“Don’t!” the older man said sharply.
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t advertise your background unnecessarily, not at this time. Why do you ask about this, uh, ‘Sir Isaac Newton’?” He kept his voice low with his lips barely moving.
Donald told him about the casual meeting at Gary Station. “When I got through I was dead sure that a security cop was watching me. And now that same man is sitting over there, only now he’s not in uniform.”
“Are you sure?”
“I think I’m sure.”
“Mmm… you might be mistaken. Or he might simply be here in his off hours—though a security policeman should not be, not on his pay. See here, pay no further attention to him and don’t speak of him again. And don’t speak of that dragon, nor of anything else Venerian. Just appear to be having a good time. But pay careful attention to anything I say.”
Don tried to carry out the instructions, but it was hard to keep his mind on gaiety. Even when the dancers reappeared he felt himself wanting to turn and stare at the man who had dampened the party. The plate of baked gregarian was removed and Dr. Jefferson ordered something for him called a “Mount Etna.” It was actually shaped like a volcano and a plume of steam came out of the tip. He dipped a spoon into it, found that it was fire and ice, assaulting his palate with conflicting sensations. He wondered how anyone could eat it. Out of politeness he cautiously tried another bite. Presently he found that he had eaten all of it and was sorry there was not more.
At the break in the stage acts Don tried to ask Dr. Jefferson what he really thought about the war scare. The; doctor firmly turned the talk around to his parents’ work and branched out to the past and future of the System. “Don’t fret yourself about the present, son. Troubles, merely troubles—necessary preliminaries to the consolidation of the System. In five hundred years the historians will hardly notice it. There will be the Second Empire—six planets by then.”
“Six? You don’t honestly think well ever be able to do anything with Jupiter and Saturn? Oh—you mean the Jovian moons.”
“No, I mean six primary planets. We’ll move Pluto and Neptune in close by the fire and we’ll drag Mercury back and let it cool off.”
The idea of moving planets startled Don. It sounded wildly impossible, but he let it rest, since his host was a man who maintained that everything and anything was possible. “The race needs a lot of room,” Dr. Jefferson went on. “After all, Mars and Venus have their own intelligent races; we can’t crowd them much more without genocide—and it’s not dead certain which way the genocide would work, even with the Martians. But the reconstruction of this system is just engineering—nothing to what else we’ll do. Half a millennium from now there will be more Earth-humans outside this system than in it; we’ll be swarming around every G-type star in this neighborhood. Do you know what I would do if I were your age, Don? I’d get me a berth in the Pathfinder.”
Don nodded. “I’d like that.” The Pathfinder, star ship intended for a one-way trip, had been building on, and near, Luna since before he was born. Soon she would go. All or nearly all of Don’s generation had at least dreamed about leaving with her.
“Of course,” added his host, “you would have to have a bride.” He pointed to the stage which was again filling. “Take that blonde down there. She’s a likely looking lassie—healthy at least.”
Don smiled and felt worldly. “She might not hanker after pioneering. She looks happy as she is.”
“Can’t tell till you ask her. Here.” Dr. Jefferson summoned the maître d’hôtel; money changed hands. Presently the blonde came to their table but did not sit down. She was a tom-tom singer and she proceeded to boom into Don’s ears, with the help of the orchestra, sentiments that would have embarrassed him even if expressed privately. He ceased to feel worldly, felt quite warm in the face instead and confirmed his resolution not to take this female to the stars. Nevertheless he enjoyed it.