When it was over she was fed real meat for the fourth or fifth time in her life—ham from lean Martian-bred hog, basted in some curious alien sauce. With it went real potatoes and non-processed vegetables, raised on the red planet. Rugged or not, Lynne decided as she was bundled into a planetcar, life on Mars had its compensations.
When the ship landed at Barkutburg a tearose-pale Martian dawn was lighting the dark eastern sky. Lynne felt a tingle of anticipation, mixed with dread, a stir of déja vu—the I've-been-here-before feeling—as she alighted with her strangely light bag in hand and paused to sip sparingly of her oxyrespirator.
For here was her nightmare city, though seen from the ground. Here were the widely-spaced transparent towers, similar to yet oddly unlike those of New Samarkand. Here were the scant human dwellings, clustered like alien mushroom growths amid the towering demi-ruins.
Two aluminum-coveralled figures were awaiting her at the rim of the airport. One was tiny, feminine, despite the bulk of her costume, her exotically delicate Eurasian features roughened by wind and sunburn. She was Lao Mei-O'Connell, qualified and elected leader of the pioneer settlement. The other was—Revere Fenlay.
It was add to see oneself mirrored in the features of another human for the first time in one's life, Lynne decided. She noted her brother looked unexpectedly healthy, that his handclasp was firm, his eyes probably clearer than her own sleep-puffed ones.
His thought was warningly clear. Don't be fooled by externals, Lynne. These creatures can move in on me every time I open up my mind to receive a message. They're murder! Aloud he said, "Lord, I had no idea my counterpart was a beauty."
Quite naturally she linked arms with Revere as they walked toward the cluster of Earth-dwellings. It was, she thought, a rare event for twins, separated by the gulf between planets, ever to meet after incubation—except of course on such rarified levels as those trod by Rolf Marcein and his brother. She sensed a discomfort, a reserve, behind the routine welcome of Lao Mei-O'Connell, decided swiftly there was some sort of guilt feeling there.
As swiftly her twin replied telepathically, Of course she has feelings of guilt. Thanks to her I was given the coldwrap treatments—even when I was not under Their control. There was no need for them and they made me feel my head would burst. Thank farb you're here!
When did you receive these treatments? she thought sharply. And the answering thought confirmed her sudden suspicion. Revere had been placed in coldwrap restraint each time a headache had assailed her on Earth. He had been deliberately tortured as part of the campaign to get her to come to Mars and replace him.
That Rolf—that marlet! Fury assailed her, fury and frustration. But Revere's grip tightened on her forearm.