Earth wasn't good enough once a man had a
taste of deep space—and met his Ideal. Al Hall
wanted to know why, so he volunteered for his—
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Imagination Stories of Science and Fantasy
February 1954
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
I was sitting in the dining-bar of the Thousand Lights, in New York,watching Kelly as the woman walked into the bar. There was a ripple,an undercurrent of sensation. Not because of the way she looked, notbecause of her dress, but because she was an Ideal. People hate Ideals.The better-looking they are the more they are hated, and this one wasright on top.
I sat at a table about twelve feet from Kelly. He sat at the bar andI could see his face in the mirror. His face scowled in an expressionof hate. I saw him pick up his cigarettes and make a ball of the emptypackage with his fist. He tried to look away; his eyes crossed mine andhe didn't even recognize me.
The Ideal came up to him and slipped on the stool beside him with someword of greeting. She was human all right. Too human. She was dressedin white. Most of them dress in white. There was some gold sprinkled onher costume. It was very expensive, made of Scolarian cloth, flowingaround her body. Kelly bit his lip and pulled away from the touch ofher arm. It was a well-rounded arm, white and perfect in the softlights of the bar. The face was pleasant with a youthful glow. Her redhair was soft enough to halo, strong enough to fall a bit this wayand that as she turned. She had a small nose, blue Irish eyes and asmattering of freckles.
She looked a little bit like Kelly.
She went on talking. When she smiled her white teeth flashed andsparkled. Nobody from earth quite had teeth like that.
The bartender set a drink before Kelly, took the Ideal's order. Shemade a few comments to Kelly and he dipped his face despairingly inhis arms. The rest of the people in the bar went unconcernedly abouttheir business.
"God damn it! Leave me alone!"
Kelly burst out just as the bartender served the girl's drink. Kellytook his own drink and threw it in the pretty Irish face of theredhead, whipped away from the stool and was gone. I caught a glimpseof his face as he went past and it was frightening. It was the faceof a man who can never get drunk again, who can never really sleepagain. You took one look at him and knew he'd been in deep space on theStardust Overdrive, but it seemed queer to see the look on a familiarface.
My own insides felt cold. First Kelly made the moon. Then I did. Then Imade Mars. Then he did. Then he went on the Stardust Overdrive ... andcame back with his Ideal....
Kelly's redhead wiped the drink from her face, flushing a little. Abouncer came up and told her to leave. She gave him the look theyall have. Of patience, of humor, of some exasperation. Some of herdelectable red hair was soaked with the drink but she pushed it backfrom her eyes and got up. She gave a wistful glance at her untoucheddrink and started to go. She went past my table with a flash of smoothlegs. There was the faint odor of deep-space perfume. The crowd partedin distaste from her, but a couple of near-spacemen made some grinningcracks and whistled.
I followed her out.
She stood on the curbing, white and gracious, fumbling absently withher coat as I came up. She was watching the parking lot. Her eyesbarely grazed me as I helped her with the coat. It was snowing but herbare arms were warm.
"Is Kelly going back?"
She smiled her thanks for the help. "Maybe