"_Prologue_\n\n\nThe Lexman Spacedrive was only the second most important theoretical\naccomplishment of the exciting years at the dawn of the Space Age, yet\nit changed all human history and forever altered the pattern of\nsociocultural development on Earth.\n\nYet it was only the _second_ most important discovery.\n\nThe Cavour Hyperdrive unquestionably would have held first rank in any\nhistorical assessment, had the Cavour Hyperdrive ever reached practical\nuse. The Lexman Spacedrive allows mankind to reach Alpha Centauri, the\nclosest star with habitable planets, in approximately four and a half\nyears. The Cavour Hyperdrive--if it ever really existed--would have\nbrought Alpha C within virtual instantaneous access.\n\nBut James Hudson Cavour had been one of those tragic men whose\npersonalities negate the value of their work. A solitary, cantankerous,\nopinionated individual--a crank, in short--he withdrew from humanity to\ndevelop the hyperspace drive, announcing at periodic intervals that he\nwas approaching success.\n\nA final enigmatic bulletin in the year 2570 indicated to some that\nCavour had achieved his goal or was on the verge of achieving it;\nothers, less sympathetic, interpreted his last message as a madman's\nwild boast. It made little difference which interpretation was accepted.\nJames Hudson Cavour was never heard from again.\n\nA hard core of passionate believers insisted that he _had_ developed a\nfaster-than-light drive, that he had succeeded in giving mankind an\ninstantaneous approach to the stars. But they, like Cavour himself, were\nlaughed down, and the stars remained distant.\n\nDistant--but not unreachable. The Lexman Spacedrive saw to that.\n\nLexman and his associates had developed their ionic drive in 2337, after\ndecades of research. It permitted man to approach, but not to exceed,\nthe theoretical limiting velocity of the universe: the speed of light.\n\nShips powered by the Lexman Spacedrive could travel at speeds just\nslightly less than the top velocity of 186,000 miles per second. For the\nfirst time, the stars were within man's grasp.\n\nThe trip was slow. Even at such fantastic velocities as the Lexman\nSpacedrive allowed, it took nine years for a ship to reach even the\nnearest of stars, stop, and return; a distant star such as Bellatrix\nrequired a journey lasting two hundred fifteen years each way. But even\nthis was an improvement over the relatively crude spacedrives then in\nuse, which made a journey from Earth to Pluto last for many months and\none to the stars almost unthinkable.\n\nThe Lexman Spacedrive worked many changes. It gave man the stars. It\nbrought strange creatures to Earth, strange products, strange languages.\n\nBut one necessary factor was involved in slower-than-light interstellar\ntravel, one which the Cavour drive would have averted: the Fitzgerald\nContraction. Time aboard the great starships that lanced through the\nvoid was contracted; the nine-year trip to Alpha Centauri and back\nseemed to last only six weeks to the men on the ship, thanks to the\nstrange mathematical effects of interstellar travel at high--but not\ninfinite--speeds.\n\nThe results were curious, and in some cases tragic. A crew that had aged\nonly six weeks would return to find that Earth had grown nine years\nolder. Customs had changed; new slang words made language\nunintelligible.\n\nThe inevitable development was the rise of a guild of Spacers, men who\nspent their lives flashing between the suns of the universe and who had\nlittle or nothing to do with the planet-bound Earthers left behind.\nSpacer and Earther, held apart forever by the inexorable mathematics of\nthe Fitzgerald Contraction, came to regard each other with a bitter sort\nof distaste.\n\nThe centuries passed--and the changes worked by the coming of the Lexman\nSpacedrive became more pronounced. Only a faster-than-light spacedrive\ncould break down the ever-widening gulf between Earther and Spacer--and\nthe faster-than-light drive remained as unattainable a dream as it had\nbeen in the days of James Hudson Cavour.\n\n                                              --_Sociocultural Dynamics_\n                                                Leonid Hallman\n                                                London, 3876\n\n\n\n\n_Chapter One_\n\n\nThe sound of the morning alarm rang out, four loud hard clear\ngong-clangs, and all over the great starship _Valhalla_ the men of the\nCrew rolled out of their bunks to begin another day. The great ship had\ntravelled silently through the endless night of space while they slept,\nbringing them closer and closer to the mother world, Earth. The\n_Valhalla_ was on the return leg of a journey to Alpha Centauri.\n\nBut one man aboard the starship had not waited for the morning alarm.\nFor Alan Donnell the day had begun several hours before. Restless,\nunable to sleep, he had quietly slipped from his cabin in the fore\nsection, where the unmarried Crewmen lived, and had headed forward to\nthe main viewscreen, in order to stare at the green planet growing\nsteadily larger just ahead.\n\nHe stood with his arms folded, a tall red-headed figure, long-legged, a\nlittle on the thin side. Today was his seventeenth birthday.\n\nAlan adjusted the fine controls on the viewscreen and brought Earth\ninto sharper focus. He tried to pick out the continents on the planet\nbelow, struggling to remember his old history lessons. Tutor Henrich\nwould not be proud of him, he thought.\n\n_That's South America down there_, he decided, after rejecting the\nnotion that it might be Africa. They had pretty much the same shape, and\nit was so hard to remember what Earth's continents looked like when\nthere were so many other worlds. _But that's South America. And so\nthat's North America just above it. The place where I was born._\n\nThen the 0800 alarm went off, the four commanding gongs that Alan always\nheard as _It's! Time! Wake! Up!_ The starship began to stir into life.\nAs Alan drew out his Tally and prepared to click off the start of a new\nday, he felt a strong hand firmly grasp his shoulder.\n\n\"Morning, son.\"\n\nAlan turned from the viewscreen. He saw the tall, gaunt figure of his\nfather standing behind him. His father--and the _Valhalla's_ captain.\n\n\"Good rising, Captain.\"\n\nCaptain Donnell eyed him curiously. \"You've been up a while, Alan. I can\ntell. Is there something wrong?\"\n\n\"Just not sleepy, that's all,\" Alan said.\n\n\"You look troubled about something.\"\n\n\"No, Dad--I'm not,\" he lied. To cover his confusion he turned his\nattention to the little plastic gadget he held in his hand--the Tally.\nHe punched the stud; the register whirred and came to life.\n\nHe watched as the reading changed. The black-on-yellow dials slid\nforward from _Year 16 Day 365_ to _Year 17 Day 1_.\n\nAs the numbers dropped into place his father said, \"It's your birthday,\nis it? Let it be a happy one!\"\n\n\"Thanks, Dad. You know, it'll feel fine to have a birthday on Earth!\"\n\nThe Captain nodded. \"It's always good to come home, even if we'll have\nto leave again soon. And this will be the first time you've celebrated\nyour birthday on your native world in--three hundred years, Alan.\"\n\nGrinning, Alan thought, _Three hundred? No, not really._ Out loud he\nsaid, \"You know that's not right, Dad. Not three hundred years. Just\nseventeen.\" He looked out at the slowly-spinning green globe of Earth.\n\n\"When on Earth, do as the Earthers do,\" the Captain said. \"That's an old\nproverb of that planet out there. The main vault of the computer files\nsays you were born in 3576, unless I forget. And if you ask any Earther\nwhat year this is he'll tell you it's 3876. 3576-3876--that's three\nhundred years, no?\" His eyes twinkled.\n\n\"Stop playing games with me, Dad.\" Alan held forth his Tally. \"It\ndoesn't matter what the computer files say. Right here it says _Year 17\nDay 1_, and that's what I'm going by. Who cares what year it is on\nEarth? _This_ is my world!\"\n\n\"I know, Alan.\"\n\nTogether they moved away from the viewscreen; it was time for breakfast,\nand the second gongs were sounding. \"I'm just teasing, son. But that's\nthe sort of thing you'll be up against if you leave the Starmen's\nEnclave--the way your brother did.\"\n\nAlan frowned and his stomach went cold. He wished the unpleasant topic\nof his brother had not come up. \"You think there's any chance Steve will\ncome back, this time down? Will we be in port long enough for him to\nfind us?\"\n\nCaptain Donnell's face clouded. \"We're going to be on Earth for almost a\nweek,\" he said in a suddenly harsh voice. \"That's ample time for Steve\nto rejoin us, if he cares to. But I don't imagine he'll care to. And I\ndon't know if I want very much to have him back.\"\n\nHe paused outside the handsomely-panelled door of his private cabin, one\nhand on the thumb-plate that controlled entrance. His lips were set in a\ntight thin line. \"And remember this, Alan,\" he said. \"Steve's not your\ntwin brother any more. You're only seventeen, and he's almost\ntwenty-six. He'll never be your twin again.\"\n\nWith sudden warmth the captain squeezed his son's arm. \"Well, better get\nup there to eat, Alan. This is going to be a busy day for all of us.\"\n\nHe turned and went into the cabin.\n\nAlan moved along the wide corridor of the great ship toward the mess\nhall in Section C, thinking about his brother. It had been only about\nsix weeks before, when the _Valhalla_ had made its last previous stop on\nEarth, that Steve had decided to jump ship.\n\nThe _Valhalla's_ schedule had called for them to spend two days on Earth\nand then leave for Alpha Centauri with a load of colonists for Alpha C\nIV. A starship's time is always scheduled far in advance, with bookings\nplanned sometimes for decades Earthtime by the Galactic Trade\nCommission.\n\nWhen blastoff time came for the _Valhalla_, Steve had not reported back\nfrom the Starmen's Enclave where all Spacers lived during in-port stays.