EDUCATION OF A MARTIAN
By JOSEPH SHALLIT
Illustrated by EMSH
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Galaxy Science Fiction August 1952.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence
that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
It was for his ideals Joyce loved the alien.
But ideals are conditioned reflexes....
Walter Harley glowered across the room at his daughter. He didn't likethe willful tone that crept into her voice these days; he didn't likethe way her gray eyes spread wide at him, the way her lips tensed, theway she drew herself up, tall and slim, an arch of determination. Thedarned girl had grown up too fast, that was the trouble.
Joyce faced up to his scowl, shaky as she was. She knew what he wasthinking, because he had told her enough times—she was a headstronggirl without a brain cell to her name; her college education had beena waste; worse than that, it had pumped her full of crazy ideas, hadknocked her sense of values upside down.
"How anybody in their right mind...." he growled at her. "Listen,you've already been to Mars. You've seen it. What do you want to go tothat miserable, dried-up hole again for?"
"Because ... because I was happy there," she said tremulously.
"What? With those miserable savages?" He slapped his euphoria pipe downon the table. "Ethel, will you listen to that?"
Joyce's mother, plump and round-shouldered and vague-eyed, was deep inher reclining chair, the miniature transviewer on her lap, watching agarden party in Rome.
"What is it, dear?" she asked unhappily.
"This crazy girl wants to take her vacation on Mars again."
"Well ... it is educational," Ethel said.
Harley made a wild, exasperated sound. "What do you know about it?You've never been there. It's a dried-up hole, I tell you. It's aslum—it's one great big slum. Just one decent hotel in the wholeplace, and that's only because some of our boys went out there and putit up for them."
"That awful hotel—" Joyce caught herself. Not an argument about this,please! There was trouble enough waiting for her. "I wouldn't stay atthe hotel," she said quietly.
"What do you mean? Where would you stay?"
"With some people I know there."
She saw his heavy eyebrows clench, saw his eyes search hersuspiciously. She heard her mother's uneasy movements. She sat tautly,her hands in her lap.
"Who," Harley said finally, "are these people?"
"Just ... some friends," Joyce said. Now it was coming, now, now.
"What friends?" Her father's voice was lower, harsher.
"Just some people I met when I was there last time."
"Just some.... Say! Is this why we've been running up these solarphonebills? What've you been doing—talking to these people every week?"
"Only a few times."
"Look here. Look at me. Joyce, answer me. Have you been talking to thatfellow you told us about—the one you met on your other trip?"
She let it out, a tiny, miserable, "Yes."
Harley's hand slammed down on the table. He wrestled his heavy bodyup out of his chair, stamped halfway across the room toward her andstopped.
"Young lady, I'm not going to have this. I'm not going to haveanything like this! You hear? You want to get tangled up with him? MyGod, you've been communicating with him for a year?"
"Whenever I was able to," Joyce said hoarsely, looking at the floor.
"Joyce!" He came to her, reached down and lifted her chin. "Joyce,you're not—you're n