"Oh, cut it out, Ben. I'm no hot-house rose. Just tell me which way and I'll find my own farm." She paused, trying to guess his thoughts. "You think he might be disappointed when he sees me? Is that it, Ben? I know I'm no pinup girl. But I'm a worker and a breeder. He'll see it. In the end, that's what's going to count." Ben was still making holes in the sand with his feet, trying to say something. "Please don't worry," Annie went on, "your friend won't be sorry. If he doesn't want to marry me right away--okay. I can understand it. But I can give him a chance to watch me work." "That isn't it," Ben said finally. "I think you look fine, Annie. It's--it's _any_ woman. He told them not to send a wife for him. _Any_ woman." "But that's ridiculous. He knows the laws. Five years and then a wife. Why did he stake out in the first place?" "That was before," Ben answered. "Before what?" "Aw, it's not for me to say. Why don't you just forget Bradman. He's a good enough guy. But not for you. You come--" "Which way and how far?" Ben looked at her hard. "Okay. On Mars your life is your own." He pointed. "Second farmbubble you come to. And you'd better hurry. It ought to take eight hours and night falls like a ton of bricks here." Annie made it in seven. Easy. * * * * * She went up to the transparent hemisphere. He was inside working. She shouted, but if he heard her he didn't look up. She went to the flap that must be the door. There wasn't anything to knock on, so she opened the flap and walked in. There was nothing in the room but a cot, kitchen equipment and lichen, growing on a number of tables. The air was richer than outside and Annie breathed it thirstily. "I'm Annie Strug," she said, smiling and wishing it wasn't such an ugly name. He glanced up, angry blue eyes under a growth of black hair. He didn't say a word. Annie set her suitcase down and looked out at the green growth on the hills. "Look, Mr. Bradman," she cried suddenly, pointing a spatulate finger to the western horizon. "What in the name of heaven is that?" There was a catch of fright in her voice. "We don't say 'mister' on Mars," he said reluctantly. "Brady. But you don't have to call me anything because you're leaving soon." He was a big, arid man with a sandy voice. But his hands, as he stripped the lumpy brown fruits from a giant lichen, were surprisingly delicate. "What _is_ it?" Annie asked again, turning instinctively to the big man for a reassurance and protection she had no reason to expect. Bradman straightened and moved away from her, looking at the black giant growing up from the earth in the distance and moving straight toward them. "It's a sandstorm," he said. "It'll be here in ten minutes." Annie let out the breath she had been holding. "Oh. That doesn't sound so bad. I don't know what I thought it was. I was just frightened." She smiled shyly and apologetically at Bradman.