It looked like all the others to me--drab, scarred by innumerable gullies, lifeless. But when Julia opened the door of the cockpit and leaned out and waved, the gullies rivened, and the whole hill opened up like an enormous metallic flower. I saw the ship then, the tall burnished ship poised on its concrete launching platform. I saw its name--the _Mayflower II_. We drifted down past the tapered prow, the gleaming flanks. The other Pilgrims were already aboard. Betz and Kester waved to us as we passed the open lock. We stepped out upon the launching platform. The ship towered above us. The lathes and presses and furnaces of the subterranean factory stood silent in the gloom around us. I looked at Julia. Her eyes were iridescent with relieved tears, her smile tremulous with happiness. "Mars, Roger," she whispered. "The ship can make it. But perhaps the old colony has perished and we'll have to start a new one. It won't be easy, darling. But will you come?" I felt the way Samuel Fuller and Christopher Martin must have felt five centuries ago, standing on a lonely wharf in Southampton. The way William White and John Alden must have felt-- No, not quite the way John Alden had felt. I already had _my_ Priscilla Mullins. I bent and kissed her. Then, hand in hand, we ascended the spiral gang-plank of the _Mayflower II_ to begin our journey to the New World.