There is a time for doing and a time for going home. But where is home in an ever-changing universe?
s smile faded. "For yourself?"
"Yes," I said woodenly. "For myself and my wife."
"Farwell. Lewis Farwell."
"My name's Duane. Please sit down, won't you?... How old are you, Mr. Farwell?"
"Eighty-seven," I said. "In Earth years."
He frowned. "The regulations say no space travel for people past seventy, except in certain special cases...."
I looked down at my hands. They were shaking badly. I knew he could see them shake, and was judging me as old and weak and unable to stand the trip. He couldn't know why I was trembling.
"Please," I whispered. "It wouldn't matter if it hurt us. It's just that we want to see Earth again. It's been so long...."
"How long have you been here, Mr. Farwell?" It was merely politeness. There wasn't any promise in his voice.
"Sixty-five years." I looked up at him. "Isn't there some way--"
"Sixty-five years? But that means you must have come here on the first colonizing ship."
"Yes," I sa
A poignant short story about two of the first settlers of Mars who watch the Earth rise every night, and would like to go home to die.
Well done. The couple are very good characters, and the story has a couple of twists. Women sci-fi writers seem to have been held to a higher standard than men--their stories HAD to be good.
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