Journey Between Worlds

From the Reviews of Journey Between Worlds

"Journey Between Worlds is a beautifully-written, heartwarming, and scientifically plausible novel. What’s more, it’s quite a lot of fun … the sort of thing that’s easy to devour in one sitting, and though short, it will leave you satiated afterward. On the other hand, now that I’m done with it, I want more." —John Joseph Adams, Orson Scott Card’s Intergalactic Medicine Show

"Journey Between Worlds is a fast-paced, futuristic romance that will appeal to teens … a satisfying read, and a step above the typical teen romance." —Kendra Patterson, Romance Reader at Heart

A must-read for all future space pioneers who wish to persuade their friends to join them in making that future journey between the worlds of the known and the unknown. I highly recommend it. —Marianne Dyson, Reading Space (National Space Society)

"As an adult, I found Journey Between Worlds captivating and thought provoking. There’s much more to this book than romance or a coming of age type of story, but instead the concepts it holds are what make it appealing. It certainly made me think." —Dorine Linnen, Romance Junkies

Engdahl’s futuristic romance is truly out of this world, her imagination remarkably accurate. An excellent book for teen and mature reader alike! —Phyllis Muhlhauser, Romance Book Cafe

The book feels as fresh and interesting as any near-future novel I have read…. A very accessible story for readers who are interested in space colonization as well as readers who enjoy stories about personal growth and relationships. —Anna Creech, Blogcritics

Absorbing science fiction ... Intensive first-person characterizations and a love story one can really care about. —Wichita Falls Times

The author has projected a plausible picture of the post-twentieth-century world—a world where pioneers on Mars are envisioned as a continuation of the endless chain of settlers who have been moving to new frontiers ever since the human race began. —Horn Book

Journey Between Worlds

Sylvia Engdahl

Copyright © 1970, 2006 by Sylvia Louise Engdahl

All rights reserved. For information contact sle@sylviaengdahl.com or visit www.sylviaengdahl.com/adstellae.

Cover photo © Can Stock Photo / Subbotina

Atheneum edition (hardcover) published in 1970

Putnam edition (hardcover, updated) published in 2006

Firebird Books edition (paperback and ebook) published in 2007

Ad Stellae Books edition (ebook) published in 2015

Ad Stellae Books (paperback) published in 2018

Trade paperback, ISBN 979-8985853261

This edition distributed by Smashwords

Author website: www.sylviaengdahl.com

Western Star by Stephen Vincent Benet, Holt, Rinehart and Winston, Inc. Copyright © 1943 by Rosemary Carr Benet. Reprinted by permission of Brandt & Hocbman Literary Agents. Inc.

Excerpt from Desert Places from The Poetry of Robert Frost edited by Edward Connery Latham. Copyright © 1969 by Henry Holt and Company. Copyright © 1936 by Robert Frost, copyright © 1964 by Lesley Frost Ballantine. Reprinted by permission of Henry Holt and Company, LLC.

Wand’rin’ Star from Paint Your Wagon, copyright © 1951 by Alan Jay Lerner and Frederick Lowe. Reprinted by permission of Chappell & Company.

Table of Contents

Part One - EARTH

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Part Two - SPACE

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Part Three - MARS

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Part Four - PHOBOS

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Afterword

About the Author

Part One - EARTH

Chapter 1

I never wanted to go to Mars. So many girls plan to be flight attendants, or ship’s technicians, or if they’re going to get a degree, they hope to land a position in the Colonies just as soon as they can qualify; and not only because of the fabulous salaries. I was never like that. In our senior year, we used to talk about college and jobs, and all the things we wanted to do with our lives—though of course we knew that for most of us, Europe or Africa or maybe Tahiti would be the extent of our travels. Even then, what I wanted was to live in a house overlooking the bay, with the sparkling blue water in front and dark trees behind, near the town where my mother’s folks had always lived. And since teaching was a career that would let me do that, I did not intend to let anything stand in the way of getting my Oregon teaching credentials as soon as I possibly could.

Yet here I am in New Terra. There are times when I still can’t believe it.

Sometimes I dream about the water lapping on the rocks below Gran’s beach house. Or the sand, white instead of red and damp where the tide has left it, and the breeze smelling of salt and seaweed and free oxygen. And the firs, ragged green against a pale blue sky, and white clouds billowing up behind the mountains . . . or fog. Fog, soft and wet against my face, and indoors, the comforting fragrance of a crackling wood fire.

Then when I wake up and first remember how far away those things are, I don’t see how I can bear it. And I lie there thinking about all that’s happened, and wondering whether making a trip to Mars was very foolish of me or very mature. You can’t ever plan everything out in advance, I guess. But I used to think I could. I don’t think I wanted too much; the trouble was, I didn’t want enough.

