Lao shook her head regretfully. "I've got a million things to do here," she said. Then, with the ghost of a smile lighting her exotic features, "Besides, I'd be afraid it might be bad news."
"I'll send you a message via the ground-communicator the second I learn anything," Lynne told her. Then the two women went in to dine at the head table. They were two islands of preoccupation amid the rough good-humored gaiety of the room. It was Saturday night at Barkutburg and there was going to be a dance.
Lynne found herself wondering at the morals of her new companions. They certainly didn't seem backward about sex—and the planet-wide dislike of privacy seemed to extend into even their most intimate personal relationships. Yet when Lynne thought about Janet Downes and certain other young men and women of the supposedly more civilized home planet, she decided the Martians were probably the nicer. At any rate they lived their emotional lives right out in the open.
For the first time since her first few days on the red planet she felt alone as she stepped off the uplift and entered her listening and message-post, high in the crystal tower. There was something frightening about sitting alone in this ruined building with the wind making its night sounds through the flying buttresses about her and what appeared like the whole of Mars stretched out in panorama before her.
It had looked desolate enough in the daylight. Now, with the stars blazing an enigmatic backdrop, it looked dark—and twice as desolate. Lynne found herself wondering what strange and fearsome caravans, what hideous battles and frightful plagues, had passed within view of her post. She seemed to see again the strange capering figures of the murals and bas-reliefs, and of the vision-grid she had viewed telepathically that afternoon in the distant hospital room at New Samarkand.
She told herself she was getting the jams, sent a tune-up message through to Cathayville. Though the telepathic operator should have been on duty there was no response. She reached out further to locate Revere, could not get to him, found Rolf. He told her, Lay off, you marlet, Lynne. You nearly jammed the works this afternoon.
How is Revere? She was insistent.
In coma—and hereafter use the proper channels, Lynne. You're supposed to key all messages for New Samarkand through Cathayville.
Cathayville fails to answer, she informed him.
Cease sending at once! Cease sending at once, Lynne. If Cathayville is out it means.... Cease sending at once!