Seven Against Mars. Martin Berman-Gorvine
Texas Panhandle, let alone from another planet. Meeting them was a blast. To begin with, there were shady characters like Eagle-Eye Eddie, who tended to talk fast and loud about other subjects when you asked them why they were making the trip.
“The name’s Lightning Larry, little lady,” one typical specimen said to Katie on the third day out. He was on the heavy side to be lightning anything, Katie thought as she slurped up some noodles in the cafeteria. And did all these guys have corny nicknames? She was going to have to talk to Rachel about that.
“So, do you travel around the solar system selling lightning rods, or is it kites?” Katie asked him.
“Kites? Oh, I gotcha. Ha ha! No, nothing like that,” Larry said, absently patting his head and dislodging his toupee. “Say, who do ya think is gonna win the New Wimbledon Open? My money’s on Phobos Williams. They got nothing to do on that Martian moon but play tennis.”
“So are you from Phobos, Mr. Lightning?”
“Me? Ha ha! Just call me Larry, sweetie. Say, would you like to come to my cabin after lunch and inspect my meteor patches?”
The ship executed a midcourse correction, and Larry’s toupee floated away, much to the delight of the other diners, who began to play keep-away with it. Katie slipped out of the cafeteria, leaving a whining Larry lunging after his hairpiece.
Not all of the rogues onboard were so obvious. Katie was fascinated by a fit-looking man in his twenties who wore a sandy mustache and spent much of his time reading in the recreation room. He looked like a man of action, someone who could have repaired a split-rail fence in an afternoon back home in Texas, but when he was reading he could sit perfectly still for hours at a time. Ordinarily Katie was shy around strangers, not that she ever met many of them in her world, but it didn’t seem to make so much difference now, when everything was imaginary anyway. So she stood in the doorway and stared boldly at him, until he looked up with a half-smile and said, “Can I help you, miss?”
“What’s that you’re reading?”
He showed her the spine of the book.
“Nuh-uh, I don’t believe you.”
“Don’t believe me? What’s not to believe?”
“There ain’t no such book as Jovian Property Law for Beginners.”
The man shrugged, a rippling motion like a tiger pacing in a cage that made Katie feel kind of hot and mushy inside, like warmed-up grits. “Believe what you want. Now if you don’t mind, I’m going to go back to reading my nonexistent book.”
He had a few seconds of quiet to do so before Katie asked, “You studying to be a lawyer or something?”
“Nope,” the man said without looking up.
“Then you’re a, whaddaya call ’em, a real estate agent?” Katie was proud of herself for remembering this word from a library book.
“Not that either.”
“Well, what are you then?”
“A very annoyed man,” he said, slamming his book shut and standing up.
Katie stood her ground without flinching. “A man of unnecessary mystery, I’d say.”
“Cheeky,” the man said reflectively, walking right up to Katie and grasping her shoulders with both hands. Their eyes were exactly on a level with each other, a relief for Katie, who was tired of being short stuff. The man’s eyes were the color of tea before milk is added.
“Well, my importunate friend,” he said, releasing her.
“I am not.”
“You are not what?”
“Importunate. You can’t intimidate me with fancy words.”
“Wasn’t trying to. I was only trying to read my book,” the man pointed out with some heat.
“What for? If you’re neither a lawyer nor a real estate agent.”
“Maybe I’m a secret agent.”
Katie stuck her chin out. “Now you are messing with me.”
“How would you know? Considering you ain’t never been outside the Panhandle.”
Katie felt a large, dense lump form in her stomach. “What did you say?”
“You heard me.”
“I mean, how do you know where I’m from?”
“Your ac-cent,” the man said, neatly catching Katie’s upswung fist in his hand as if fielding a fly ball.
“Don’t you mess with Texas!” Katie cried, drawing back her fist for another swing.
“Whyfore would I want to do that? My mother’s from Abilene.”
“What? Is not!”
“Is too!”
“Oh yeah? What’s her name then?” The population of Abilene had declined drastically since Independence, and Katie bet she knew most of the family names there.
“Helen McSwain.”
Katie’s knees buckled and she grabbed at the door frame for support. “Helen McSwain?” she whispered hoarsely.
“That’s what I said. So?”
Katie knew Helen McSwain, a quiet little girl who lived in Abilene and was the daughter of her mom’s best friend Becky. Helen was nine years old last Thanksgiving. Except that that was thirty years ago, right? That is, her home was thirty years in the past and sort of at right angles to this world, if Rachel was right. So Helen could be all grown up now. Except, how could she have a son this guy’s age?
“How old are you?” Katie demanded.
For the first time since she had interrupted his reading, the guy looked defensive. “What’s it your business?”
“Twenty-five?” she persisted.
“No. I’m younger. People say I look grown-up for my age.… Why am I telling you this?”
“Beats me. I don’t even know your name.”
“I don’t know yours, either.”
“Katie Webb.”
“Pete Kowalski. What?” he added when she rolled her eyes. “I’m half Martian on my father’s side, sure. You got a problem with that?”
“Guess maybe I don’t,” Katie said, and they shook hands. “So why are you reading about property laws on the planet Jupiter?”
“Maybe I’m just interested,” he said. “You have any idea how complicated it is trying to draw up a deed for a cloud of methane gas moving at several hundred miles an hour?”
“I can honestly say I’ve never thought about that.”
“Well, it’s pretty darn complicated. Especially when the property owners are these sort of giant gas bags the size of hot air balloons that reproduce like amoebas. You can imagine how complicated things get, legally speaking, when they start budding.”
“Umm. Sounds fascinating. So what do you have to do with it?”
Pete winked at Katie for an answer, making her insides tingle pleasantly, but then retreated to the couch and resumed his reading, where he ignored further questions.
Well, all right, suit yourself. Katie wandered over to the Ping Pong table and picked up a racket.
In walked a woman who appeared to be about Pete’s age (but did that mean she was really older than him?). The stranger picked up the other racket. She was slim, with a plain, pale face and brown hair held back from her forehead with a hairband. “So you think you’re good, do you?” she asked Katie.
“What? I didn’t say