Mostly, I wanted to marry Ross, strange as it may seem that I didn't want to be on my own for a while first like everyone else. We had been dating for over two years by the time of my graduation from high school, and for most of that time we had considered ourselves in love. Ross’s parents liked me; I had been to their home for dinner frequently, and I had spent several school vacations with them. Ross’s dad was an attorney, as Ross was to be, and very successful; but I never pictured myself as the same sort of wife as Ross’s mother. I was terribly shy, and the thought of giving all those parties and entertaining important clients appalled me. Ross laughed at me, but he didn’t really care. He said he would be happy to live in the homey old Maple Beach house, which was Gran’s and would someday be mine, especially since it was less than a hundred miles commuting distance to Portland. At the time it didn’t occur to me to wonder whether he meant it.

We’d discussed getting married after our freshman year of college, though I hadn’t mentioned that either to Gran or to Dad. They knew I was dating Ross, but families—especially parents whom one doesn’t see often—don’t quite take in the fact that boys and girls in school can be seriously in love. Several of my friends made the mistake of insisting that their folks acknowledge their love as real and lasting; all it got them was quarrels and unhappiness. Not that the girls in my crowd wanted to quit school for the sake of marriage, or anything like that. It’s simply that you seem more like an adult if other adults agree that you are old enough to make final decisions about things. Nobody knows this better than parents, and parents don’t want to think of their kids as adults. This is less because they distrust you than because they distrust themselves; it’s a matter not of your age, but of theirs. They hate to believe that they are old enough to have grown children. So if you love your folks, why make it tough for them? I adored Dad; when I wrote to him I told him only that Ross was fun to date and that we liked each other a lot. If there was more in our relationship, well, it was nothing that wasn’t perfectly decent and natural. I never felt that I was hiding anything.

So Dad thought that I would be thrilled at the prospect of taking time out for a long trip before I started college.

I’d better explain about Dad. First of all let me say that he was a wonderful person, the nicest father any girl was ever lucky enough to have. Really. The only trouble was, I never saw enough of him. When my mother died I was only nine and Dad was doing on-site engineering for a firm under government contract, which meant a transfer halfway around the world every six months or so; of course he couldn’t take me along. I was sent to live with my great-grandmother, Mother’s grandmother, and that was when I got to love Maple Beach so much. I had always lived in city apartments before and this was like a whole new world for me, even if Gran was somewhat strict and old-fashioned. But I missed Dad. I used to count the hours when I knew he’d be coming for a visit. The visits were all too rare; he was in Melbourne that year.

Later, when I went away to school, I was lonesome not only for Dad but for the beach house, and my collies, and most of all, for Gran herself. I hope I haven’t given the impression that I didn’t love my great-grandmother. She was—well, reserved, I suppose you’d call it, but she was kind, too. And she gave me roots. Western Oregon had been home to Gran’s people for generations, ever since the pioneer days. (Gran had a gold locket, very worn, that one of her ancestors—Melinda Stillwell, the one I’m named after—had been given the day she set out to cross the plains in a covered wagon. I can remember sitting on a corner of the stair landing with Gran’s green leather jewel box between my knees, swinging that locket by its dull chain and wondering what it would be like to come to a place that was just wilderness.) The Maple Beach house had been built by that first Melinda’s great-grandson about the time of the World Wars, I’m never sure which one. It was a terribly old-fashioned house, built mostly of wood with obsolete glass windows, but Gran loved it. It was her home, and in my imagination it was mine, too, though it wasn’t really, for I lived there only three years.

To get back to Dad. He’d always promised that once I was through school we’d spend some time together, a whole summer, maybe. He was going to show me all of Europe if he could arrange a transfer there at the right moment; or failing that, we would visit some of the most historic spots on weekends. At any rate, we’d really get to know each other, the way we hadn’t when I was a child. Before it’s too late, he used to tell me. Before you’re grown up and on your own. Though I didn’t want to leave Maple Beach or Ross for very long, I was happy about it. I expected to major in history at college, so seeing Europe would be useful; yet it wasn’t so much that as the idea of being with Dad at last.

You know, much as I loved Dad, I never stopped to think that he might not be completely happy. He hadn’t remarried after my mother’s death and from his letters I always assumed that his work was everything to him. He had a top position; he was an executive by the time I entered boarding school, and was making loads of money. I didn’t realize how much he missed not having a family. Moreover, it just never occurred to me that there might be something else he’d always wanted that he’d never had a chance for. I didn’t find out about it until the day of my graduation. If I hadn’t been so absorbed with Ross, maybe it wouldn’t have been such a shock.

Though I don’t know. How would you feel if your father gave you a ticket to Mars for a graduation present?

