Lynne, who had been largely brought up on stories of pioneer space-flights in which the passengers had to endure tremendous initial acceleration, was pleasantly surprised by the takeoff. She probably would have known better had her conditioning and training not geared her to such complete uninterest in anything beyond the atmosphere that she seldom thought of the stars except as pretty lights in the sky.
She did have to strap herself to her bunk before the immense silver teardrop rose slowly upward toward space—but as the stewardess explained in routine tones the strap was a mere precaution against a possible lurch caused by brief failure of one of the launching jets. And within five minutes after takeoff a tiny sign lit up over the cabin door that read UNFASTEN BELTS—SMOKING PERMITTED.
She sat up and loosened the strap and swung her feet to the deck, noted her roommate was doing likewise. In the turmoil of catching the Mars-ship Lynne had had little time to notice her. She managed to recall that her name was Joanna-something and that she was an expert in animal husbandry. She was a handsome immense South African girl whose dark complexion wore traces of both Caucasian and Oriental, as well as Hamitic ancestry. She offered Lynne one of the new skinless cigarettes.
"You on Integration business?" she asked.
Lynne, who knew nothing of affairs on Mars, probed quickly and discovered what the girl had in mind was a coordination trip by an Earth Government executive. She shook her head, said, "No, I'm going for good. I understand there's a job there for me."
The African girl regarded her curiously, then said, "I don't want to sound rude but aren't you a bit old to be going home?"
"I guess maybe I am." Looking more closely at her cellmate Lynne saw that for all her evident maturity she was still a girl in her late-middle teens. "They came after me."
As the girl nodded uncomprehendingly Lynne wondered if what she had uttered as a polite brush-off lie might not be the truth. There was a definite pattern of continuity to events following her first headache and her non-variant answers at the brain-station.
"Let's go to the saloon and see the stars," Joanna suggested.
It seemed like a good idea—besides, Lynne wanted to talk to Rolf, to discover if there actually was considered motive behind her apparently aimless emigration to the red planet.