The classic route to a man'sheart is through his stomach—and she was just his dish.
The transport swung pastCentaurus on the last legof her long journey to Sol.There was no flash, no roar asshe swept across the darkness ofspace. As silent as a ghost, asquiet as a puff of moonlight shemoved, riding the gravitationalfields that spread like tangled,invisible spider webs between thestars.
Within the ship there was alsosilence, but the air was stirred bya faint, persistent vibration fromthe field generators. This noiselesspulse stole into every cornerof the ship, through long, emptypassageways lined with closedstateroom doors, up spiralingstairways to the bridge and navigationaldecks, and down intovast and echoing holds, filled withstrange cargo from distant worlds.
This vibration pulsed throughLenore's stateroom. As she relaxedon her couch, she bathedin it, letting it flow through herto tingle in her fingertips andwhisper behind her closed eyelids.
"Home," it pulsed, "you're goinghome."
She repeated the word to herself,moving her lips softly butmaking no sound. "Home," shebreathed, "back home to Earth."Back to the proud old planet thatwas always home, no matter howfar you wandered under aliensuns. Back to the shining citiesclustered along blue seacoasts.Back to the golden grainlands ofthe central states and the high,blue grandeur of the westernmountains. And back to the myriadtiny things that she rememberedbest, the little, friendlythings ... a stretch of maple-shadowedstreets heavy and stillwith the heat of a summer noon;a flurry of pigeons in the courthousesquare; yellow dandelionsin a green lawn, the whir of alawnmower and the smell of thecut grass; ivy on old bricks andthe rough feel of oak bark underher hands; water lilies and watermelonsand crepe papery dancesand picnics by the river in thesummer dusk; and the librarysteps in the evening, with firefliesin the cool grass and the schoolchimes sounding the slow hoursthrough the friendly dark.
She thought to herself, "It'sbeen such a long time since youwere home. There will be a wholenew flock of pigeons now." Shesmiled at the recollection of theeager, awkward girl of twentythat she had been when she hadfinished school and had enteredthe Government Education Service."Travel While Helping Others"had been the motto of theGES.
She had traveled, all right, along, long way inside a rustyfreighter without a single porthole,to a planet out on the rimof the Galaxy that was as barrenand dreary as a cosmic slag heap.Five years on the rock pile, fiveyears of knocking yourself outtrying to explain history andShakespeare and geometry to abunch of grubby little miners'kids in a tin schoolhouse at theedge of a cluster of tin shacksthat was supposed to be a town.Five years of trudging aroundwith your nails worn and dirtyand your hair chopped short, ofwearing the latest thing in overalls.Five years of not talking withthe young miners because theygot in trouble with the foreman,and not talking with the crewmenfrom the ore freighters becausethey got in trouble with thefirst mate, and not talking withyourself because you got in troublewith the psychologist.
They took care of you in theEducation Service; they guardedyour diet and your virtue, yourbody and your mind. Everythingbut your happiness.
There was lots to do, ofcourse. You could prepare lessonsand read papers and cheapnovels in the mi