\n\nAlan's memories of the scene were still sharp. Captain Donnell had been\nconducting check-off, making sure all members of the Crew had reported\nback and were aboard. This was a vital procedure; in case anyone were\naccidentally left behind, it would mean permanent separation from his\nfriends and family.\n\nHe had reached the name _Donnell, Steve_. No answer came. Captain\nDonnell called his name a second time, then a third. A tense silence\nprevailed in the Common Room of the starship, where the Crew was\nassembled.\n\nFinally Alan made himself break the angry silence. \"He's not here, Dad.\nAnd he's not coming back,\" he said in a hesitant voice. And then he had\nhad to explain to his father the whole story of his unruly, aggressive\ntwin brother's plan to jump ship--and how Steve had tried to persuade\nhim to leave the _Valhalla_ too.\n\nSteve had been weary of the endless shuttling from star to star, of\nforever ferrying colonists from one place to another without ever\nstanding on the solid ground of a planet yourself for more than a few\ndays here, a week there.\n\nAlan had felt tired of it too--they all did, at some time or\nanother--but he did not share his twin's rebellious nature, and he had\nnot gone over the hill with Steve.\n\nAlan remembered his father's hard, grim expression as he had been told\nthe story. Captain Donnell's reaction had been curt, immediate, and\nthoroughly typical: he had nodded, closed the roll book, and turned to\nArt Kandin, the _Valhalla's_ First Officer and the Captain's\nsecond-in-command.\n\n\"Remove Crewman Donnell from the roster,\" he had snapped. \"All other\nhands are on board. Prepare for blastoff.\"\n\nWithin the hour the flaming jets of the _Valhalla's_ planetary drive had\nlifted the great ship from Earth. They had left immediately for Alpha\nCentauri, four and a half light-years away. The round trip had taken the\n_Valhalla_ just six weeks.\n\nDuring those six weeks, better than nine years had passed on Earth.\n\nAlan Donnell was seventeen years old.\n\nHis twin brother Steve was now twenty-six.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\"Happy rising, Alan,\" called a high, sharp voice as he headed past the\nblue-painted handholds of Gravity Deck 12 on his way toward the mess\nhall.\n\nStartled, he glanced up, and then snorted in disgust as he saw who had\nhailed him. It was Judy Collier, a thin, stringy-haired girl of about\nfourteen whose family had joined the Crew some five ship-years back. The\nColliers were still virtual newcomers to the tight group on the\nship--the family units tended to remain solid and self-contained--but\nthey had managed to fit in pretty well by now.\n\n\"Going to eat?\" she asked.\n\n\"Right enough,\" said Alan, continuing to walk down the plastifoam-lined\ncorridor. She tagged along a step or two behind him.\n\n\"Today's your birthday, isn't it?\"\n\n\"Right enough,\" Alan said again, more abruptly. He felt a sudden twinge\nof annoyance; Judy had somehow developed a silly crush on him during the\nlast voyage to Alpha C, and since then she had contrived to follow him\naround wherever he went, bombarding him with questions. She was a silly\nadolescent girl, Alan thought scornfully.\n\n\"Happy birthday,\" she said, giggling. \"Can I kiss you?\"\n\n\"No,\" returned Alan flatly. \"You better watch out or I'm going to get\nRat after you.\"\n\n\"Oh, I'm not afraid of that little beast,\" she retorted. \"One of these\ndays I'll chuck him down the disposal hatch like the little vermin\nhe--_ouch!_\"\n\n\"You watch out who you're calling vermin,\" said a thin, dry,\nbarely-audible voice from the floor.\n\nAlan glanced down and saw Rat, his pet and companion, squatting near\nJudy and flicking his beady little red eyes mischievously in the\ndirection of the girl's bare skinny ankle.\n\n\"He _bit_ me,\" Judy complained, gesturing as if she were going to step\non the little creature. But Rat nimbly skittered to one side, leaped to\nthe trousers of Alan's uniform, and from there clambered to his usual\nperch aboard his master's shoulder.\n\nJudy gestured at him in frustration, stamped her foot, and dashed away\ninto the mess hall. Chuckling, Alan followed and found his seat at the\nbench assigned to Crewmen of his status quotient.\n\n\"Thanks, fellow,\" he said softly to the little being on his shoulder.\n\"That's kid's getting to be pretty annoying.\"\n\n\"I figured as much,\" Rat said in his chittering birdlike voice. \"And I\ndon't like the way she's been looking at me. She's just the kind of\nindividual who _would_ dump me in a disposal hatch.\"\n\n\"Don't worry about it,\" Alan said. \"If she pulls anything of the sort\nI'll personally see to it that she goes out right after you.\"\n\n\"That does _me_ a lot of good,\" Rat said glumly as Alan's breakfast came\nrolling toward him on the plastic conveyor belt from the kitchen.\n\nAlan laughed and reached avidly for the steaming tray of food. He poured\na little of his synthorange juice into a tiny pan for Rat, and fell to.\n\nRat was a native of Bellatrix VII, an Earth-size windswept world that\norbited the bright star in the Orion constellation. He was a member of\none of the three intelligent races that shared the planet with a small\ncolony of Earthmen.\n\nThe _Valhalla_ had made the long trip to Bellatrix, 215 light-years from\nEarth, shortly before Alan's birth. Captain Donnell had won the\nfriendship of the little creature and had brought him back to the ship\nwhen time came for the _Valhalla_ to return to Earth for its next\nassignment.\n\nRat had been the Captain's pet, and he had given Alan the small animal\non his tenth birthday. Rat had never gotten along well with Steve, and\nmore than once he had been the cause of jealous conflicts between Alan\nand his twin.\n\nRat was well named; he looked like nothing so much as a small\nbluish-purple rodent, with wise, beady little eyes and a scaly curling\ntail. But he spoke Terran clearly and well, and in every respect he was\nan intelligent, loyal, and likable creature.\n\nThey ate in silence. Alan was halfway through his bowl of protein mix\nwhen Art Kandin dropped down onto his bench facing him. The _Valhalla's_\nFirst Officer was a big pudgy-faced man who had the difficult job of\ntranslating the concise, sometimes almost cryptic commands of Alan's\nfather into the actions that kept the great starship going.\n\n\"Good rising, Alan. And happy birthday.\"\n\n\"Thanks, Art. But how come you're loafing now? Seems to me you'd be busy\nas a Martian dustdigger today, of all days. Who's setting up the landing\norbit, if you're here?\"\n\n\"Oh, that's all been done,\" Kandin said lightly. \"Your Dad and I were up\nall last night working out the whole landing procedure.\" He reached out\nand took Rat from Alan's shoulder, and began to tickle him with his\nforefinger. Rat responded with a playful nip of his sharp little teeth.\n\"I'm taking the morning off,\" Kandin continued. \"You can't imagine how\nnice it's going to be to sit around doing nothing while everyone else is\nworking, for a change.\"\n\n\"What's the landing hour?\"\n\n\"Precisely 1753 tonight. It's all been worked out. We actually are in\nthe landing orbit now, though the ship's gimbals keep you from feeling\nit. We'll touch down tonight and move into the Enclave tomorrow.\" Kandin\neyed Alan with sudden suspicion. \"You're planning to stay in the\nEnclave, aren't you?\"\n\nAlan put down his fork with a sharp tinny clang and stared levelly at\nthe First Officer. \"That's a direct crack. You're referring to my\nbrother, aren't you?\"\n\n\"Who wouldn't be?\" Kandin asked quietly. \"The captain's son jumping\nship? You don't know how your father suffered when Steve went over the\nhill. He kept it all hidden and just didn't say a thing, but I know it\nhit him hard. The whole affair was a direct reflection on his authority\nas a parent, of course, and that's why he was so upset. He's a man who\nisn't used to being crossed.\"\n\n\"I know. He's been on top here so long, with everyone following his\norders, that he can't understand how someone could disobey and jump\nship--especially his own son.\"\n\n\"I hope _you_ don't have any ideas of----\"\n\nAlan clipped off Kandin's sentence before it had gotten fully started.\n\"I don't need advice, Art. I know what's right and wrong. Tell me the\ntruth--did Dad send you to sound me out?\"\n\nKandin flushed and looked down. \"I'm sorry, Alan. I didn't\nmean--well----\"\n\nThey fell silent. Alan returned his attention to his breakfast, while\nKandin stared moodily off into the distance.\n\n\"You know,\" the First Officer said finally, \"I've been thinking about\nSteve. It just struck me that you can't call him your twin any more.\nThat's one of the strangest quirks of star travel that's been recorded\nyet.\"\n\n\"I thought of that. He's twenty-six, I'm seventeen, and yet we used to\nbe twins. But the Fitzgerald Contraction does funny things.\"\n\n\"That's for sure,\" Kandin said. \"Well, time for me to start relaxing.\"\nHe clapped Alan on the back, disentangled his long legs from the bench,\nand was gone.\n\n_The Fitzgerald Contraction does funny things_, Alan repeated to\nhimself, as he methodically chewed his way through the rest of his meal\nand got on line to bring the dishes to the yawning hopper that would\ncarry them down to the molecular cleansers. _Real funny things._\n\nHe tried to picture what Steve looked like now, nine years older. He\ncouldn't.\n\n_As velocity approaches that of light, time approaches zero._\n\nThat was the key to the universe. _Time approaches zero._ The crew of a\nspaceship travelling from Earth to Alpha Centauri at a speed close to\nthat of light would hardly notice the passage of time on the journey.\n\nIt was, of course, impossible ever actually to reach the speed of light.\nBut the great starships could come close. And the closer they came, the\ngreater the contraction of time aboard ship.\n\nIt was all a matter of relativity. Time is relative to the observer.\n\nThus travel between the stars was possible. Without the Fitzgerald\nContraction, the crew of a spaceship would age five years en route to\nAlpha C, eight to Sirius, ten to Procyon. More than two centuries would\nelapse in passage to a far-off star like Bellatrix.