"What the hell," said Scott.
The figure bent forward, and the huge mask came off.
"Hello, Scott," a girl said.
"My Terrestrial aunt," said Scott. "Ylia."
She was a Martian, the daughter of one of the subcommissioners of her government. Ylia wasn't pretty by any Earth standard. She had the big head of her race, the stocky body and the flat face. But she was esteemed by the Martians as attractive, as far as looks count on that planet.
"Why the mask?" asked Scott. "I didn't think you went in for all this brothers-together nonsense."
"Everybody's masked tonight," she said, meaning all the women. "I had to see you, and I thought I'd attract less attention if I wore one, too."
Scott knew what the masks represented. They were brought out every Landing Day and worn in the streets for the traditional celebrations. The masks were all of women—Earth women. Few Earth women had come to Mars, but Earth's advertising had come as soon as the planet was opened to trade. And with the ads had come the art which hadn't changed in centuries. A pretty face, it was reasoned—if there was any reasoning—ought to sell as much soap or cigarettes on Mars as it had on Earth. Hence the masks, representing Earth's greatest contribution thus far to the culture of its neighboring planet—advertising and the female face.
"What's up, Ylia?" Scott asked.
"We're having a meeting, sort of, and Father would like you to come, if you can."