"Oh no," Johnson whispered. "Wait a minute—he's not up to this ... not now...."
"What is the trouble?" Zeke asked.
The United Nations Secretary was introducing Zeke. Something about inter-world friendship ... the beginning of an inter-world union that would spread to the stars....
Someone was saying in Johnson's ear, "Go ahead. You act as interpreter...."
"What is everyone looking at me for?" Zeke asked.
"You are to make a speech like the rest of us," Johnson whispered dryly. "Just say something ... anything ... something short. They won't know what you're saying anyway. Just a gesture—"
To Zeke everything was deadly serious. A long historical background had made the Martians that way. They were old. "About how much I want to learn about you here on Earth? How I will enjoy my stay here? How glad I am that the Earth and Mars are in contact and are friends?"
"Yes, yes, anything. Just a formality anyway."
"But I think that I am somewhat afraid," Zeke said. "Things I am not accustomed to. Too many people. Too much noise and confusion. And the air. I cannot seem to breathe properly."
The air was thinner on Mars, Johnson thought as he stepped toward the microphones again, in front of television eyes. But it's the air here too—the people—the suppression—