somebody who could tend the small vegetable garden at the rear of his shack and mend his socks and wash his clothes and cook his meals.
And it was time, he thought soberly, that he started to raise a family. He was mid-twenty now, old enough to want a wife and children.
“You going to raise a litter, Joe?”
Hill started. Karl realized that he had probably been thinking of the same thing.
“One of these days I’ll need help around the sawmill,” Hill answered defensively. “Need some kids to cut the trees, a couple more to pole them down the river, some to run the mill itself and maybe one to sell the lumber in Landing City. Can’t do it all myself.”
He paused a moment, thinking over something that had just occurred to him.
“I’ve been thinking of your plans for a garden, Karl. Maybe I ought to have one for my wife to take care of, too.”
Karl chuckled. “I don’t think she’ll have the time!”
They left the leafy expanse of the forest and entered the grasslands that sloped toward Landing City. He could even see Landing City itself on the horizon, a smudge of rusting, corrugated steel shacks, muddy streets, and the small rocket port—a scorched thirty acres or so fenced off with barbed wire.
Karl looked out of the corner of his eye at Hill and felt a vague wave of uneasiness. Hill was a big, thick man wearing the soiled clothes and bristly stubble of a man who was used to living alone and who liked it. But once he took a wife, he would probably have to keep himself in clean clothes and shave every few days. It was even possible that the woman might object to Hill letting his yllumph share the hut.
The path was getting crowded, more of the colonists coming onto the main path from the small side trails.
Hill broke the silence first. “I wonder what they’ll be like.”
Karl looked wise and nodded knowingly. “They’re Earthwomen, Joe. Earth!”
It was easy to act as though he had some inside information, but Karl had to admit to himself that he actually knew very little about it. He was a Second System colonist and had never even seen an Earthwoman. He had heard tales, though, and even discounting a large percentage of them, some of them must have been true. Old Grundy at the rocket office, who should know about these things if anybody did, seemed disturbingly lacking on definite information, though he had hinted broadly enough. He’d whistle softly and wink an eye and repeat the stories that Karl had already heard; but he had nothing definite to offer, no real facts at all.
Some of the other colonists whom they hadn’t seen for the last few months shouted greetings, and Karl began to feel some of the carnival spirit. There was Jenkins, who had another trapping line fifty miles farther up the Karazoo; Leonard, who had the biggest farm on Midplanet; and then the fellow who specialized in catching and breaking in yllumphs, whose name Karl couldn’t remember.
“They say they’re good workers,” Hill said.
Karl nodded. “Pretty, too.”
They threaded their way through the crowded and muddy streets. Landing City wasn’t big, compared to some of the cities on Altair, where he had been raised, but Karl was proud of it. Some day it would be as big as any city on any planet—maybe even have a population of ten thousand people or more.
“Joe,” Karl said suddenly, “what’s supposed to make women from Earth better than women from any other world?”
Hill located a faint itch and frowned. “I don’t know, Karl. It’s hard to say. They’re—well, sophisticated, glamorous.”
Karl absorbed this in silence. Those particular qualities were, he thought, rather hard to define.
The battered shack that served as rocket port office and headquarters for the colonial office on Midplanet loomed up in front of them. There was a crowd gathered in front of the building and they forced their way through to see what had caused it.
“We saw this the last time we were here,” Hill said.
“I know,” Karl agreed, “but I want to take another look.” He was anxious to glean all the information that he could.
It was a poster of a beautiful woman leaning toward the viewer. The edges of the poster were curling and the colors had faded during the last six months, but the girl’s smile seemed just as inviting as ever. She held a long-stemmed goblet in one hand and was blowing a kiss to her audience with the other. Her green eyes sparkled, her smile was provocative. A quoted sentence read: “I’m from Earth!” There was nothing more except a printed list of the different solar systems to which the colonial office was sending the women.
She was real pretty, Karl thought. A little on the thin side, maybe, and the dress she was wearing would hardly be practical on Midplanet, but she had a certain something. Glamour, maybe?
A loudspeaker blared.
“All colonists waiting for the wife draft assemble for your numbers! All colonists....”
There was a jostling for places and then they were in the rapidly moving line. Grundy, fat and important-looking, was handing out little blue slips with numbers on them, pausing every now and then to tell them some entertaining bit of information about the women. He had a great imagination, nothing else.
Karl drew the number 53 and hurried to the grassy lot beside the landing field that had been decorated with bunting and huge welcome signs for the new arrivals. A table was loaded with government pamphlets meant to be helpful to newly married colonists. Karl went over and stuffed a few in his pockets. Other tables had been set out and were loaded with luncheon food, fixed by the few colonial women in the community. Karl caught himself eyeing the women closely, wondering how the girls from Earth would compare with them.
He fingered the ticket in his pocket. What would the woman be like who had drawn the companion number 53 aboard the rocket? For when it landed, they would pair up by numbers. The method had its drawbacks, of course, but time was much too short to allow even a few days of getting acquainted. He’d have to get back to his trapping lines and he imagined that Hill would have to get back to his sawmill and the others to their farms. What the hell, you never knew what you were getting either way, till it was too late.
“Sandwich, mister? Pop?”
Karl flipped the boy a coin, picked up some food and a drink, and wandered over to the landing field with Hill. There were still ten minutes or so to go before the rocket landed, but he caught himself straining his sight at the blue sky, trying to see a telltale flicker of exhaust flame.
The field was crowded and he caught some of the buzzing conversation.
“... never knew one myself, but let me tell you....”
“... knew a fellow once who married one, never had a moment’s rest afterward....”
“... no comparison with colonial women. They got culture....”
“... I’d give a lot to know the girl who’s got number twenty-five....”
“Let’s meet back here with the girls who have picked our numbers,” Hill said. “Maybe we could trade.”
Karl nodded, though privately he felt that the number system was just as good as depending on first impressions.
There was a murmur from the crowd and he found his gaze riveted overhead. High above, in the misty blue sky, was a sudden twinkle of fire.
He reached up and wiped his sweaty face with a muddy hand and brushed aside a straggly lock of tangled hair. It wouldn’t hurt to try to look his best.
The twinkling fire came nearer.
II
“A Mr. Macdonald to see you, Mr. Escher.”
Claude Escher flipped the intercom switch.
“Please send him right in.”