Journey Between Worlds

by Sylvia Engdahl

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Part One - EARTH

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Part Two - SPACE

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Part Three - MARS

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Part Four - PHOBOS

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Afterword to the 2006 Edition

  NEWS

  When we got into the airlock, we could see through its inner window that another man was waiting with the lock attendant; as soon as the pressure equalized and we got the doors open, he came forward. It was Paul.

  I knew something was wrong just from his voice—it was his minister’s voice, not that of the friend I’d laughed and joked with so often. He took my arm and led me into the crowded little Ground Control office. “Melinda,” Paul said, “I don’t know any way to tell you this except directly. There’s been an accident. . . .”

  FIREBIRD

  WHERE SCIENCE FICTION SOARS™

  Western Star by Stephen Vincent Benét, Holt, Rinehart and Winston, Inc. Copyright © 1943 by Rosemary Carr Benet. . “Desert Places” from Complete Poems of Robert Frost. Copyright © 1936 by Robert Frost. Copyright © 1964 by Lesley Frost Ballantine. .“Wanderin’ Star” copyright © 1952 by Alan Jay Lerner. .

  FIREBIRD

  Published by the Penguin Group

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  Text copyright © Sylvia Louise Engdahl, 1970, 2006

  All rights reserved

  THE LIBRARY OF CONGRESS HAS CATALOGED THE G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS EDITION AS FOLLOWS:

  Engdahl, Sylvia Louise. Journey between worlds / Sylvia Louise Engdahl ;

  decorations by James and Ruth McCrea.—1st G.P. Putnam’s Sons ed. p. cm.

  Summary: To prove her independence to her boyfriend, Melinda decides to go to Mars

  on a pleasure trip—an impromptu decision that changes her entire way of life.

  eISBN : 978-1-440-68432-6

  PZ7.E6985Jo 2006 [Fic]—dc22 2005030932

  eISBN : 978-1-440-68432-6

  The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any

  responsibility for author or third-party Web sites or their content.

  http://us.penguingroup.com

  Part One

  EARTH

  Chapter 1

  I never wanted to go to Mars. So many girls plan to be flight attendants, or ship’s technicians, or if they’re going to get a degree, they hope to land a position in the Colonies just as soon as they can qualify; and not only because of the fabulous salaries. I was never like that. In our senior year, we used to talk about college and jobs, and all the things we wanted to do with our lives—though of course we knew that for most of us, Europe or Africa or maybe Tahiti would be the extent of our travels. Even then, what I wanted was to live in a house overlooking the bay, with the sparkling blue water in front and dark trees behind, near the town where my mother’s folks had always lived. And since teaching was a career that would let me do that, I did not intend to let anything stand in the way of getting my Oregon teaching credentials as soon as I possibly could.

  Yet here I am in New Terra. There are times when I still can’t believe it.

  Sometimes I dream about the water lapping on the rocks below Gran’s beach house. Or the sand, white instead of red and damp where the tide has left it, and the breeze smelling of salt and seaweed and free oxygen. And the firs, ragged green against a pale blue sky, and white clouds billowing up behind the mountains . . . or fog. Fog, soft and wet against my face, and indoors, the comforting fragrance of a crackling wood fire.

  Then when I wake up and first remember how far away those things are, I don’t see how I can bear it. And I lie there thinking about all that’s happened, and wondering whether making a trip to Mars was very foolish of me or very mature. You can’t ever plan everything out in advance, I guess. But I used to think I could. I don’t think I wanted too much; the trouble was, I didn’t want enough.

  Mostly, I wanted to marry Ross. We had been dating for over two years by the time of my graduation from high school, and for most of that time we had considered ourselves in love. Ross’s parents liked me; I had been to their home for dinner frequently, and I had spent several school vacations with them. Ross’s dad was an attorney, as Ross was to be, and very successful; but I never pictured myself as the same sort of wife as Ross’s mother. I was terribly shy, and the thought of giving all those parties and entertaining important clients appalled me. Ross laughed at me, but he didn’t really care. He said he would be happy to live in the homey old Maple Beach house, which was Gran’s and would someday be mine, especially since it was less than a hundred miles commuting distance to Portland.

  We’d discussed getting married after our freshman year of college, though I hadn’t mentioned that either to Gran or to Dad. They knew I was dating Ross, but families—especially parents whom one doesn’t see often—don’t quite take in the fact that boys and girls in school can be seriously in love. Several of my friends made the mistake of insisting that their folks acknowledge their love as real and lasting; all it got them was quarrels and unhappiness. Not that the girls in my crowd wanted to quit school for the sake of marriage, or anything like that. It’s simply that you seem more like an adult if other adults agree that you are old enough to make final decisions about things. Nobody knows this better than parents, and parents don’t want to think of their kids as adults. This is less because they distrust you than because they distrust themselves; it’s a matter not of your age, but of theirs. They hate to believe that they are old enough to have grown children. So if you love your folks, why make it tough for them? I adored Dad; when I wrote to him I told him only that Ross was fun to date and that we liked each other a lot. If there was more in our relationship, well, it was nothing that wasn’t perfectly decent and natural. I never felt that I was hiding anything.