\n\nThanks to the contraction effect, Alpha C was three weeks away, Sirius a\nmonth and a half. Even Bellatrix was just a few years' journey distant.\nOf course, when the crew returned to Earth they found things completely\nchanged; years had passed on Earth, and life had moved on.\n\nNow the _Valhalla_ was back on Earth again for a short stay. On Earth,\nstarmen congregated at the Enclaves, the cities-within-cities that grew\nup at each spaceport. There, starmen mingled in a society of their own,\nwithout attempting to enter the confusing world outside.\n\nSometimes a Spacer broke away. His ship left him behind, and he became\nan Earther. Steve Donnell had done that.\n\n_The Fitzgerald Contraction does funny things._ Alan thought of the\nbrother he had last seen just a few weeks ago, young, smiling, his own\nidentical twin--and wondered what the nine extra years had done to him.\n\n\n\n\n_Chapter Two_\n\n\nAlan dumped his breakfast dishes into the hopper and walked briskly out\nof the mess hall. His destination was the Central Control Room, that\nlong and broad chamber that was the nerve-center of the ship's\nactivities just as the Common Recreation Room was the center of off-duty\nsocializing for the Crew.\n\nHe found the big board where the assignments for the day were chalked,\nand searched down the long lists for his own name.\n\n\"You're working with me today, Alan,\" a quiet voice said.\n\nHe turned at the sound of the voice and saw the short, wiry figure of\nDan Kelleher, the cargo chief. He frowned. \"I guess we'll be crating\nfrom now till tonight without a stop,\" he said unhappily.\n\nKelleher shook his head. \"Wrong. There's really not very much work. But\nit's going to be cold going. All those chunks of dinosaur meat in the\npreserving hold are going to get packed up. It won't be fun.\"\n\nAlan agreed.\n\nHe scanned the board, looking down the rows for the list of cargo crew.\nSure enough, there was his name: _Donnell, Alan_, chalked in under the\nbig double C. As an Unspecialized Crewman he was shifted from post to\npost, filling in wherever he was needed.\n\n\"I figure it'll take four hours to get the whole batch crated,\" Kelleher\nsaid. \"You can take some time off now, if you want to. You'll be working\nto make up for it soon enough.\"\n\n\"I won't debate the point. Suppose I report to you at 0900?\"\n\n\"Suits me.\"\n\n\"In case you need me before then, I'll be in my cabin. Just ring me.\"\n\nOnce back in his cabin, a square cubicle in the beehive of single men's\nrooms in the big ship's fore section, Alan unslung his pack and took out\nthe dog-eared book he knew so well. He riffled through its pages. _The\nCavour Theory_, it said in worn gold letters on the spine. He had read\nthe volume end-to-end at least a hundred times.\n\n\"I still can't see why you're so wild on Cavour,\" Rat grumbled, looking\nup from his doll-sized sleeping-cradle in the corner of Alan's cabin.\n\"If you ever do manage to solve Cavour's equations you're just going to\nput yourself and your family right out of business. Hand me my\nnibbling-stick, like a good fellow.\"\n\nAlan gave Rat the much-gnawed stick of Jovian oak which the Bellatrician\nused to keep his tiny teeth sharp.\n\n\"You don't understand,\" Alan said. \"If we can solve Cavour's work and\ndevelop the hyperdrive, we won't be handicapped by the Fitzgerald\nContraction. What difference does it make in the long run if the\n_Valhalla_ becomes obsolete? We can always convert it to the new drive.\nThe way I see it, if we could only work out the secret of Cavour's\nhyperspace drive, we'd----\"\n\n\"I've heard it all before,\" Rat said, with a note of boredom in his\nreedy voice. \"Why, with hyperspace drive you'd be able to flit all over\nthe galaxy without suffering the time-lag you experience with regular\ndrive. And then you'd accomplish your pet dream of going everywhere and\nseeing everything. Ah! Look at the eyes light up! Look at the radiant\nexpression! You get starry-eyed every time you start talking about the\nhyperdrive!\"\n\nAlan opened the book to a dog-eared page. \"I know it can be done\neventually. I'm sure of it. I'm even sure Cavour himself actually\nsucceeded in building a hyperspace vessel.\"\n\n\"Sure,\" Rat said drily, switching his long tail from side to side. \"Sure\nhe built one. That explains his strange disappearance. Went out like a\nsnuffed candle, soon as he turned on his drive. Okay, go ahead and build\none--if you can. But don't bother booking passage for me.\"\n\n\"You mean you'd stay behind if I built a hyperspace ship?\"\n\n\"Sure I would.\" There was no hesitation in Rat's voice. \"I like this\nparticular space-time continuum very much. I don't care at all to wind\nup seventeen dimensions north of here with no way back.\"\n\n\"You're just an old stick-in-the mud.\" Alan glanced at his wristchron.\nIt read 0852. \"Time for me to get to work. Kelleher and I are packing\nfrozen dinosaur today. Want to come along?\"\n\nRat wiggled the tip of his nose in a negative gesture. \"Thanks all the\nsame, but the idea doesn't appeal. It's nice and warm here. Run along,\nboy; I'm sleepy.\" He curled up in his cradle, wrapped his tail firmly\naround his body, and closed his eyes.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThere was a line waiting at the entrance to the freezer section, and\nAlan took his place on it. One by one they climbed into the spacesuits\nwhich the boy in charge provided, and entered the airlock.\n\nFor transporting perishable goods--such as the dinosaur meat brought\nback from the colony on Alpha C IV to satisfy the heavy demand for that\nodd-tasting delicacy on Earth--the _Valhalla_ used the most efficient\nfreezing system of all: a compartment which opened out into the vacuum\nof space. The meat was packed in huge open receptacles which were\nflooded just before blastoff; before the meat had any chance to spoil,\nthe lock was opened, the air fled into space and the compartment's heat\nradiated outward. The water froze solid, preserving the meat. It was\njust as efficient as building elaborate refrigeration coils, and a good\ndeal simpler.\n\nThe job now was to hew the frozen meat out of the receptacles and get it\npacked in manageable crates for shipping. The job was a difficult one.\nIt called for more muscle than brain.\n\nAs soon as all members of the cargo crew were in the airlock, Kelleher\nswung the hatch closed and threw the lever that opened the other door\ninto the freezer section. Photonic relays clicked; the metal door swung\nlightly out and they headed through it after Kelleher gave the go-ahead.\n\nAlan and the others set grimly about their work, chopping away at the\nice. They fell to vigorously. After a while, they started to get\nsomewhere. Alan grappled with a huge leg of meat while two fellow\nstarmen helped him ease it into a crate. Their hammers pounded down as\nthey nailed the crate together, but not a sound could be heard in the\nairless vault.\n\nAfter what seemed to be three or four centuries to Alan, but which was\nactually only two hours, the job was done. Somehow Alan got himself to\nthe recreation room; he sank down gratefully on a webfoam pneumochair.\n\nHe snapped on a spool of light music and stretched back, completely\nexhausted. I don't ever want to see or taste a dinosaur steak again, he\nthought. Not ever.\n\nHe watched the figures of his crewmates dashing through the ship, each\ngoing about some last-minute job that had to be handled before the ship\ntouched down. In a way he was glad he had drawn the assignment he had:\nit was difficult, gruelingly heavy labor, carried out under nasty\ncircumstances--it was never fun to spend any length of time doing manual\nlabor inside a spacesuit, because the sweat-swabbers and the\nair-conditioners in the suit were generally always one step behind on\nthe job--but at least the work came to a definite end. Once all the meat\nwas packed, the job was done.\n\nThe same couldn't be said for the unfortunates who swabbed the floors,\nscraped out the jets, realigned the drive mechanism, or did any other\ntidying work. Their jobs were _never_ done; they always suffered from\nthe nagging thought that just a little more work might bring the\ninspection rating up a decimal or two.\n\nEvery starship had to undergo a rigorous inspection whenever it touched\ndown on Earth. The _Valhalla_ probably wouldn't have any difficulties,\nsince it had been gone only nine years Earthtime. But ships making\nlonger voyages often had troubles with the inspectors. Procedure which\npassed inspection on a ship bound out for Rigel or one of the other far\nstars might have become a violation in the hundreds of years that would\nhave passed before its return.\n\nAlan wondered if the _Valhalla_ would run into any inspection problems.\nThe schedule called for departure for Procyon in six days, and the ship\nwould as usual be carrying a party of colonists.\n\nThe schedule was pretty much of a sacred thing. But Alan had not\nforgotten his brother Steve. If he only had a few days to get out there\nand maybe find him----\n\nWell, I'll see, he thought. He relaxed.\n\nBut relaxation was brief. A familiar high-pitched voice cut suddenly\ninto his consciousness. _Oh, oh_, he thought. _Here comes trouble._\n\n\"How come you've cut jets, spaceman?\"\n\nAlan opened one eye and stared balefully at the skinny figure of Judy\nCollier. \"I've finished my job, that's how come. And I've been trying to\nget a little rest. Any objections?\"\n\nShe held up her hands and looked around the big recreation room\nnervously. \"Okay, don't shoot. Where's that animal of yours?\"\n\n\"Rat? Don't worry about him. He's in my cabin, chewing his\nnibbling-stick. I can assure you it tastes a lot better to him than your\nbony ankles.\" Alan yawned deliberately. \"Now how about letting me rest?\"\n\nShe looked wounded. \"If you _want_ it that way. I just thought I'd tell\nyou about the doings in the Enclave when we land. There's been a change\nin the regulations since the last time we were here. But you wouldn't be\ninterested, of course.\" She started to mince away.