"Ask the boys who built this place. They hired me, they make the rules," Don said. He did not look at her.
"How did you ever end up with a job like this, Don?"
"The outfit that built the Haven hired all the old Martian colonists and their descendants, any who wanted to work for them. So I took a job. Pay's good. It's seasonal. Anyway, I like Mars."
"Sure," she said. "You must love it—to corrupt it like this."
"Mars was here, it'll still be here after the last tourist goes."
She laughed thinly. Don, with her, was trying to play another role, one he hoped she might find interesting. "You're a symbol of the phoniness, Don. Trained in the special host schools. Selected for your beautiful resemblance to a statue of Adonis. Artificially created to be an ever-smiling host of good-will, just like these pathetic camels have been bred for an exotic touch. No real intelligence, Don, nor originality. And everything you do or say is right out of the text book on how to make friends and influence tourists."
Don didn't look at her. His fingers trembled on the camel's reins.
"What is this fascinating-sounding 'Ritual of Love' going to be like?" giggled Mrs. Ericson.
"It's an authentic exploitation of actual rituals once held by the Martians," Don said. "It has a pagan religious significance. The moons were male and female, and when they—ah—united their light, the Martians held feasts, fertility rituals—highly symbolic rites."
"Only symbolic?" said Mrs. Ericson, pretending blasé disappointment.