by Sam Merwin
said, "According to the computationsof our experts, taking the population curve during the next twenty-fiveyears into account, there will be seventeen million, three hundredthirty-two thousand five hundred--approximately."
The figure was too large to be surplus, Bliss decided. It sounded to himas if humanity were about to abandon Mars completely. He wondered whatthe devil had gone wrong, decided this was hardly the time to ask. Heoffered Captain Yaelstrom a drink, which was refused, then asked him ifhe wouldn't like to wash up.
To his mild surprise, the ambassador nodded eagerly. "I shall begrateful," he said. "You have no idea how cramped spaceship quarters canbe."
"I can imagine," said Bliss dryly. He led the way into theblack-and-gold washroom, was amused at the slight but definite poppingof ambassadorial eyes. Earth might be dying, he thought, but at leasther destroyers would leave a heritage. He motioned toward the basin withits mermaid taps and Captain Yaelstrom hesitated, then began pulling offhis black gauntlets.
Bliss thought of something. "You mentioned twenty-five years," he said."Is that Martian time or Earth time?"
"Martian time," said the ambassador, letting the water run over hishands.
Twenty-five years, Martian time--a Martian year was 1.88 Earth years.Bliss exhaled and said, "I think perhaps we shall be able to come to anagreement. It will take a little time, of course--channels, and allthat."
The Martian held his hands in front of the air-drier. They were strong,brown hands with long, muscular fingers. Bliss looked at them and knewthe whole story. For, like himself, Captain Yaelstrom had seven fingerson each. Man had done no better on Mars than he had at home. The reasonfor such a desperate move as emigration was all too clear.
Captain Yaelstrom stood back from the bowl, then noticed the stallshower. He said, "What is this? We have nothing like it on Mars."
Bliss explained its several therapeutic uses, then said, "Perhaps you'dlike to try it yourself while I order us luncheon."
"May I, excellency?" the Martian legate asked eagerly.
"Go right ahead," said Bliss magnanimously. "It's all yours."
Transcriber's Note:
This etext was produced from _Fantastic Universe_ November 1956. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed. Minor spelling and typographical errors have been corrected without note.