\n\n\"Hey, wait a minute!\" Judy's father was the _Valhalla's_ Chief Signal\nOfficer, and she generally had news from a planet they were landing on\na lot quicker than anyone else. \"What's this all about?\"\n\n\"A new quarantine regulation. They passed it two years ago when a ship\nback from Altair landed and the crew turned out to be loaded with some\nsort of weird disease. We have to stay isolated even from the other\nstarmen in the Enclave until we've all had medical checkups.\"\n\n\"Do they require every ship landing to go through this?\"\n\n\"Yep. Nuisance, isn't it? So the word has come from your father that\nsince we can't go round visiting until we've been checked, the Crew's\ngoing to have a dance tonight when we touch down.\"\n\n\"A dance?\"\n\n\"You heard me. He thought it might be a nice idea--just to keep our\nspirits up until the quarantine's lifted. That nasty Roger Bond has\ninvited me,\" she added, with a raised eyebrow that was supposed to be\nsophisticated-looking.\n\n\"What's wrong with Roger? I just spent a whole afternoon crating\ndinosaur meat with him.\"\n\n\"Oh, he's--well--he just doesn't _do_ anything to me.\"\n\nI'd like to do something to you, Alan thought. Something lingering, with\nboiling oil in it.\n\n\"Did you accept?\" he asked, just to be polite.\n\n\"Of course not! Not _yet_, that is. I just thought I might get some more\ninteresting offers, that's all,\" she said archly.\n\n_Oh, I see the game_, Alan thought. _She's looking for an invitation._\nHe stretched way back and slowly let his eyes droop closed. \"I wish you\nluck,\" he said.\n\nShe gaped at him. \"Oh--you're _horrible_!\"\n\n\"I know,\" he admitted coolly. \"I'm actually a Neptunian mudworm,\ncompletely devoid of emotions. I'm here in disguise to destroy the\nEarth, and if you reveal my secret I'll eat you alive.\"\n\nShe ignored his sally and shook her head. \"But why do I always have to\ngo to dances with Roger Bond?\" she asked plaintively. \"Oh, well. Never\nmind,\" she said, and turned away.\n\nHe watched her as she crossed the recreation room floor and stepped\nthrough the exit sphincter. She was just a silly girl, of course, but\nshe had pointed up a very real problem of starship life when she asked,\n\"_Why do I always have to go to dances with Roger Bond?_\"\n\nThe _Valhalla_ was practically a self-contained universe. The Crew was\npermanent; no one ever left, unless it was to jump ship the way Steve\nhad--and Steve was the only Crewman in the _Valhalla's_ history to do\nthat. And no one new ever came aboard, except in the case of the\ninfrequent changes of personnel. Judy Collier herself was one of the\nnewest members of the Crew, and her family had come aboard five ship\nyears ago, because a replacement signal officer had been needed.\n\nOtherwise, things remained the same. Two or three dozen families, a few\nhundred people, living together year in and year out. No wonder Judy\nCollier always had to go to dances with Roger Bond. The actual range of\neligibles was terribly limited.\n\nThat was why Steve had gone over the hill. What was it he had said? _I\nfeel the walls of the ship holding me in like the bars of a cell._ Out\nthere was Earth, population approximately eight billion or so. And up\nhere is the _Valhalla_, current population precisely 176.\n\nHe knew all 176 of them like members of his own family--which they\nwere, in a sense. There was nothing mysterious about anyone, nothing\nnew.\n\nAnd that was what Steve had wanted: something new. So he had jumped\nship. Well, Alan thought, development of a hyperdrive would change the\nwhole setup, if--if----\n\nHe hardly found the quarantine to his liking either. The starmen had\nonly a brief stay on Earth, with just the shortest opportunity to go\ndown to the Enclave, mingle with starmen from other ships, see a new\nface, trade news of the starways. It was almost criminal to deprive them\nof even a few hours of it.\n\nWell, a dance was the second best thing. But it was a pretty distant\nsecond, he thought, as he pushed himself up out of the pneumochair.\n\nHe looked across the recreation room. _Speak of the devil_, he thought.\nThere was Roger Bond now, stretched out and resting too under a\nradiotherm lamp. Alan walked over to him.\n\n\"Heard the sad news, Rog?\"\n\n\"About the quarantine? Yeah.\" Roger glanced at his wristchron. \"Guess\nI'd better start getting spruced up for the dance,\" he said, getting to\nhis feet. He was a short, good-looking, dark-haired boy a year younger\nthan Alan.\n\n\"Going with anyone special?\"\n\nRoger shook his head. \"Who, special? Who, I ask you? I'm going to take\nskinny Judy Collier, I guess. There's not much choice, is there?\"\n\n\"No,\" Alan agreed sadly, \"Not much choice at all.\"\n\nTogether they left the recreation room. Alan felt a strange sort of\nhopeless boredom spreading over him, as if he had entered a gray fog. It\nworried him.\n\n\"See you tonight,\" Roger said.\n\n\"I suppose so,\" Alan returned dully. He was frowning.\n\n\n\n\n_Chapter Three_\n\n\nThe _Valhalla_ touched down on Earth at 1753 on the nose, to nobody's\nvery great surprise. Captain Mark Donnell had not missed schedule once\nin his forty ship years in space, which covered a span of over a\nthousand years of Earth's history.\n\nLanding procedure was rigidly set. The Crew debarked by family, in order\nof signing-on; the only exception to the order was Alan. As a member of\nthe Captain's family--the only other member, now--he had to wait till\nthe rest of the ship was cleared. But his turn came eventually.\n\n\"Solid ground again, Rat!\" They stood on the jet-fused dirt field where\nthe _Valhalla_ had landed. The great golden-hulled starship was reared\nup on its tail, with its huge landing buttresses flaring out at each\nside to keep it propped up.\n\n\"Solid for _you_, maybe,\" Rat said. \"But the trip's just as wobbly as\never for me, riding up here on your shoulder.\"\n\nCaptain Donnell's shrill whistle sounded, and he cupped his hands to\ncall out, \"The copters are here!\"\n\nAlan watched the little squadron of gray jetcopters settle to the\nground, rotors slowing, and headed forward along with the rest of the\nCrew. The copters would take them from the bare landing field of the\nspaceport to the Enclave, where they would spend the next six days.\n\nThe Captain was supervising the loading of the copters. Alan sauntered\nover to him.\n\n\"Where to, son?\"\n\n\"I'm scheduled to go over in Copter One.\"\n\n\"Uh-uh. I've changed the schedule.\" Captain Donnell turned away and\nsignalled to the waiting crew members. \"Okay, go ahead and fill up\nCopter One!\"\n\nThey filed aboard. \"Everyone get back,\" the Captain yelled. A tentative\n_chugg-chuff_ came from the copter; its rotors went round and it lifted,\nstood poised for a moment on its jetwash, and shot off northward toward\nthe Starmen's Enclave.\n\n\"What's this about a change in schedule, Dad?\"\n\n\"I want you to ride over with me in the two-man copter. Kandin took your\nplace aboard Copter One. Let's go now,\" he shouted to the next group.\n\"Start loading up Number Two.\"\n\nThe Crewmen began taking their places aboard the second copter, and soon\nits pilot signalled through the fore window that he was loaded up. The\ncopter departed. Seeing that he would be leaving the field last, Alan\nmade himself useful by keeping the younger Crew children from wandering.\n\nAt last the field was cleared. Only Alan and his father remained, with\nthe little two-man copter and the tall gleaming _Valhalla_ behind them.\n\n\"Let's go,\" the Captain said. They climbed in, Alan strapping himself\ndown in the co-pilot's chair and his father back of the controls.\n\n\"I never see much of you these days,\" the Captain said after they were\naloft. \"Running the _Valhalla_ seems to take twenty-four hours a day.\"\n\n\"I know how it is,\" Alan said.\n\nAfter a while Captain Donnell said, \"I see you're still reading that\nCavour book.\" He chuckled. \"Still haven't given up the idea of finding\nthe hyperdrive, have you?\"\n\n\"You know I haven't, Dad. I'm sure Cavour really did work it out, before\nhe disappeared. If we could only discover his notebook, or even a letter\nor something that could get us back on the trail----\"\n\n\"It's been thirteen hundred years since Cavour disappeared, Alan. If\nnothing of his has turned up in all that time, it's not likely ever to\nshow. But I hope you keep at it, anyway.\" He banked the copter and cut\nthe jets; the rotors took over and gently lowered the craft to the\ndistant landing field.\n\nAlan looked down and out at the heap of buildings becoming visible\nbelow. The crazy quilt of outdated, clumsy old buildings that was the\nlocal Starmen's Enclave.\n\nHe felt a twinge of surprise at his father's words. The Captain had\nnever shown any serious interest in the possibility of faster-than-light\ntravel before. He had always regarded the whole idea as sheer fantasy.\n\n\"I don't get it, Dad. Why do you hope I keep at it? If I ever find what\nI'm looking for, it's going to mean the end of Starman life as you know\nit. Travel between planets will be instantaneous. There--there won't be\nthis business of making jumps and getting separated from everyone you\nused to know.\"\n\n\"You're right. I've just begun thinking seriously about this business\nof hyperdrive. There wouldn't be any Contraction effect. Think of the\nchanges it would mean in Starman society! No more--no more permanent\nseparations if someone decides to leave his ship for a while.\"\n\nAlan understood what his father meant. Suddenly he saw the reason for\nCaptain Donnell's abrupt growth of interest in the development of a\nhyperdrive.\n\n_It's Steve that's on his mind_, Alan thought. _If we had had a\nhyperspace drive and Steve had done what he did, it wouldn't have\nmattered. He'd still be my age._\n\nNow the _Valhalla_ was about to journey to Procyon. Another twenty years\nwould pass before it got back, and Steve would be almost fifty by then.\n\nThat's what's on his mind, Alan thought. He lost Steve forever--but he\ndoesn't want any more Steves to happen. The Contraction took one of his\nsons away. And now he wants the hyperdrive as much as I do.