For who knows what dirty tricks may be lurking around this universe? The slugs may be simple and open and friendly compared with, let us say, the natives of the planets of Sirius. If this is just the opener, we had better learn from it for the main event. We thought space was empty and that we were automatically the lords of creation—even after we “conquered” space we thought so; Mars was already dead and Venus had not really gotten started. Well, if Man wants to be top dog—or even a respected neighbor—he’ll have to fight for it. Beat the plowshares back into swords; the other was a maiden aunt’s fancy.
Every one of us who is going has been possessed at least once. Only those who have been hag-ridden can know how tricky the slugs are, how constantly one must be on guard—or how deeply one must hate. The trip, they tell me, will take about twelve years, which will give Mary and me time to finish our honeymoon. Oh, yes, Mary is going; most of us are married couples and the single men are balanced by an equal number of single women. Twelve years isn’t a trip; it’s a way of living.
When I told Mary that we were going to Saturn her single comment was, “Yes, dear.”
We’ll have time for two or three kids, too. As Dad says, “The race must go on, even if it doesn’t know where.”
This report is loose-jointed in spots, and I can see that some must be cut and some must be censored before it is transcribed. But I have put everything into it, as I saw it and as I felt it, for war with another race is psychological war, not war of gadgets, and what I thought and what I felt may be more important than what I did.
I am finishing this report in Space Station Beta, from which we will transship to our vessel U.N.S. Avenger. I will not have time to make corrections; this will have to go as is, for the historians to have fun with. We said good-by to Dad last night at Pikes Peak Port and left our little girl with him. She did not understand and that was hard. But it was better so—and Mary and I will look into the matter of having another, at once.
When I said good-by Dad corrected me. “So long, you mean. You’ll be back and I intend to hang on, getting crankier and meaner every year, until you do.” I said I hoped so. He nodded. “You’ll make it. You’re too tough and mean to die. I’ve got a lot of confidence in you and the likes of you, son.”
We are about to transship. I feel exhilarated. Puppet masters—the free men are coming to kill you!
Death and Destruction!
About the Author
ROBERT ANSON HEINLEIN was born in Butler, Missouri, in 1907. A graduate of the U.S. Naval Academy, he was retired, disabled, in 1934. He studied mathematics and physics at the graduate school of the University of California and owned a silver mine before beginning to write science fiction, in 1939. In 1947 his first book of fiction, ROCKET SHIP GALILEO, was published. His novels include DOUBLE STAR (1956), STARSHIP TROOPERS (1959), STRANGER IN A STRANGE LAND (1961), and THE MOON IS A HARSH MISTRESS (1966), all winners of the Hugo Award. Heinlein was guest commentator for the Apollo II first lunar landing. In 1975 he received the Grand Master Nebula Award for lifetime achievement. Mr. Heinlein died in 1988.