: The Geisha Memory by Marks Winston K Winston Kinney Vestal Herman B Illustrator - Science fiction; Short stories; Mars (Planet) Fiction

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With a song in their hearts the celibates of Mars gaily relived--

THE GEISHA MEMORY

Peter Duncan lay strapped, drugged and supine on one of the eighty narrow bucket-couches on the passenger deck and was miserably, continuously sick. It was not a nice steady nausea that a man could adjust to. Nor even a rhythmic vertigo like one suffered from an ocean liner wallowing in ground swells. It was a shifting, sliding instability in three dimensions, as the Mars-bound vessel responded to automatic radar controls.

The concept of interplanetary space being empty was long since an exploded myth Duncan was reminded as the space ship veered, accelerated, decelerated and corrected course to avoid collision with meteorites approaching from thousands of miles away.

That seventy-nine other passengers and the whole crew were suffering as much as he, was little comfort. They, at least, had a substantial reason for being here. Aside from the money, in which Duncan, too, shared, these others were vital players in an enormous game, supplying energy-starved earth with fissionable materials from the inexhaustible mines of Mars.

The single ship was the only link between the two planets, and it represented earth's greatest extravagance in history. The passengers, replacements for eighty mine workers who had served their four years and 100 days contract time, provided the essential manpower. For them it was important work and brought them not only the 0,000 contract fee, but also membership in the highly honored and exclusive fellowship of the Mars Society. Back on earth they were assured a life-long position of fame and wealth. To facilitate the recruiting of future crews, public relations man, Peter Duncan, was to see to it that romance and glamour surrounded the Mars Society with honor bright and a yard wide.

And it wasn't easy. The rigors of the round trip, alone, were no secret on earth. After thirty years operation, most visions of romance in space flight had been dissipated by the grim details of the stomach-wrenching journey.

Duncan was new to the job. And too young for the job, he had thought. But now the joker was apparent. Senior publicity men in the employ of General Fission enjoyed the high pay and conventional public relations work with their feet comfortably secure on earth. But G.F. needed a 25-year-old for this assignment that broke all precedents. Experience came only with age. And age was the disqualifier for space ship travel. It was not his Phi Beta Kappa key his employers admired, but his youthful circulatory system, his sturdy, compact skeletal structure and above all his emotional stability quotient.

Farewell to Mars And frigid stars That light the rusty sands! My one regret: I'll not forget Those ever-loving hands.

My stint is done, My fortune's won. Break out the earthling bands! I'm glad to go, But yet I know I'll miss those loving hands.

To breathe again Like other men And aereate my glands-- For this, farewell To all that's hell-- Except those loving hands.

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