\n\nAlan glanced at the stiff, erect figure of his father as they clambered\nout of the copter and headed at a fast clip toward the Administration\nBuilding of the Enclave. He wondered just how much pain and anguish his\nfather was keeping hidden back of that brisk, efficient exterior.\n\n_I'll get the Cavour drive someday_, Alan thought suddenly. _And I'll be\ngetting it for him as well as me._\n\nThe bizarre buildings of the Enclave loomed up before him. Behind them,\njust visible in the purplish twilight haze, were the tips of the shining\ntowers of the Earther city outside. Somewhere out there, probably, was\nSteve.\n\n_I'll find him too_, Alan thought firmly.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nMost of the _Valhalla's_ people had already been assigned rooms in the\nquarantine section of one of the Enclave buildings when Alan and his\nfather arrived.\n\nThe bored-looking desk clerk--a withered-looking oldster who was\nprobably a retired Starman--gave Alan his room number. It turned out to\nbe a small, squarish room furnished with an immense old pneumochair long\nsince deflated, a cot, and a washstand. The wall was a dull green, with\ngaping cracks in the faded paint, and cut heavily with a penknife into\none wall was the inscription, BILL DANSERT SLEPT HERE, _June 28 2683_ in\nsturdy block letters.\n\nAlan wondered how many other starmen had occupied the room before and\nafter Bill Dansert. He wondered whether perhaps Bill Dansert himself\nwere still alive somewhere between the stars, twelve centuries after he\nhad left his name in the wall.\n\nHe dropped himself into the pneumochair, feeling the soggy squish of the\ndeflated cushion, and loosened the jacket of his uniform.\n\n\"It's not luxurious,\" he told Rat. \"But at least it's a room. It's a\nplace to stay.\"\n\nThe medics started coming around that evening, checking to see that none\nof the newly-arrived starmen had happened to bring back any strange\ndisease that might cause trouble. It was slow work--and the _Valhalla_\npeople were told that it would take at least until the following morning\nbefore the quarantine could be lifted.\n\n\"Just a precautionary measure,\" said the medic apologetically as he\nentered Alan's room clad in a space helmet. \"We really learned our\nlesson when that shipload from Altair came in bearing a plague.\"\n\nThe medic produced a small camera and focused it on Alan. He pressed a\nbutton; a droning sort of hum came from the machine. Alan felt a curious\nglow of warmth.\n\n\"Just a routine check,\" the medic apologized again. He flipped a lever\nin the back of the camera. Abruptly the droning stopped and a tape\nunravelled out of the side of the machine. The medic studied it.\n\n\"Any trouble?\" Alan asked anxiously.\n\n\"Looks okay to me. But you might get that cavity in your upper right\nwisdom tooth taken care of. Otherwise you seem in good shape.\"\n\nHe rolled up the tape. \"Don't you starmen ever get time for a fluorine\ntreatment? Some of you have the worst teeth I've ever seen.\"\n\n\"We haven't had a chance for fluorination yet. Our ship was built before\nthey started fluorinating the water supplies, and somehow we never find\ntime to take the treatment while we're on Earth. But is that all that's\nwrong with me?\"\n\n\"All that I can spot just by examining the diagnostic tape. We'll have\nto wait for the full lab report to come through before I can pass you\nout of quarantine, of course.\" Then he noticed Rat perched in the\ncorner. \"How about that? I'll have to examine it, too.\"\n\n\"I'm not an _it_,\" Rat remarked with icy dignity. \"I'm an intelligent\nextra-terrestrial entity, native of Bellatrix VII. And I'm not carrying\nany particular diseases that would interest you.\"\n\n\"A talking rat!\" The medic was amazed. \"Next thing we'll have sentient\namebas!\" He aimed the camera at Rat. \"I suppose I'll have to record you\nas a member of the crew,\" he said, as the camera began to hum.\n\nAfter the medic had gone, Alan tried to freshen up at the washstand,\nhaving suddenly recalled that a dance was on tap for this evening.\n\nAs he wearily went through the motions of scrubbing his face clean, it\noccurred to him that he had not even bothered to speak to one of the\nseven or eight Crew girls he had considered inviting.\n\nHe sensed a curious disturbed feeling growing inside him. He felt\ndepressed. Was this, he wondered, what Steve had gone through? The wish\nto get out of this tin can of a ship and really see the universe?\n\n\"Tell me, Rat. If you were me----\"\n\n\"If I were you I'd get dressed for that dance,\" Rat said sharply. \"If\nyou've got a date, that is.\"\n\n\"That's just the point. I _don't_ have a date. I mean, I didn't bother\nto make one. I know all those girls so well. Why bother?\"\n\n\"So you're not going to the dance?\"\n\n\"Nope.\"\n\nRat clambered up the arm of the pneumochair and swivelled his head\nupward till his glittering little eyes met Alan's. \"You're not planning\nto go over the hill the way Steve did, are you? I can spot the symptoms.\nYou look restless and fidgety the way your brother did.\"\n\nAfter a moment of silence Alan shook his head. \"No. I couldn't do that,\nRat. Steve was the wild kind. I'd never be able just to get up and go,\nthe way he did. But I've got to do _something_. I know what he meant. He\nsaid the walls of the ship were pressing in on him. Holding him back.\"\n\nWith a sudden impatient motion he ripped open the magnesnaps of his\nregulation shirt and took it off. He felt himself changing, inside.\nSomething was happening to him. Maybe, he thought, he was catching\nwhatever it was Steve had been inflamed by. Maybe he had been lying to\nhimself all along, about being different in makeup from Steve.\n\n\"Go tell the Captain I'm not going to the dance,\" he ordered Rat.\n\"Otherwise he'll wonder where I am. Tell him--tell him I'm too tired, or\nsomething. Tell him anything. But don't let him find out how I feel.\"\n\n\n\n\n_Chapter Four_\n\n\nThe next morning, Roger Bond told him all about the dance.\n\n\"It was the dullest thing you could imagine. Same old people, same dusty\nold dances. Couple of people asked me where you were, but I didn't tell\nthem anything.\"\n\n\"Good.\"\n\nThey wandered on through the heap of old, ugly buildings that composed\nthe Starmen's Enclave. \"It's just as well they think I was sick,\" Alan\nsaid. \"I was, anyway. Sick from boredom.\"\n\nHe and Roger sat down carefully on the edge of a crumbling stone bench.\nThey said nothing, just looking around. After a long while Alan broke\nthe uncomfortable silence.\n\n\"You know what this place is? It's a ghetto. A self-imposed ghetto.\nStarmen are scared silly of going out into the Earther cities, so they\nkeep themselves penned up in this filthy place instead.\"\n\n\"This place is really old. I wonder how far back those run-down\nbuildings date.\"\n\n\"Thousand years, maybe more. No one ever bothers to build new ones. What\nfor? The starmen don't mind living in the old ones.\"\n\n\"I almost wish the medical clearance hadn't come through after all,\"\nsaid Roger moodily.\n\n\"How so?\"\n\n\"Then we'd be still quarantined up there. We wouldn't be able to come\ndown and get another look at the kind of place this really is.\"\n\n\"I don't know which is worse--to be cooped up in quarantine or to go\nwandering around a dismal hole like the Enclave.\" Alan stood up,\nstretched, and took a deep breath. \"Phew! Get a lungful of that sweet,\nfresh, allegedly pure Terran air! I'll take ship atmosphere, stale as it\nis, any time over this smoggy soup.\"\n\n\"I'll go along with that. Say, look--a strange face!\"\n\nAlan turned and saw a young starman of about his own age coming toward\nthem. He wore a red uniform with gray trim instead of the\norange-and-blue of the _Valhalla_.\n\n\"Welcome, newcomers. I suppose you're from that ship that just put down?\nThe _Valhalla_?\"\n\n\"Right. Name's Alan Donnell, and this is Roger Bond. Yours?\"\n\n\"I'm Kevin Quantrell.\" He was short and stocky, heavily tanned, with a\nsquare jaw and a confident look about him. \"I'm out of the starship\n_Encounter_, just back from the Aldebaran system. Been in the Enclave\ntwo weeks now--with a lot more ahead of me.\"\n\nAlan whistled. \"Aldebaran! That's--let's see, 109 years round trip. You\nmust be a real old-timer, Quantrell!\"\n\n\"I was born in 3403. Makes me 473 years old, Earthtime. But I'm\nactually only seventeen and a half. Right before Aldebaran we made a hop\nto Capella, and that used up 85 years more in a hurry.\"\n\n\"You've got me by 170 years,\" Alan said. \"But I'm only seventeen\nmyself.\"\n\nQuantrell grinned cockily. \"It's a good thing some guy thought up this\nTally system of chalking up every real day you live through. Otherwise\nwe'd be up to here in confusion all the time.\"\n\nHe leaned boredly against the wall of a rickety building which once had\nproudly borne the chrome-steel casing characteristic of early 27th\nCentury architecture, but whose outer surface was now brown and scaly\nfrom rust. \"What do you think of our little paradise?\" Quantrell asked\nsarcastically. \"Certainly puts the Earther cities to shame.\"\n\nHe pointed out across the river, where the tall, glistening buildings of\nthe adjoining Earther city shone in the morning sunlight.\n\n\"Have you ever been out there?\" Alan asked.\n\n\"No,\" Quantrell said in a tight voice. \"But if this keeps up much\nlonger----\" He clenched and unclenched his fists impatiently.\n\n\"What's the trouble?\"\n\n\"It's my ship--the _Encounter_. We were outspace over a century, you\nknow, and when we got back the inspection teams found so many things\nwrong with the ship that she needs just about a complete overhauling.\nThey've been working her over for the last two weeks, and the way it\nlooks it'll be another couple of weeks before she's ready to go. And I\ndon't know how much longer I can stand being penned up in this\nEnclave.\"\n\n\"That's exactly how your brother----\" Roger started to say, and stopped.\n\"Sorry.\"\n\n\"That's okay,\" Alan said.