“The only things we have to worry about hitting are meteors,” Ted told her. “The Shooting Star has radar instruments that tell us when they’re headed straight at us.”
“Father says that sometimes meteors come so fast that space ships can’t get out of the way of them,” Jill returned, with solemn eyes.
In brotherly fashion Ted pressed the shoulder of his eleven-and-a-half-year-old sister, younger than he by a year. “Don’t start worrying about everything that can happen to us, Jill. We’ve got a lot ahead of us on Mars,” he advised.
“I—I’m not so sure I want to go to Mars,” Jill blurted. “It’s so cold and bare and lonely there, Ted. Why did Father have to sign up with the Martian Archeology Society?”
Ted looked at her with some surprise. “Dad talked this over with us. You said you wanted to go.”
“It didn’t seem so scary then, although I didn’t really want to go, but out here in the dark where there’s never a sunrise and everything is so still and quiet, I—I feel afraid!”
“Does Dad or Mom know you feel this way?” Ted asked.
She shook her head. “Father’s counted so much on us going to Mars. He was so lonely there before without us. If he knew I didn’t want to go, he’d feel he had to get a job on Earth. But you know his first love is excavation on Mars.”
“You’ll be all right, Sis, when we get settled in our new home. They’ve got it all ready for us. Think of the fun it’ll be!” Ted said encouragingly.
Jill seemed to feel better and smiled. Both turned their attention to the wondrous misty veil of the Milky Way outside. It reminded Ted of a great caravan of countless tiny sheep trooping through the endless black of space night. Each one of those millions of light points he knew to be individual giant suns. How frighteningly huge and marvelous was God’s universe!