Transcriber's Note:
This etext was produced from Imagination Stories of Science and Fantasy July 1953. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.
VOYAGE TO ETERNITY
By
Milton Lesser
Temple faced leaving Earth—and the girl he loved—if hiscountry drafted him. But the hard part was in knowing he'dnever return!...
hen the first strong sunlight of May covered the tree-arched avenuesof Center City with green, the riots started.
The people gathered in angry knots outside the city hall, met in thepark and littered its walks with newspapers and magazines as theygobbled up editorial comment at a furious rate, slipped with dark ofnight through back alleys and planned things with furious futility.Center City's finest knew when to make themselves scarce: theiruniforms stood for everything objectionable at this time and theymight be subjected to clubs, stones, taunts, threats, leers—andknives.
But Center City, like most communities in United North America, hadsurvived the Riots before and would survive them again. On pastperformances, the damage could be estimated, too. Two-hundredfifty-seven plate glass windows would be broken, three-hundred twelvelimbs fractured. Several thousand people would be treated for minorbruises and abrasions, Center City would receive half that many damagesuits. The list had been drawn clearly and accurately; it hardly everdeviated.
And Center City would meet its quota. With a demonstration ofreluctance, of course. The healthy approved way to get over socialtrauma once every seven-hundred eighty days.
"Shut it off, Kit. Kit, please."
The telio blared in a cheaply feminine voice, "Oh, it's a long way tonowhere, forever. And your honey's not coming back, never, never,never...." A wailing trumpet represented flight.
"They'll exploit anything, Kit."
"It's just a song."
"Turn it off, please."
Christopher Temple turned off the telio, smiling. "They'll announcethe names in ten minutes," he said, and felt the corners of his mouthdraw taut.
"Tell me again, Kit," Stephanie pleaded. "How old are you?"
"You know I'm twenty-six."
"Twenty-six. Yes, twenty-six, so if they don't call you this time,you'll be safe. Safe, I can hardly believe it."
"Nine minutes," said Temple in the darkness. Stephanie had drawn theblinds earlier, had dialed for sound-proofing. The screaming in thestreets came to them as not the faintest whisper. But the song whichbecame briefly, masochistically popular every two years and two monthshad spoiled their feeling of seclusion.
"Tell me again, Kit."
"What."
"You know what."
He let her come to him, let her hug him fiercely and whimper againsthis chest. He remained passive although it hurt, occasionally strokingher hair. He could not assert himself for another—he looked at hisstrap chrono—for another eight minutes. He might regret it, if hedid, for a lifetime.
"Tell me, Kit."
"I'll marry you, Steffy. In eight minut