  So Dad thought that I would be thrilled at the prospect of taking time out for a long trip before I started college.

  I’d better explain about Dad. First of all let me say that he was a wonderful person, the nicest father any girl was ever lucky enough to have. Really. The only trouble was, I never saw enough of him. When my mother died I was only nine and Dad was doing on-site engineering for a firm under government contract, which meant a transfer halfway around the world every six months or so; of course he couldn’t take me along. I was sent to live with my great-grandmother, Mother’s grandmother, and that was when I got to love Maple Beach so much. I
had always lived in city apartments before and this was like a whole new world for me, even if Gran was somewhat strict and old-fashioned. But I missed Dad. I used to count the hours when I knew he’d be coming for a visit. The visits were all too rare; he was in Melbourne that year.

  Later, when I went away to school, I was lonesome not only for Dad but for the beach house, and my collies, and most of all, for Gran herself. I hope I haven’t given the impression that I didn’t love my great-grandmother. She was—well, reserved, I suppose you’d call it, but she was kind, too. And she gave me roots. Western Oregon had been home to Gran’s people for generations, ever since the pioneer days. (Gran had a gold locket, very worn, that one of her ancestors—Melinda Stillwell, the one I’m named after—had been given the day she set out to cross the plains in a covered wagon. I can remember sitting on a corner of the stair landing with Gran’s green leather jewel box between my knees, swinging that locket by its dull chain and wondering what it would be like to come to a place that was just wilderness.) The Maple Beach house had been built by that first Melinda’s great-grandson about the time of the World Wars, I’m never sure which one. It was a terribly old-fashioned house, built mostly of wood with obsolete glass windows, but Gran loved it. It was her home, and in my imagination it was mine, too, though it wasn’t really, for I lived there only three years.

  To get back to Dad. He’d always promised that once I was through school we’d spend some time together, a whole summer, maybe. He was going to show me all of Europe if he could arrange a transfer there at the right moment; or failing that, we would visit some of the most historic spots on weekends. At any rate, we’d really get to know each other, the way we hadn’t when I was a child. “Before it’s too late,” he used to tell me. “Before you’re grown up and on your own.” Though I didn’t want to leave Maple Beach or Ross for very long, I was happy about it. I expected to major in history at college, so seeing Europe would be useful; yet it wasn’t so much that as the idea of being with Dad at last.

  You know, much as I loved Dad, I never stopped to think that he might not be completely happy. He hadn’t remarried after my mother’s death and from his letters I always assumed that his work was everything to him. He had a top position; he was an executive by the time I entered boarding school, and was making loads of money. I didn’t realize how much he missed not having a family. Moreover, it just never occurred to me that there might be something else he’d always wanted that he’d never had a chance for. I didn’t find out about it until the day of my graduation. If I hadn’t been so absorbed with Ross, maybe it wouldn’t have been such a shock.

  Though I don’t know. How would you feel if your father gave you a ticket to Mars for a graduation present?

  I had absolutely no advance warning. As late as that last day at school, I wasn’t sure if we were taking a trip at all. I hadn’t seen Dad since Christmas, when I had joined him in Washington, D.C., because Dad’s current work was in his firm’s home office, and he hadn’t been able to come to the West Coast for even a few days. In his letters he hadn’t given an inkling as to where his next assignment might take him. He hadn’t mentioned summer, except to say that he was looking forward to having me with him. It was exasperating. I don’t like surprises; I like to have everything mapped out, and it seemed as if Dad should have known that. (Though come to think of it, he really knew very little about me—my personality, I mean—since he hadn’t seen me often enough.) As it was, I didn’t know if I’d be two days at Gran’s or a month before Dad would want me to join him. I didn’t even know if he was coming to graduation.

  I was depressed that day to begin with, for several reasons. It wasn’t only the uncertainty. First, Gran had phoned; she’d come down with a bad cold and wasn’t going to be able to make it out to school for the ceremonies, so if Dad didn’t show up, I’d have no one at all. Ross’s parents would be there, but somehow it isn’t the same.

  Also, now that the time had come, I was beginning to hate the idea of leaving school. I’d been homesick when I first came from Gran’s, but that hadn’t lasted, and school had been the center of things for six years. I wanted to graduate, but in some ways it was sad and a little scary. After all, I’d have all the rest of my life to live at Maple Beach, after college. Things were changing too fast.

