That evening I asked you to marry me. I said it very simply: "Laura, I want you to be my wife."
You looked up at Venus, and you were silent for a long while, your face flushed.
Then you murmured, "I—I want to marry you, Ben, but are you asking me to marry a spaceman or a teacher?"
"Can't a spaceman marry, too?"
"Yes, a spaceman can marry, but what would it be like? Don't you see, Ben? You'd be like Charlie. Gone for maybe two months, maybe two years. Then you'd have a twenty-four hour liberty—and I'd have what?"
Somehow I'd expected words like these, but still they hurt. "I wouldn't have to be a spaceman forever. I could try it for a couple of years, then teach."
"Would you, Ben? Would you be satisfied with just seeing Mars? Wouldn't you want to go on to Jupiter and Saturn and Uranus and on and on?"
Your voice was choked, and even in the semi-darkness I saw tears glittering in your eyes.
"Do you think I'd dare have children, Ben? Mickey told me what happened on the Cyclops. There was a leak in the atomic engines. The ship was flooded with radiation—just for a second. It didn't seem serious. The men had no burns. But a year later the captain had a child. And it was—"
"I know, Laura. Don't say it."