\n\nQuantrell cocked an eye. \"What's that?\"\n\n\"My brother. I had a twin, but he got restless and jumped ship last time\nwe were down. He got left behind at blastoff time.\"\n\nQuantrell nodded understandingly. \"Too bad. But I know what he was up\nagainst--and I envy the lucky so-and-so. I wish _I_ had the guts to just\nwalk out like that. Every day that goes by in this place, I say I'm\ngoing over the hill next day. But I never do, somehow. I just sit here\nand wait.\"\n\nAlan glanced down the quiet sun-warmed street. Here and there a couple\nof venerable-looking starmen were sitting, swapping stories of their\nyouth--a youth that had been a thousand years before. The Enclave, Alan\nthought, is a place for old men.\n\nThey walked on for a while until the buzzing neon signs of a feelie\ntheater were visible. \"I'm going in,\" Roger said. \"This place is\nstarting to depress me. You?\"\n\nAlan shot a glance at Quantrell, who made a face and shook his head. \"I\nguess I'll skip it,\" Alan said. \"Not just now.\"\n\n\"Count me out too,\" Quantrell said.\n\nRoger looked sourly from one to the other, and shrugged. \"I think I'll\ngo all the same. I'm in the mood for a good show. See you around, Alan.\"\n\nAfter Roger left them, Alan and Quantrell walked on through the Enclave\ntogether. Alan wondered whether it wasn't a good idea to have gone to\nthe feelie with Roger after all; the Enclave was starting to depress\nhim, too, and those three-dimensional shows had a way of taking your\nmind off things.\n\nBut he was curious about Quantrell. It wasn't often he had a chance to\ntalk with someone his own age from another ship. \"You know,\" he said,\n\"we starmen lead an empty life. You don't get to realize it until you\ncome to the Enclave.\"\n\n\"I decided that a long time ago,\" Quantrell said.\n\nAlan spread his hands. \"What do we do? We dash back and forth through\nspace, and we huddle here in the Enclave. And we don't like either one\nor the other, but we fool ourselves into liking them. When we're in\nspace we can't wait to get to the Enclave, and once we're down here we\ncan't wait to get back. Some life.\"\n\n\"Got any suggestions? Some way of fixing things up for us without\nqueering interstellar commerce?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" Alan snapped. \"I do have a suggestion. Hyperspace drive!\"\n\nQuantrell laughed harshly. \"Of all the cockeyed----\"\n\n\"There you are,\" Alan said angrily. \"First thing you do is laugh. A\nspacewarp drive is just some hairbrained scheme to you. But haven't you\never considered that Earth's scientists won't bother developing such a\ndrive for us if we don't care ourselves? They're just as happy the way\nthings are. _They_ don't have to worry about the Fitzgerald\nContraction.\"\n\n\"But there's been steady research on a hyperdrive, hasn't there? Ever\nsince Cavour, I thought.\"\n\n\"On and off. But they don't take it very seriously and they don't get\nanywhere with it. If they'd really put some men to work they'd find\nit--and then there wouldn't be any more Enclaves or any Fitzgerald\nContraction, and we starmen could live normal lives.\"\n\n\"And your brother--he wouldn't be cut off from his people the way he\nis----\"\n\n\"Sure. But you laughed instead of thinking.\"\n\nQuantrell looked contrite. \"Sorry. Guess I didn't put much jet behind my\nthink-machine that time. But a hyperdrive would wipe out the Enclave\nsystem, wouldn't it?\"\n\n\"Of course! We'd be able to come home from space and take a normal part\nin Earth's life, instead of pulling away and segregating ourselves\nhere.\"\n\nAlan looked up at the seemingly unreachable towers of the Earther city\njust across the river from the Enclave. Somewhere out there was Steve.\nAnd perhaps somewhere out there was someone he could talk to about the\nhyperdrive, someone influential who might spur the needed research.\n\nThe Earther city seemed to be calling to him. It was a voice that was\nhard to resist. He savagely jammed down deep inside him the tiny inner\nvoice that was trying to object. He turned, looking backward at the\ndingy dreary buildings of the Enclave.\n\nHe looked then at Quantrell. \"You said you've been wanting to break\nloose. You want to get out of the Enclave, eh, Kevin?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" Quantrell said slowly.\n\nAlan felt excitement beginning to pound hard in the pit of his stomach.\n\"How'd you like to go outside there with me? See the Earther city?\"\n\n\"You mean _jump ship_?\"\n\nThe naked words, put just that bluntly, stung. \"No,\" Alan said, thinking\nof how his father's face had gone stony the time Alan had told him Steve\nwasn't coming back. \"I mean just going out for a day or so--a sort of\nchange of air. It's five days till the _Valhalla's_ due to blast off,\nand you say the _Encounter_ is stuck here indefinitely. We could just go\nfor a day or so--just to see what it's like out there.\"\n\nQuantrell was silent a long time.\n\n\"Just for a day or so?\" he asked, at last. \"We'll just go out, and have\na look around, just to see what it's like out there.\" He fell silent\nagain. Alan saw a little trickle of sweat burst out on Quantrell's\ncheek. He felt strangely calm himself, a little to his own surprise.\n\nThen Quantrell smiled and the confidence returned to his tanned face.\n\"I'm game. Let's go!\"\n\nBut Rat was quizzical about the whole enterprise when Alan returned to\nhis room to get him.\n\n\"You aren't serious, Alan. You really are going over to the Earther\ncity?\"\n\nAlan nodded and gestured for the little extra-terrestrial to take his\nusual perch. \"Are you daring to take my word in vain, Rat?\" he asked in\nmock histrionics. \"When I say I'm going to do something, I do it.\" He\nsnapped closed his jacket and flipped the switch controlling the archaic\nfluorescent panels. \"Besides, you can always stay here if you want to,\nyou know.\"\n\n\"Never mind,\" Rat said. \"I'm coming.\" He leaped up and anchored himself\nsecurely on Alan's shoulder.\n\nKevin Quantrell was waiting for them in front of the building. As Alan\nemerged Rat said, \"One question, Alan.\"\n\n\"Shoot.\"\n\n\"Level, now: are you coming back--or are you going over the way Steve\ndid?\"\n\n\"You ought to know me better than that. I've got reasons for going out,\nbut they're not Steve's reasons.\"\n\n\"I hope so.\"\n\nQuantrell came up to them, and it seemed to Alan that there was\nsomething unconvincing about his broad grin. He looked nervous. Alan\nwondered whether he looked the same way.\n\n\"All set?\" Quantrell asked.\n\n\"Set as I'll ever be. Let's go.\"\n\nAlan looked around to see if anybody he knew might be watching. There\nwas no one around. Quantrell started walking, and Alan fell in behind\nhim.\n\n\"I hope you know where you're going,\" Alan said. \"Because I don't.\"\n\nKevin pointed down the long winding street. \"We go down to the foot of\nthis street, turn right into Carhill Boulevard, head down the main drive\ntoward the bridge. The Earther city is on the other side of the river.\"\n\n\"You better be right.\"\n\nThey made it at a fairly good clip through the sleepy Enclave, passing\nrapidly through the old, dry, dusty streets. Finally they came to the\nend of the street and rounded the corner onto Carhill Boulevard.\n\nThe first thing Alan saw was the majestic floating curve of the bridge.\nThen he saw the Earther city, a towering pile of metal and masonry that\nseemed to be leaping up into the sky ahead of them, completely filling\nthe view.\n\nAlan pointed to the bridge-mouth. \"That's where we go across, isn't it?\"\n\nBut Quantrell hung back. He stopped in his tracks, staring dangle-jawed\nat the immense city facing them.\n\n\"There it is,\" he said quietly.\n\n\"Sure. Let's go, eh?\" Alan felt a sudden burst of impatience and started\nheading toward the approach to the bridge.\n\nBut after three or four paces he realized Quantrell was not with him. He\nturned and saw the other spaceman still rooted to the ground, gazing up\nat the vast Earther city as if in narcoshock.\n\n\"It's big,\" Quantrell murmured. \"_Too_ big.\"\n\n\"_Kevin!_ What's wrong?\"\n\n\"Leave him alone,\" Rat whispered. \"I have a hunch he won't be going with\nyou.\"\n\nAlan watched in astonishment as Quantrell took two steps hesitantly\nbackward away from the bridge, then a third. There was a strange, almost\nthunderstruck expression on Kevin's face.\n\nThen he broke out of it. He shook his head.\n\n\"We aren't really going across--huh, Donnell?\" He gave a brittle little\nlaugh.\n\n\"Of course we are!\" Alan looked around nervously, hoping no one from the\n_Valhalla_ had spotted him in all this time. Puzzled at Quantrell's\nsudden hesitation after his earlier cockiness, Alan took a couple of\nshuffling steps toward the bridge, slowly, keeping his eyes on the other\nstarman.\n\n\"I can't go with you,\" Kevin finally managed to say. His face was\nflushed and strained-looking. He was staring upward at the seemingly\ntopless towers of the city. \"It's too big for me.\" He choked back a\nhalf-whimper. \"The trouble with me is--the--trouble--with--me--is----\"\nQuantrell lowered his head and met Alan's stare. \"I'm afraid, Donnell.\nStinking sweaty afraid. The city's too big.\"\n\nRed-faced, he turned and walked away, back up the street.\n\nAlan silently watched him go.\n\n\"Imagine that. Afraid!\"\n\n\"It's a big place,\" Rat warned. \"Don't you feel the same way? Just a\nlittle?\"\n\n\"I feel perfectly calm,\" Alan said in utter sincerity. \"I know why I'm\ngoing over there, and I'm anxious to get moving. I'm not running away,\nthe way Steve was. I'm going to the Earther city to find my brother and\nto find Cavour's drive, and to bring them both back here!\"\n\n\"That's a tall order, Alan.\"\n\n\"I'll do it.\"\n\nAlan reached the approach to the bridge in a few more brisk steps and\npaused there. The noonday sun turned the long arch of the bridge into a\ngolden ribbon in the sky. A glowing sign indicated the pedestrian\nwalkway. Above that, shining teardrop autos whirred by, leaving faint\ntrails of exhaust. Alan followed the arrows and soon found himself on\nthe bridge, heading for the city.