  I’ve often wondered what it would be like to go to school and live at home at the same time. You wouldn’t get so wrapped up in it, maybe; graduation wouldn’t seem so—so final. Some things would stay the same. It’s not that I regret having gone to Evergreen Central. A residential school was the only choice for me in any case, since there wasn’t regular copter service to Gran’s house, or even a bus. But I’m sure I wouldn’t have liked a city high school. No trees, no lawns, not even gym outdoors! If you’re not underground, you might just as well be. And think of the hours some kids devote to commuting. Dad’s folks were English, so it seemed more natural to him for me to live at school than it did to Gran. When she was a girl the only boarding schools were private ones, and she never has understood about tax-supported residential schools being the new trend.

  Lots of kids like residential schools just because there’s less fighting with their parents. Dorm counselors may be a little overbearing at times, but from what I’ve heard they have a better understanding of your problems than the average parent has. I wouldn’t know; I’ve always wished I could have been close to Dad and Mother, yet if I’d seen them every day we might not have gotten along. The thing I do know, though, is that it’s easier to make friends at a residential school. You meet kids from all over, not just those from your own suburb; and even if you’re not the kind to go out for activities much, there are always your roommates. I wouldn’t have met Julie Tamura or Lorene Smith at a local school, and we turned out to be best friends. Of course, if we hadn’t just naturally liked one another, sharing a room might have been worse than being lonely. I admit I’ve always found it hard to get on intimate terms with people. Especially with boys. I hate to think what it would have been like if I hadn’t had Ross.

  If it hadn’t been for Ross, I would have looked forward to college with a certain amount of apprehension, I think. Neither Julie nor Lorene was going to the University of Oregon. But Ross would be there, which was why I’d chosen it; we’d spend all our free time together. It really wasn’t going to matter, not knowing anyone else. To get my teaching credentials in minimum time I’d have to study hard; the first year would go fast. And after that we’d be married.

  Only, this summer we were going to be separated. That was another thing that depressed me on graduation day. Because the night before, while we were walking back from the coffee shop, Ross had brought it up again, and the evening hadn’t ended happily. It wasn’t exactly a fight—Ross and I never fought, because I almost always saw things his way—but it certainly didn’t put me in a mood to enjoy graduation. The trouble was, Ross had never been really resigned to my spending the summer with Dad.

  “Can’t you get out of going?” he’d complained. It wasn’t the first time he had asked that, either.

  “You know I can’t. You know I don’t want to. Do we have to go through it all again?”

  “If you loved me you’d want to.”

  “You’re not being fair, Ross. Of course I love you. But can’t I love my own father, too?”

  “What am I supposed to do all summer while you’re gone?”

  “I thought you were going to work.”

  “I don’t mean that.”

  I said slowly, “If you want to date, you can.” I didn’t think he’d take me seriously, and naturally he didn’t; neither of us had dated anyone else for more than a year. But he didn’t laugh it off, either. He didn’t say a word until we got back to the dorm, and I finally had to try to fix things up myself.

  “Oh, Ross, we’ll never be separated again,” I said. “I promise we won’t. It’s just that I’ve wanted to see more of Dad for so long, and I’ll never have another chance.”

  �
��Sure, Mel. Go ahead, have your trip. See you in the fall.”

  For a moment I thought he meant not until fall. “I’ll see you tomorrow, won’t I? At lunch? And after—”

  “Of course. Unless you’d rather go out with your father than with me.”

  “On Grad Night? Don’t be ridiculous.” I refrained from saying that Dad might not even be coming. Ross and I had been planning our Grad Night date for a long time; we were going into Portland. Ross would drive me out to Gran’s house later, whether Dad showed up or not. “It may be the last date we’ll have for a long time,” I reminded him. “Please don’t spoil it.”

  “Well, there’s nothing left to argue about, is there? It’s settled; you’re going.” He smiled then, and his kiss was the same as always.

  It never occurred to either one of us that where I was going would make any difference. But it did; it brought on the only real fight we ever had. And if it hadn’t been for that fight with Ross, I might never have come to Mars at all. It’s funny the way things happen.

  Graduation day was gorgeous, lush and green as only a terrestrial June can be. I remember everything about that afternoon: the way the clouds looked, and how the sun broke through and shone warm on my shoulders, and threw soft shadows across the stone floor of the quadrangle. The rhododendrons were in bloom, brilliant pink against the green mass of the maples. I always loved the rhododendrons.

  Dad arrived less than half an hour before the ceremonies, on the fifteen-forty copter. We’d had the morning free for getting our things together and clearing up details like returning discs to the library, so by fifteen o’clock I’d finished packing. Julie and I had our caps and gowns on and were sitting in the quad near the fountain, just outside the entrance to the auditorium where the line was to form. I was miserably nervous; if only Dad had told me, one way or the other. Since he hadn’t, I’d keep hoping right up to the last moment, no matter how hard I tried not to.