way, and there are dozens of people who want to meet you. And you’ll miss the big show if you don’t stay.”
“I’ve already seen the big show,” Rolf told him. “I want out. Now.”
“You can’t leave now,” Quinton said. Rolf thought he saw tears in the corners of the little man’s eyes. “Please don’t leave. I’ve told everyone you’d be here—you’ll disgrace me.”
“What do I care? Let me out of here.” Rolf started to move toward the door. Quinton attempted to push him back.
“Just a minute, Rolf. Please!”
“I have to get out,” he said. He knocked Quinton out of his way with a backhand swipe of his arm and dashed down the hall frantically, looking for the elevator.
Laney and Kanaday were sitting up waiting for him when he got back, early in the morning. He slung himself into a pneumochair and unsealed his boots, releasing his cramped, tired feet.
“Well,” Laney asked. “How was the party?”
“You have fun among the Earthers, Rolf?”
He said nothing.
“It couldn’t have been that bad,” Laney said.
Rolf looked up at her. “I’m leaving space. I’m going to go to a surgeon and have him turn me into an Earther. I hate this filthy life!”
“He’s drunk,” Kanaday said.
“No, I’m not drunk,” Rolf retorted. “I don’t want to be an ape any more.”
“Is that what you are? If you’re an ape, what are they to you? Monkeys?” Kanaday laughed harshly.
“Are they really so wonderful?” Laney asked. “Does the life appeal to you so much that you’ll give up space for it? Do you admire the Earthers so much?”
She’s got me, Rolf thought. I hate Spacertown, but will I like Yawk any better? Do I really want to become one of those little puppets? But there’s nothing left in space for me. At least the Earthers are happy.
I wish she wouldn’t look at me that way. “Leave me alone,” he snarled. “I’ll do whatever I want to do.” Laney was staring at him, trying to poke behind his mask of anger. He looked at her wide shoulders, her muscular frame, her unbeautiful hair and rugged face, and compared it with Jonne’s clinging grace, her flowing gold hair.
He picked up his boots and stumped up to bed.
The surgeon’s name was Goldring, and he was a wiry, intense man who had prevailed on one of his colleagues to give him a tiny slit of a mouth. He sat behind a shining plastiline desk, waiting patiently until Rolf finished talking.
“It can’t be done,” he said at last. “Plastic surgeons can do almost anything, but I can’t turn you into an Earther. It’s not just a matter of chopping eight or ten inches out of your legs; I’d have to alter your entire bone structure or you’d be a hideous misproportioned monstrosity. And it can’t be done. I can’t build you a whole new body from scratch, and if I could do it you wouldn’t be able to afford it.”
Rolf stamped his foot impatiently. “You’re the third surgeon who’s given me the same line. What is this—a conspiracy? I see what you can do. If you can graft a third arm onto somebody, you can turn me into an Earther.”
“Please, Mr. Dekker. I’ve told you I can’t. But I don’t understand why you want such a change. Hardly a week goes by without some Yawk boy coming to me and asking to be turned into a Spacer, and I have to refuse him for the same reasons I’m refusing you! That’s the usual course of events—the romantic Earther boy wanting to go to space, and not being able to.”
An idea hit Rolf. “Was one of them Kal Quinton?”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Dekker. I just can’t divulge any such information.”
Rolf shot his arm across the desk and grasped the surgeon by the throat. “Answer me!”
“Yes,” the surgeon gasped. “Quinton asked me for such an operation. Almost everyone wants one.”
“And you can’t do it?” Rolf asked.
“Of course not. I’ve told you: the amount of work needed to turn Earther into Spacer or Spacer into Earther is inconceivable. It’ll never be done.”
“I guess that’s definite, then,” Rolf said, slumping a little in disappointment. “But there’s nothing to prevent you from giving me a new face—from taking away this face and replacing it with something people can look at without shuddering.”
“I don’t understand you, Mr. Dekker,” the surgeon said.
“I know that! Can’t you see it—I’m ugly! Why? Why should I look this way?”