\n\nHe glanced back a last time. There was no sign of Kevin. The Starmen's\nEnclave seemed utterly quiet, almost dead.\n\nThen he turned and kept his gaze forward. The Earther city was waiting\nfor him.\n\n\n\n\n_Chapter Five_\n\n\nHe reached the end of the walkway and paused, a little stunned, staring\nat the incredible immensity of the city spread out before him.\n\n\"It's a big place,\" he said. \"I've never been in a city this big.\"\n\n\"You were born here,\" Rat reminded him.\n\nAlan laughed. \"But I only stayed here a week or two at most. And that\nwas three hundred years ago. The city's probably twice as big now as it\nwas then. It----\"\n\n\"Hey, you! Move on!\" a harsh voice from behind snapped suddenly.\n\n\"What's that?\"\n\nAlan whirled and saw a tall, bored-looking man in a silver-gray uniform\nwith gleaming luminescent bands across the sleeves, standing on a raised\nplatform above the road.\n\n\"You can't just stand here and block the walkway,\" the tall man said.\nHis words were heavily accented, thickly guttural; Alan had a little\ntrouble understanding them. The ship's language never changed; that of\nEarth kept constantly evolving. \"Get back in the Enclave where you\nbelong, or get moving, but don't stand here or I'll punch your ticket\nfor you.\"\n\nAlan took a couple of steps forward. \"Just hold on a minute. Who----\"\n\n\"He's a policeman, Alan,\" Rat said softly. \"Don't make trouble. Do as he\nsays.\"\n\nThrottling his sudden anger, Alan nodded curtly at the officer and\nstepped off the walkway. He was an outsider here, and knew he couldn't\nexpect the sort of warm fellowship that existed aboard the ship.\n\nThis was a city. A crowded, uncomfortable Earther city. These were the\npeople who were left behind, who never saw the stars in naked glory.\nThey weren't going to be particularly polite.\n\nAlan found himself at an intersection, and wondered where he was to\nbegin. He had some vague idea of finding Steve in this city as easily as\nhe might aboard ship--just check the A Deck roster, then the B Deck, and\nso on until he found him. But cities weren't quite that neatly\norganized, Alan realized.\n\nA long broad street ran parallel to the river. It didn't seem very\npromising: lined with office buildings and warehouses. At right angles\nto it, though, stretching out in front of him, was a colorful, crowded\navenue that appeared to be a major artery of the city. He glanced\ntentatively in both directions, waited till a lull came in the steady\nprocession of tiny bullet-shaped automobiles flashing by, and hastily\njogged across the waterfront street and started down the avenue.\n\nMaybe there was some kind of register of population at the City Hall.\nIf Steve still lived in this city, he could look him up that way. If\nnot----\n\nFacing him were two rows of immense buildings, one on each side of the\nstreet. Above every three blocks there was a lacy aerial passageway\nconnecting a building on one side of the street with one on the other,\nhigh above the ground. Alan looked up and saw black dots--they looked\nlike ants, but they were people--making their way across the\nflexi-bridges at dizzying altitudes.\n\nThe streets were crowded. Busy stern-faced people raced madly from one\nplace to the next; Alan was accustomed to the more orderly and peaceful\nlife of a starship, and found himself getting jostled by passersby from\nboth directions.\n\nHe was surprised to find the streets full of peddlers, weary-looking\nlittle men trundling along behind small slow-moving self-powered\nmonocars full of vegetables and other produce. Every few moments one\nwould stop and hawk his wares. As Alan started hesitantly up the\nendless-seeming street, one of the venders stopped virtually in front of\nhim and looked at him imploringly. He was a small untidy-looking man\nwith a dirty face and a red scar streaking his left cheek.\n\n\"Hey, boy.\" He spoke in a soft slurred voice. \"Hey, boy. Got something\nnice for you here.\"\n\nAlan looked at him, puzzled. The vender reached into his cart and pulled\nout a long yellow fruit with a small, thick green stem at one end. \"Go\non, boy. Treat yourself to some of these. Guild-grown, fresh-ripened,\nbest there are. Half a credit for this one.\" He held it almost under\nAlan's nose. \"Go on,\" he said insistently.\n\nAlan fished in his pocket and produced one of the half-credit pieces he\nhad been given in the Enclave commissary. For all he knew it was the\ncustom of this city for a new arrival to buy the first thing offered to\nhim by a vender; in any event, he was hungry, and it seemed that this\nwas the easiest way to get rid of the little man. He held out the coin.\n\n\"Here. I'll take it.\"\n\nThe vender handed the piece of fruit over and Alan accepted it. He\nstudied it, wondering what he was supposed to do now. It had a thick,\ntough rind that didn't seem at all appetizing.\n\nThe vender chuckled. \"What's the matter, boy? Never seen a banana\nbefore? Or ain't you hungry?\" The little man's derisive face was thrust\nup almost against Alan's chin.\n\nHe backed away a step or two. \"Banana? Oh, sure.\"\n\nHe put the end of the banana in his mouth and was just about to take a\nbite when a savage burst of laughter cut him off.\n\n\"Looka him!\" the vender cried. \"Stupid spacer don't even know how to eat\na banana! Looka! Looka!\"\n\nAlan took the fruit out of his mouth unbitten and stared\nuncomprehendingly at it. He felt uneasy; nothing in his past experience\nhad prepared him for deliberate hostility on the part of other people.\nAboard ship, you did your job and went your way; you didn't force your\npresence on other people or poke fun at them maliciously. It was the\nonly way to live when you had to spend your whole lifetime with the same\nshipload of men and women.\n\nBut the little vender wasn't going away. He seemed very amused by\neverything. \"You--you a spacer, no?\" he demanded. By now a small crowd\nhad paused and was watching the scene.\n\nAlan nodded.\n\n\"Lemme show you how, spacer,\" the vender said, mockery topmost in his\ntone. He snatched the banana back from Alan and ripped back the rind\nwith three rough snaps of his wrist. \"Go on. Eat it this way. She tastes\nbetter without the peel.\" He laughed raucously. \"Looka the spacer!\"\n\nSomeone else in the crowd said, \"What's he doing in the city anyway? He\njump ship?\"\n\n\"Yeah? Why ain't he in the Enclave like all the rest of them?\"\n\nAlan looked from one to the other with a troubled expression on his\nface. He didn't want to touch off any serious incident, but he was\ndetermined not to let these Earthers push him around, either. He ignored\nthe ring of hostile faces about him and calmly bit into the banana. The\nunfamiliar taste pleased him. Despite hoots and catcalls from the crowd\nhe finished it.\n\n\"Now the spacer knows how to eat a banana,\" the vender commented acidly.\n\"Here, spacer. Have another.\"\n\n\"I don't want another.\"\n\n\"Huh? No good? Earth fruits are _too_ good for you, starman. You better\nlearn that fast.\"\n\n\"Let's get out of here,\" Rat said quietly.\n\nIt was sensible advice. These people were just baiting him like a bunch\nof hounds ringing a hare. He flexed his shoulder in a signal that meant\nhe agreed with Rat's suggestion.\n\n\"Have another banana,\" the vender repeated obstinately.\n\nAlan looked around at the crowd. \"I said I didn't want another banana,\nand I _don't_ want one. Now get out of my way!\"\n\nNo one moved. The vender and his monocar blocked the path.\n\n\"Get out of my way, I said.\" Alan balled the slimy banana peel up in his\nhand and rammed it suddenly into the vender's face. \"There. Chew on that\na while.\"\n\nHe shouldered his way past the spluttering fruit vender, and before\nanyone in the crowd could say or do anything he was halfway down the\nstreet, walking briskly. He lost himself in the passing stream of\npedestrians. It was easy to do, despite the conspicuous orange-and-blue\nof his _Valhalla_ uniform. There were so many people.\n\nHe went on for two unmolested blocks, walking quickly without looking\nback. Finally he decided he was safe. He glanced up at Rat. The little\nextra-terrestrial was sitting patiently astride his shoulder, deep, as\nusual, in some mysterious thoughts of his own.\n\n\"Rat?\"\n\n\"What, Alan?\"\n\n\"Why'd they do that? Why did those people act that way? I was a perfect\nstranger. They had no business making trouble for me.\"\n\n\"That's precisely it--you _were_ a complete stranger. They don't love\nyou for it. You're 300 years old and still 17 at the same time. They\ncan't understand that. These people don't like starmen very much. The\npeople in this city aren't ever going to see the stars, Alan. Stars are\njust faint specks of light that peek through the city haze at night.\nThey're terribly, terribly jealous of you--and this is the way they show\nit.\"\n\n\"Jealous? But why? If they only knew what a starman's life is like, with\nthe Contraction and all! If they could only see what it is to leave your\nhome and never be able to go back----\"\n\n\"They can't see it, Alan. All they can see is that you have the stars\nand they don't. They resent it.\"\n\nAlan shrugged. \"Let them go to space, then, if they don't like it here.\nNo one's stopping them.\"\n\nThey walked on silently for a while. Alan continued to revolve the\nincident in his mind. He realized he had a lot to learn about people,\nparticularly Earther people. He could handle himself pretty well aboard\nship, but down on Earth he was a rank greenhorn and he'd have to step\ncarefully.\n\nHe looked gloomily at the maze of streets before him and half-wished he\nhad stayed in the Enclave, where starmen belonged. But somewhere out\nahead of him was Steve. And somewhere, too, he might find the answer to\nthe big problem, that of finding the hyperspace drive.\n\nBut it was a tall order. And he had no idea where to begin. First thing\nto do, he thought, is find someone halfway friendly-looking and ask if\nthere's a central directory of citizens. Track down Steve, if possible.