Farmer in the Sky

"Why?" I asked. "A pipe doesn't weigh much."

"Because they aren't raising tobacco on Ganymede and they aren't importing any."

"Oh. Look, George, I could just about make it if it weren't for my accordion. But it licks me."

"Hmm... Have you considered listing it as a cultural item?"

"Huh?"

"Read the fine print. Approved cultural items are not covered by the personal weight schedule. They are charged to the colony."

It had never occurred to me that I might have anything that would qualify. "They wouldn't let me get away with it, George!"

"Can't rule you out for trying. Don't be a defeatist."

So two days later I was up before the cultural and scientific board, trying to prove that I was an asset. I knocked out Turkey in the Straw, Nehru's Opus 81, and the introduction to Morgenstern's Dawn of the 22nd Century, as arranged for squeeze boxes. I gave them The Green Hills of Earth for an encore.

They asked me if I liked to play for other people and told me politely that I would be informed as to the decision of the board... and about a week later I got a letter directing me to turn my accordion over to the Supply Office, Hayward Field. I was in, I was a "cultural asset"!

Four days before blast-off Dad came home early-he had been closing his office—and asked me if we could have something special for di

He seemed embarrassed. "Son—"

"Huh? Yes, George?"

"You know that item in the rules about families?"

"Uh, yes."

"Well, you were right about it, but I was holding out on you and now I've got to confess. I'm getting married tomorrow."

There was a sort of roaring in my ears. Dad couldn't have surprised me more if he had slapped me.

I couldn't say anything. I just stood there, looking at him. Finally I managed to get out, "But, George, you can't do that!"

"Why not, Son?"

"How about A

"A

"But— But—" I couldn't say anything more; I ducked into my room and locked myself in. I lay on the bed, trying to think.

Presently I heard Dad trying the latch. Then he tapped on the door and said, "Bill?"

I didn't answer. After a while he went away. I lay there a while longer. I guess I bawled, but I wasn't bawling over the trouble with Dad. It seemed the way it did the day A

And I would stand tall and she would look proud and pat my arm.

How could George do it? How could he bring some other woman into A

I got up and had a look at myself in the mirror and then went in and set my 'fresher for a needle shower and a hard massage. I felt better afterwards, except that I still had a sick feeling in my stomach. The 'fresher blew me off and dusted me and sighed to a stop. Through the sound it seemed to me I could hear A

She was saying, "Stand tall, Son." I got dressed again and went out.

Dad was messing around with di

I set the table for three and Dad finally spoke. "Better set it for four, Bill. Molly has a daughter, you know."

I dropped a fork. "Molly? You mean Mrs. Kenyon?"

"Yes. Didn't I tell you? No, you didn't give me a chance to."

I knew her all right. She was Dad's draftsman. I knew her daughter, too—a twelve-year-old brat. Somehow, it being Mrs. Kenyon made it worse, indecent. Why, she had even come to A

I knew now why she had always been so chummy with me whenever I was down at Dad's office. She had had her eye on George.

I didn't say anything. What was there to say?

I said "How do you do?" politely when they came in, then went out and pretended to fiddle with di

After di

I thought and thought about it. Any way I looked at it, it seemed like a bad deal.

At first I decided that I wouldn't go to Ganymede after all, not if they were going. Dad would forfeit my bond, but I would work hard and pay it back—I wasn't going to owe them anything!

Then I finally figured out why Dad was doing it and I felt some better, but not much. It was too high a price.

Dad got home late, by himself, and tapped on my door. It wasn't locked and he came in. "Well, Son?" he said.

"'Well' what?"

"Bill, I know that this business comes as a surprise to you, but you'll get over it."

I laughed, though I didn't feel fu

"In the meantime," he went on, "I want you to behave yourself. I suppose you know you were as rude as you could be without actually spitting in their faces?"

"Me rude?"I objected. "Didn't I fix di

"You were as polite as a judge passing sentence. And as friendly. You needed a swift kick to make you remember your ma

I guess I looked stubborn. George went on, "That's done; let's forget it. See here, Bill—in time you are going to see that this was a good idea. All I ask you to do is to behave yourself in the meantime. I don't ask you to fall on their necks; I do insist that you be your own normal, reasonably polite and friendly self. Will you try?"

"Uh, I suppose so." Then I went on with, "See here, Dad, why did you have to spring it on me as a surprise?"

He looked embarrassed. "That was a mistake. I suppose I did it because I knew you would raise Cain about it and I wanted to put it off."

"But I would have understood if you had only told me. I know why you want to marry her—"

"Eh?"

"I should have known when you mentioned that business about rules. You have to get married so that we can go to Ganymede——"

"What?"

I was startled. I said, "Huh? That's right, isn't it? You told me so yourself. You said—"

"I said nothing of the sort!" Dad stopped, took a deep breath, then went on slowly, "Bill, I suppose you possibly could have gathered that impression—though I am not flattered that you could have entertained it. Now I'll spell out the true situation: Molly and I are not getting married in order to emigrate. We are emigrating because we are getting married. You may be too young to understand it, but I love Molly and Molly loves me. If I wanted to stay here, she'd stay. Since I want to go, she wants to go. She's wise enough to understand that I need to make a complete break with my old background. Do you follow me?"

I said I guessed so.

"I'll say goodnight, then."

I answered, "Goodnight." He turned away, but I added, "George—" He stopped.

I blurted out. "You don't love A

Dad turned white. He started back in and then stopped. "Bill," he said slowly, "it has been some years since I've laid a hand on you—but this is the first time I ever wanted to give you a thrashing."

I thought he was going to do it. I waited and I had made up my mind that if he touched me he was going to get die surprise of his life. But he didn't come any nearer; he just closed the door between us.

After awhile I took another shower that I didn't need and went to bed. I must have lain there an hour or more, thinking that Dad had wanted to hit me and wishing that A