pairs competed in virtuosity.
Each pair went up in unison; each pair rose and fell in a more complicated pattern. One pair kicked off simultaneously to cross the tube in a low parabola, convex upward, each reaching the handhold the other had abandoned, and somehow skimming past each other in mid-air without touching. That evoked louder applause.
The Earthman said, “I suspect I lack the experience to appreciate the finer points of skill. Are these all native Lunarites?”
“They have to be,” said Selene. “The gymnasium is open to all Lunar citizens and some immigrants are fairly good, considering. For this kind of virtuosity, however, you must depend on babies that are conceived and born here. They have the proper physical adaptation, at least more than native Earthmen have, and they get the proper childhood training. Most of these performers are under eighteen.”
“I imagine it’s dangerous, even at Moon-gravity levels.”
“Broken bones aren’t very uncommon. I don’t think there’s been an actual death, but there’s been at least one case of broken spine and paralysis. That was a terrible accident; I was actually watching—Oh, wait now; we’re going to have the ad libs now.”
“The what?”
“Till now, we’ve had set pieces. The climbs were according to a fixed pattern.”
The percussion beat seemed softer as one climber rose and suddenly launched into mid-air. He caught a transverse bar one-handed, circled it once vertically, and let go.
The Earthman watched closely. He said, “Amazing. He gets around those bars exactly like a gibbon.”
“A what?” asked Selene.
“A gibbon. A kind of ape; in fact, the only ape still existing in the wild. They—” He looked at Selene’s expression and said, “I don’t mean it as an insult, Selene; they are graceful creatures.
Selene said, frowning, “I’ve seen pictures of apes.”
“You probably haven’t seen gibbons in motion.… I dare say that Earthies might call Lunarites ‘gibbons’ and mean it insultingly, about on the level of what you mean by ‘Earthie.’ But I don’t mean it so.”
He leaned both elbows on the railing and watched the movements. It was like dancing in the air. He said, “How do you treat Earth-immigrants here on the Moon, Selene. I mean immigrants who mean to stay here life-long. Since they lack true Lunarite abilities—”
“That makes no difference. Immies are citizens. There’s no discrimination; no legal discrimination.”
“What does that mean? No legal discrimination?”
“Well, you said it yourself. There are some things they can’t do. There are differences. Their medical problems are different and they’ve usually had a worse medical history. If they come in middle age, they look—old.”
The Earthman looked away, embarrassed. “Can they intermarry? I mean, immigrants and Lunarites.”
“Certainly. That is, they can interbreed.”
“Yes, that’s what I meant.”
“Of course. No reason why an immigrant can’t have some worthwhile genes. Heavens, my father was an immie, though I’m second-generation Lunarite on my mother’s side.”
“I suppose your father must have come when he was quite—Oh, good Lord—” He froze at the railing, then drew a shuddering sigh. “I thought he was going to miss that bar.”
“Not a chance,” said Selene. “That’s Marco Fore. He likes to do that, reach out at the last moment. Actually, it’s bad form to do that and a real champion doesn’t. Still—My father was twenty-two when he arrived.”
“I suppose that’s the way. Still young enough to be adaptable; no emotional complications back on Earth. From the standpoint of the Earthie male, I imagine it must be rather nice to have a sexual attachment with a—”
“Sexual attachment!” Selene’s amusement seemed to cover a very real sense of shock. “You don’t suppose my father had sex with my mother. If my mother heard you say that, she’d set you right in a hurry.”
“But—”
“Artificial insemination was what it was for goodness sake. Sex with an Earthman?”
The Earthman looked solemn. “I thought you said there was no discrimination.”
“That’s not discrimination. That’s a matter of physical fact. An Earthman can’t handle the gravity field properly. However practiced he might be, under the stress of passion, he might revert. I wouldn’t risk it. The clumsy fool might snap his arm or leg—or worse, mine. Gene mixtures are one thing; sex is quite another.”
“I’m sorry.… Isn’t artificial insemination against the law?”
She was watching the gymnastics with absorption. “That’s Marco Fore again. When he isn’t trying to be uselessly spectacular, he really is good; and his sister is almost as good. When they work together it’s really a poem of motion. Look at them now. They’ll come together and circle the same bar as though they have a single body