As it turned out, they were only a half-mile from the school when the ranch copter spotted them. Don waved it off and took Lazy on in himself. Despite his curiosity he delayed to wipe down the pony and water it before he went in. Mr. Reeves was waiting in his office and motioned for him to come in. He handed Don the message.
It read: DEAR SON, PASSAGE RESERVED FOR YOU VALKYRIE CIRCUM-TERRA TWELVE APRIL LOVE MOTHER AND DAD.
Don blinked at it, having trouble taking in the simple facts. “But that’s right away”
“Yes. You weren’t expecting it?”
Don thought it over. He had halfway expected to go home—if one could call it going home when he had never set foot on Mars—at the end of the school year. If they had arranged his passage for the Vanderdecken three months from now… “Uh, not exactly. I can’t figure out why they would send for me before the end of the term.”
Mr. Reeves fitted his fingertips carefully together. “I’d say that it was obvious.”
Don looked startled. “You mean? Mr. Reeves, you don’t really think there is going to be trouble, do you?”
The headmaster answered gravely, “Don, I’m not a prophet. But it is my guess that your parents are sufficiently worried that they want you out of a potential war zone as quickly as possible.”
He was still having trouble readjusting. Wars were something you studied, not something that actually happened. Of course his class in contemporary history had kept track of the current crisis in colonial affairs, but, even so, it had seemed something far away, even for one as widely traveled as himself-a matter for diplomats and politicians, not something real.
“Look, Mr. Reeves, they may be jumpy but I’m not. I’d like to send a radio telling them that I’ll be along on the next ship, as soon as school is out.”
Mr. Reeves shook his head. “No. I can’t let you go against your parents’ explicit instructions. In the second place, ah—” The headmaster seemed to have difficulty in choosing his words. “—that is to say, Donald, in the event of war, you might find your position here, shall we call it, uncomfortable?”
A bleak wind seemed to have found its way into the office. Don felt lonely and older than he should feel. “Why?” he asked gruffly.
Mr. Reeves studied his fingernails. “Are you quite sure where your loyalties lie?” he said slowly.
Don forced himself to think about it. His father had been born on Earth; his mother was a second-generation Venus colonial. But neither planet was truly their home; they had met and married on Luna and had pursued their researches in planetology in many sectors of the solar system. Don himself had been born out in space and his birth certificate, issued by the Federation, had left the question of his nationality open. He could claim dual citizenship by parental derivation. He did not think of himself as a Venus colonial; it had been so long since his family had last visited Venus that the place had grown unreal in his mind. On the other hand he had been eleven years old before he had ever rested his eyes on the lovely hills of Earth.
“I’m a citizen of the System,” he said harshly.
“Mmmm—” said the headmaster. “That’s a fine phrase and perhaps someday it will mean something. In the meantime, speaking as a friend, I agree with your parents. Mars is likely to be neutral territory; you’ll be safe there. Again, speaking as your friend—things may get a little rough here for anyone whose loyalty is not perfectly clear.”
“Nobody has any business questioning my loyalty under the law, I count as native born!”
The man did not answer. Don burst out, “The whole thing is silly! If the Federation wasn’t trying to bleed Venus white there wouldn’t be any war talk.”
Reeves stood up. “That will be all, Don. I’m not going to argue politics with you.”
“It’s true! Read Chamberlain’s Theory of Colonial Expansion!”
Reeves seemed startled. “Where did you lay hands on that book? Not in the school library.”
Don did not answer. His father had sent it to him but had cautioned him not to let it be seen; it was one of the suppressed books—on Earth, at least. Reeves went on, “Don, have you been dealing with a booklegger?”