He frowned. "The regulations say no space travel for people past seventy, except in certain special cases...."
I looked down at my hands. They were shaking badly. I knew he could see them shake, and was judging me as old and weak and unable to stand the trip. He couldn't know why I was trembling.
"Please," I whispered. "It wouldn't matter if it hurt us. It's just that we want to see Earth again. It's been so long...."
"How long have you been here, Mr. Farwell?" It was merely politeness. There wasn't any promise in his voice.
"Sixty-five years." I looked up at him. "Isn't there some way—"
"Sixty-five years? But that means you must have come here on the first colonizing ship."
"Yes," I said. "We did."
"I can't believe it," he said slowly. "I can't believe I'm actually looking at one of the pioneers." He shook his head. "I didn't even know any of them were still on Mars."
"We're the last ones," I said. "That's the main reason we want to go back. It's awfully hard staying on when your friends are dead."