Earth wasn't good enough once a man had a
taste of deep space—and met his Ideal. Al Hall
wanted to know why, so he volunteered for his—
TICKET to the STARS
By Raymond E. Banks
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Imagination Stories of Science and Fantasy
February 1954
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
I was sitting in the dining-bar of the Thousand Lights, in New York, watching Kelly as the woman walked into the bar. There was a ripple, an undercurrent of sensation. Not because of the way she looked, not because of her dress, but because she was an Ideal. People hate Ideals. The better-looking they are the more they are hated, and this one was right on top.
I sat at a table about twelve feet from Kelly. He sat at the bar and I could see his face in the mirror. His face scowled in an expression of hate. I saw him pick up his cigarettes and make a ball of the empty package with his fist. He tried to look away; his eyes crossed mine and he didn't even recognize me.
The Ideal came up to him and slipped on the stool beside him with some word of greeting. She was human all right. Too human. She was dressed in white. Most of them dress in white. There was some gold sprinkled on her costume. It was very expensive, made of Scolarian cloth, flowing around her body. Kelly bit his lip and pulled away from the touch of her arm. It was a well-rounded arm, white and perfect in the soft lights of the bar. The face was pleasant with a youthful glow. Her red hair was soft enough to halo, strong enough to fall a bit this way and that as she turned. She had a small nose, blue Irish eyes and a smattering of freckles.
She looked a little bit like Kelly.
She went on talking. When she smiled her white teeth flashed and sparkled. Nobody from earth quite had teeth like that.