Fantastic Stories Presents the Fantastic Universe Super Pack. Roger Dee

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      Exile from Space

      by Judith Merril

       “They” worried about the impression she’d make. Who could imagine that she’d fall in love, passionately, the way others of her blood must have done?

       Who was this strange girl who had been born in this place—and still it wasn’t her home . . . ?

      I don’t know where they got the car. We made three or four stops before the last one, and they must have picked it up one of those times. Anyhow, they got it, but they had to make a license plate, because it had the wrong kind on it.

      They made me some clothes, too—a skirt and blouse and shoes that looked just like the ones we saw on television. They couldn’t make me a lipstick or any of those things, because there was no way to figure out just what the chemical composition was. And they decided I’d be as well off without any driver’s license or automobile registration as I would be with papers that weren’t exactly perfect, so they didn’t bother about making those either.

      They were worried about what to do with my hair, and even thought about cutting it short, so it would look more like the women on television, but that was one time I was way ahead of them. I’d seen more shows than anyone else, of course—I watched them almost every minute, from the time they told me I was going—and there was one where I’d seen a way to make braids and put them around the top of your head. It wasn’t very comfortable, but I practiced at it until it looked pretty good.

      They made me a purse, too. It didn’t have anything in it except the diamonds, but the women we saw always seemed to carry them, and they thought it might be a sort of superstition or ritual necessity, and that we’d better not take a chance on violating anything like that.

      They made me spend a lot of time practicing with the car, because without a license, I couldn’t take a chance on getting into any trouble. I must have put in the better part of an hour starting and stopping and backing that thing, and turning it around, and weaving through trees and rocks, before they were satisfied.

      Then, all of a sudden, there was nothing left to do except go. They made me repeat everything one more time, about selling the diamonds, and how to register at the hotel, and what to do if I got into trouble, and how to get in touch with them when I wanted to come back. Then they said good-bye, and made me promise not to stay too long, and said they’d keep in touch the best they could. And then I got in the car, and drove down the hill into town.

      I knew they didn’t want to let me go. They were worried, maybe even a little afraid I wouldn’t want to come back, but mostly worried that I might say something I shouldn’t, or run into some difficulties they hadn’t anticipated. And outside of that, they knew they were going to miss me. Yet they’d made up their minds to it; they planned it this way, and they felt it was the right thing to do, and certainly they’d put an awful lot of thought and effort and preparation into it.

      If it hadn’t been for that, I might have turned back at the last minute. Maybe they were worried; but I was petrified. Only of course, I wanted to go, really. I couldn’t help being curious, and it never occurred to me then that I might miss them. It was the first time I’d ever been out on my own, and they’d promised me, for years and years, as far back as I could remember, that some day I’d go back, like this, by myself. But . . . .

      Going back, when you’ve been away long enough, is not so much a homecoming as a dream deja vu. And for me, at least, the dream was not entirely a happy one. Everything I saw or heard or touched had a sense of haunting familiarity, and yet of wrongness, too—almost a nightmare feeling of the oppressively inevitable sequence of events, of faces and features and events just not-quite-remembered and not-quite-known.

      I was born in this place, but it was not my home. Its people were not mine; its ways were not mine. All I knew of it was what I had been told, and what I had seen for myself these last weeks of preparation, on the television screen. And the dream-feeling was intensified, at first, by the fact that I did not know why I was there. I knew it had been planned this way, and I had been told it was necessary to complete my education. Certainly I was aware of the great effort that had been made to make the trip possible. But I did not yet understand just why.

      Perhaps it was just that I had heard and watched and thought and dreamed too much about this place, СКАЧАТЬ