"Martha," I whispered. "How can we tell them goodbye?"
Then she turned to face me, and I could see the tears glistening in her eyes. "We can't leave, Lewis. Not after this."
She was right, of course. We couldn't leave. We were symbols. The last of the pioneers. The first Martians. And they had carved their symbol in our image and made us a part of Mars forever.
I glanced down, along the rows of upturned, laughing faces, searching for Duane. He was easy to find. He was the only one who wasn't shouting. His eyes met mine, and I didn't have to say anything. He knew. He climbed up beside me on the platform.
I tried to speak, but I couldn't.
"Tell him, Lewis," Martha whispered. "Tell him we can't go."
Then she was crying. Her smile was gone and her proud look was gone and her hand crept into mine and trembled there. I put my arm around her shoulders, but there was no way I could comfort her.
"Now we'll never go," she sobbed. "We'll never get home...."
I don't think I had ever realized, until that moment, just how much it meant to her—getting home. Much more, perhaps, than it had ever meant to me.
The statues were only statues. They were carved from the stone of Mars. And Martha wanted Earth. We both wanted Earth. Home....