*

I had absolutely no advance warning. As late as that last day at school, I wasn’t sure if we were taking a trip at all. I hadn’t seen Dad since Christmas, when I had joined him in Washington, D.C., because Dad’s current work was in his firm’s home office, and he hadn’t been able to come to the West Coast for even a few days. In his letters he hadn’t given an inkling as to where his next assignment might take him. He hadn’t mentioned summer, except to say that he was looking forward to having me with him. It was exasperating. I don’t like surprises; I like to have everything mapped out, and it seemed as if Dad should have known that. (Though come to think of it, he really knew very little about me—my personality, I mean—since he hadn’t seen me often enough.) As it was, I didn’t know if I’d be two days at Gran’s or a month before Dad would want me to join him. I didn’t even know if he was coming to graduation.

I was depressed that day to begin with, for several reasons. It wasn’t only the uncertainty. First, Gran had phoned; she’d come down with a bad cold and wasn’t going to be able to make it out to school for the ceremonies, so if Dad didn’t show up, I’d have no one at all. Ross’s parents would be there, but somehow it isn’t the same.

Also, now that the time had come, I was beginning to hate the idea of leaving school. I’d been homesick when I first came from Gran’s, but that hadn’t lasted, and school had been the center of things for six years. I wanted to graduate, but in some ways it was sad and a little scary. After all, I’d have all the rest of my life to live at Maple Beach, after college. Things were changing too fast.

I’ve often wondered what it would be like to go to school and live at home at the same time. You wouldn’t get so wrapped up in it, maybe; graduation wouldn’t seem so—so final. Some things would stay the same. It’s not that I regret having gone to Evergreen Central. A residential school was the only choice for me in any case, since there wasn’t regular copter service to Gran’s house, or even a bus. But I’m sure I wouldn’t have liked a city high school. No trees, no lawns, not even gym outdoors! If you’re not underground, you might just as well be. And think of the hours some kids devote to commuting. Dad’s folks were English, so it seemed more natural to him for me to live at school than it did to Gran. When she was a girl the only boarding schools were private ones, and she never has understood about tax-supported residential schools being the new trend.

Lots of kids like residential schools just because there’s less fighting with their parents. Dorm counselors may be a little overbearing at times, but from what I’ve heard they have a better understanding of your problems than the average parent has. I wouldn’t know; I’ve always wished I could have been close to Dad and Mother, yet if I’d seen them every day we might not have gotten along. The thing I do know, though, is that it’s easier to make friends at a residential school. You meet kids from all over, not just those from your own suburb; and even if you’re not the kind to go out for activities much, there are always your roommates. I wouldn’t have met Julie Tamura or Lorene Smith at a local school, and we turned out to be best friends even though they considered my desire to live in a small town all my life rather odd. Of course, if we hadn’t just naturally liked one another, sharing a room might have been worse than being lonely. I admit I’ve always found it hard to get on intimate terms with people. Especially with boys. I hate to think what it would have been like if I hadn’t had Ross.

If it hadn’t been for Ross, I would have looked forward to college with a certain amount of apprehension, I think. Neither Julie nor Lorene was going to the University of Oregon. But Ross would be there, which was why I’d chosen it; we’d spend all our free time together. It really wasn’t going to matter, not knowing anyone else. To get my teaching credentials in minimum time I’d have to study hard; the first year would go fast. And after that we’d be married.

Only, this summer we were going to be separated. That was another thing that depressed me on graduation day. Because the night before, while we were walking back from the coffee shop, Ross had brought it up again, and the evening hadn’t ended happily. It wasn’t exactly a fight—Ross and I never fought, because I almost always saw things his way—but it certainly didn’t put me in a mood to enjoy graduation. The trouble was, Ross had never been really resigned to my spending the summer with Dad.

Can’t you get out of going? he’d complained. It wasn’t the first time he had asked that, either.

You know I can’t. You know I don’t want to. Do we have to go through it all again?

If you loved me you’d want to.

You’re not being fair, Ross. Of course I love you. But can’t I love my own father, too?

What am I supposed to do all summer while you’re gone?

I thought you were going to work.

I don’t mean that.

I said slowly, If you want to date, you can. I didn’t think he’d take me seriously, and naturally he didn’t; neither of us had dated anyone else for more than a year. But he didn’t laugh it off, either. He didn’t say a word until we got back to the dorm, and I finally had to try to fix things up myself.

Oh, Ross, we’ll never be separated again, I said. I promise we won’t. It’s just that I’ve wanted to see more of Dad for so long, and I’ll never have another chance.

Sure, Mel. Go ahead, have your trip. See you in the fall.

For a moment I thought he meant not until fall. I’ll see you tomorrow, won’t I? At lunch? And after—

Of course. Unless you’d rather go out with your father than with me.

On Grad Night? Don’t be ridiculous. I refrained from saying that Dad might not even be coming. Ross and I had been planning our Grad Night date for a long time; we