ered.

They shouted then. They called out to us and pressed forward and held
their babies up to see us.

* * * * *

I looked out past the people, across the flat red desert to the
horizon, toward the spot in the east where the Earth would rise, much
later. The dry smell of Mars had never been stronger.

The first Martians....

They were so real, those carved figures. Lewis and Martha Farwell....

"Look at them, Lewis," Martha said softly. "They're cheering us. Us!"

She was smiling. There were tears in her eyes, but her smile was
bright and proud and shining. Slowly she turned away from me and
straightened, staring out over the heads of the crowd across the
desert to the east. She stood with her head thrown back and her mouth
smiling, and she was as proudly erect as the statue that was her
likeness.

"Martha," I whispered. "How can we tell them goodbye?"

Then she turned to face me, and I could see the tears glistening in
her eyes. "We can't leave, Lewis. Not after this."

She was right, of course. We couldn't leave. We were symbols. The last
of the pioneers. The first Martians. And they had carved their symbol
in our image and made us a part of Mars forever.

I glanced down, along the rows of upturned, laughing faces, searching
for Duane. He was easy to find. He was the only one who wasn't
shouting. His eyes met mine, and I didn't have to say anything. He
knew. He climbed up beside me on the platform.

I tried to speak, but I couldn't.

"Tell him, Lewis," Martha whispered. "Tell him we can't go."

Then she was crying. Her smile was gone and her proud look was gone
and her hand crept into mine and trembled there. I put my arm around
her shoulders, but there was no way I could comfort her.

"Now we'll never go," she sobbed. "We'll never get home...."

I don't think I had ever realized, until that moment, just how much it
meant to her--getting home. Much more, perhaps, than it had ever meant
to me.

The statues were only statues. They were carved from the stone of
Mars. And Martha wanted Earth. We both wanted Earth. Home....

I looked away from her then, back to Duane. "No," I said. "We're still
going. Only--" I broke off, hearing the shouting and the cheers and
the children's laughter. "Only, how can we tell _them_?"

Duane smiled. "Don't try to, Mr. Farwell," he said softly. "Just wait
and see."

He turned, nodded to where John Emery still stood at the edge of the