“I’m a Federation citizen,” Don answered, “but I can claim Venus citizenship.”
“The Federation,” the sergeant answered, “has had a slump in its stock lately. But what’s this about Venus citizenship? Stop the double-talk and let’s see your papers.”
Don passed them over. Sergeant McMasters looked first at his birth certificate, then stared at it. “Born in free fall! I’ll be a cross-eyed pilot—say, there aren’t many like you, are there?”
“I guess not.”
“But just what does that make you?”
“Read on down. My mother was born on Venus. I’m Venus native born, by derivation.”
“But your pop was born on Earth.”
“I’m native born there, too.”
“Huh? That’s silly.”
“That’s the law.”
“There are going to be some new laws. I don’t know just where you fit. See here—where do you want to go? Venus or Earth?”
“I’m going to Mars,” Don answered simply.
The sergeant looked at him and handed back the papers. “It beats me. And I can’t get any sense out of you. I’m going to refer it on up. Come along.”
He led Don down a passageway and into a small compartment which had been set up as an orderly room. Two other soldiers were there; one was using a typer, the other was just sitting. The sergeant stuck his head in and spoke to the one who was loafing. “Hey, Mike—keep an eye on this character. See that he doesn’t steal the station.” He turned back to Don. “Give me those papers again, kid.” He took them and went away.
The soldier addressed as Mike stared at Don, then paid no further attention to him. Don put his bags down and sat on them.
After several minutes Sergeant McMasters returned but ignored Don. “Who’s got the cards?” he inquired.
“I have.”
“Not your readers, Mike. Where are the honest cards?” The third soldier closed the typer, reached in a drawer and pulled out a deck of cards. The three sat down at the desk and McMasters started to shuffle. He turned to Don. “Care for a friendly game, kid?”
“Uh, I guess not.”
“You’ll never learn any cheaper.” The soldiers played cards for half an hour or so while Don kept quiet and thought. He forced himself to believe that the sergeant knew what he was talking about; he could not go to Mars in the Valkyrie because the Valkyrie was not going to Mars. He could not wait for a later ship because the station—this very room he was sitting in—was about to be blown up.
What did that leave? Earth? No! He had no relatives on Earth, none close enough to turn to. With Dr. Jefferson dead or missing be had no older friends. Perhaps he could crawl back to the ranch, tail between his legs.
No! He had outgrown that skin and shed it. The ranch school was no longer for him.
Down inside was another and stronger reason: the security police in New Chicago had made of him an alien; he would not go back because Earth was no longer his.
Hobson’s choice, he told himself; it’s got to be Venus. I can find people there whom I used to know-or know Dad and Mother. I’ll scrounge around and find some way to get from there to Mars; that’s best. His mind made up, he was almost content.
The office phone called out: “Sergeant McMasters!” The sergeant laid down his hand and went to it, pulling the privacy shield into place. Presently he switched off and turned to Don. “Well, kid, the Old Man has settled your status; you’re a ‘displaced person.’ ”
“Huh?”
“The bottom fell out for you when Venus became an independent republic. You have no citizenship anywhere. So the Old Man says to ship you back where you come from… back to Earth.”
Don stood up and squared his shoulders. “I won’t go.”
“You won’t, eh?” McMasters said mildly. “Well, just sit hack down and be comfortable. When the time comes, we’ll drag you.” He started to deal the cards again.
Don did not sit down. “See here, I’ve changed my mind. If I can’t get to Mars right away, then I’ll go to Venus.”
McMasters stopped and turned around. “When Commodore Higgins settles a point, it’s settled. Mike, take this prima donna across and shove him in with the other groundhogs.”