\nTime's running out. The _Valhalla_ pulls out in a couple of days.\n\nThere were plenty of passersby--but they all looked like the kind that\nwould keep on moving without answering his question. He stopped.\n\n\"_Come right in here!_\" a cold metallic voice rasped, almost back of his\near. Startled, Alan looked leftward and saw a gleaming multiform robot\nstanding in front of what looked like a shop of some sort.\n\n\"Come right in here!\" the robot repeated, a little less forcefully now\nthat it had caught Alan's attention. \"One credit can win you ten; five\ncan get you a hundred. Right in here, friend.\"\n\nAlan stepped closer and peered inside. Through the dim dark blue window\nhe could vaguely make out long rows of tables, with men seated before\neach one. From inside came the hard sound of another robot voice,\ncalling off an endless string of numbers.\n\n\"Don't just stand there staring, friend,\" the robot urged. \"Go right on\nthrough the door.\"\n\nAlan nudged Rat quizzically. \"What is it?\"\n\n\"I'm a stranger here too. But I'd guess it was some sort of gambling\nplace.\"\n\nAlan jingled the few coins he had in his pocket. \"If we had time I'd\nlike to stop off. But----\"\n\n\"Go ahead, friend, go ahead,\" the robot crooned, his metallic tones\nsomehow managing to sound almost human in their urgent pleading. \"Go on\nin. One credit can win you ten. Five can get you a hundred.\"\n\n\"Some other time,\" Alan said.\n\n\"But, friend--one credit can win you----\"\n\n\"I know.\"\n\n\"--ten,\" the robot continued, undismayed. \"Five can get you a hundred.\"\nBy this time the robot had edged out into the street, blocking Alan's\npath.\n\n\"Are we going to have trouble with you too? It looks like everybody in\nthis city is trying to sell something.\"\n\nThe robot pointed invitingly toward the door. \"Why not try it?\" it\ncooed. \"Simplest game ever devised. Everybody wins! Go on in, friend.\"\n\nAlan frowned impatiently. He was getting angrier and angrier at the\nrobot's unceasing sales pitch. Aboard ship, no one coaxed you to do\nanything; if it was an assigned job, you did it without arguing, and if\nyou were on free time you were your own master.\n\n\"I don't want to play your stupid game!\"\n\nThe robot's blank stainless vanadium face showed no display of feeling\nwhatsoever. \"That's not the right attitude, friend. _Everyone_ plays the\ngame.\"\n\nIgnoring him, Alan started to walk ahead, but the robot skipped lithely\naround to block him. \"Won't you go in just once?\"\n\n\"Look,\" Alan said. \"I'm a free citizen and I don't want to be subjected\nto this sort of stuff. Now get out of my way and leave me alone before I\ntake a can opener to you.\"\n\n\"That's not the right attitude. I'm just asking you as a friend----\"\n\n\"And I'm answering you as one. Let me go!\"\n\n\"Calm down,\" Rat whispered.\n\n\"They've got no business putting a machine out here to bother people\nlike this,\" Alan said hotly. He took a few more steps and the robot\nplucked at his sleeve.\n\n\"Is that a final refusal?\" A trace of incredulity crept into the robot's\nvoice. \"Everyone plays the game, you know. It's unconsumerlike to\nrefuse. It's uncitylike. It's bad business. It's unrotational. It's----\"\n\nExasperated, Alan pushed the robot out of the way--hard. The metal\ncreature went over surprisingly easily, and thudded to the pavement with\na dull clanking sound.\n\n\"Are you sure----\" the robot began, and then the voice was replaced by\nthe humming sound of an internal clashing of unaligned gears.\n\n\"I guess I broke it.\" Alan looked down at the supine robot. \"But it\nwasn't my fault. It wouldn't let me pass.\"\n\n\"We'd better move on,\" Rat said. But it was too late. A burly man in a\nblack cloak threw open the door of the gambling parlor and confronted\nAlan.\n\n\"What sort of stuff is this, fellow? What have you done to our servo?\"\n\n\"That thing wouldn't let me pass. It caught hold of me and tried to drag\nme inside your place.\"\n\n\"So what? That's what he's for. Robohucksters are perfectly legal.\"\nDisbelief stood out on the man's face. \"You mean you don't want to go\nin?\"\n\n\"That has nothing to do with it. Even if I _did_ want to go in, I\nwouldn't--not after the way your robot tried to push me.\"\n\n\"Watch out, kid. Don't make trouble. That's unrotational talk. You can\nget in trouble. Come on inside and have a game or two, and I'll forget\nthe whole thing. I won't even bill you for repairs on my servo.\"\n\n\"Bill me? I ought to sue you for obstructing the streets! And I just got\nthrough telling your robot that I didn't plan to waste any time gambling\nat your place.\"\n\nThe other's lips curled into a half-sneer, half-grin. \"Why not?\"\n\n\"My business,\" Alan said stubbornly. \"Leave me alone.\" He stalked\nangrily away, inwardly raging at this Earther city where things like\nthis could happen.\n\n\"Don't ever let me catch you around here again!\" the parlor man shouted\nafter him. Alan lost himself once again in the crowd, but not before he\ncaught the final words: \"You filthy spacer!\"\n\n_Filthy spacer._ Alan winced. Again the blind, unreasoning hatred of the\nunhappy starmen. The Earthers were jealous of something they certainly\nwouldn't want if they could experience the suffering involved.\n\nSuddenly, he realized he was very tired.\n\nHe had been walking over an hour, and he was not used to it. The\n_Valhalla_ was a big ship, but you could go from end to end in less than\nan hour, and very rarely did you stay on your feet under full grav for\nlong as an hour. Working grav was .93 Earth-normal, and that odd .07%\nmade quite a difference. Alan glanced down at his boots, mentally\npicturing his sagging arches.\n\nHe had to find someone who could give him a clue toward Steve. For all\nhe knew, one of the men he had brushed against that day was Steve--a\nSteve grown older and unrecognizable in what had been, to Alan, a few\nshort weeks.\n\nAround the corner he saw a park--just a tiny patch of greenery, two or\nthree stunted trees and a bench, but it was a genuine park. It looked\nalmost forlorn surrounded by the giant skyscrapers.\n\nThere was a man on the bench--the first relaxed-looking man Alan had\nseen in the city so far. He was about thirty or thirty-five, dressed in\na baggy green business suit with tarnished brass studs. His face was\npleasantly ugly--nose a little too long, cheeks hollow, chin a bit too\napparent. And he was smiling. He looked friendly.\n\n\"Excuse me, sir,\" Alan said, sitting down next to him. \"I'm a stranger\nhere. I wonder if you----\"\n\nSuddenly a familiar voice shouted, \"There he is!\"\n\nAlan turned and saw the little fruit vender pointing accusingly at him.\nBehind him were three men in the silver-gray police uniforms. \"That's\nthe man who wouldn't buy from me. He's an unrotationist! Damn Spacer!\"\n\nOne of the policemen stepped forward--a broad man with a wide slab of a\nface, red, like raw meat. \"This man has placed some serious charges\nagainst you. Let's see your work card.\"\n\n\"I'm a starman. I don't have a work card.\"\n\n\"Even worse. We'd better take you down for questioning. You starmen come\nin here and try to----\"\n\n\"Just a minute, officer.\" The warm mellow voice belonged to the smiling\nman on the bench. \"This boy doesn't mean any trouble. I can vouch for\nhim myself.\"\n\n\"And who are you? Let's see _your_ card!\"\n\nStill smiling, the man reached into a pocket and drew forth his wallet.\nHe handed a card over to the policeman--and Alan noticed that a blue\nfive-credit note went along with the card.\n\nThe policeman made a great show of studying the card and succeeded in\npocketing the bill with the same effortless sleight-of-hand that the\nother had used in handing it over.\n\n\"Max Hawkes, eh? That you? Free status?\"\n\nThe man named Hawkes nodded.\n\n\"And this Spacer's a pal of yours?\"\n\n\"We're very good friends.\"\n\n\"Umm. Okay. I'll leave him in your custody. But see to it that he\ndoesn't get into any more jams.\"\n\nThe policeman turned away, signalling to his companions. The\nfruit vender stared vindictively at Alan for a moment, but saw he would\nhave no revenge. He, too, left.\n\nAlan was alone with his unknown benefactor.\n\n\n\n\n_Chapter Six_\n\n\n\"I guess I owe you thanks,\" Alan said. \"If they had hauled me off I'd be\nin real trouble.\"\n\nHawkes nodded. \"They're very quick to lock people up when they don't\nhave work cards. But police salaries are notoriously low. A five-credit\nbill slipped to the right man at the right time can work wonders.\"\n\n\"Five credits, was it? Here----\"\n\nAlan started to fumble in his pocket, but Hawkes checked him with a wave\nof his hand. \"Never mind. I'll write it off to profit and loss. What's\nyour name, spacer, and what brings you to York City?\"\n\n\"I'm Alan Donnell, of the starship _Valhalla_. I'm an Unspecialized\nCrewman. I came over from the Enclave to look for my brother.\"\n\nHawkes' lean face assumed an expression of deep interest. \"He's a\nstarman too?\"\n\n\"He--was.\"\n\n\"Was?\"\n\n\"He jumped ship last time we were here. That was nine years ago\nEarthtime. I'd like to find him, though. Even though he's so much older\nnow.\"\n\n\"How old is he now?\"\n\n\"Twenty-six. I'm seventeen. We used to be twins, you see. But the\nContraction--you understand about the Contraction, don't you?\"\n\nHawkes nodded thoughtfully, eyes half-closed. \"Mmm--yes, I follow you.\nWhile you made your last space jump he grew old on Earth. And you want\nto find him and put him back on your ship, is that it?\"\n\n\"That's right. Or at least talk to him and find out if he's all right\nwhere he is. But I don't know where to start looking. This city is so\nbig--and there are so many other cities all over Earth----\"\n\nHawkes shook his head. \"You've come to the right one. The Central\nDirectory Matrix is here. You'll be able to find out where he's\nregistered by the code number on his work card. Unless,\" Hawkes said\nspeculatively, \"he doesn't have a work card. Then you're in trouble.\"\n\n\"Isn't everyone supposed to have a work card?\"\n\n\"I don't,\" Hawkes said.\n\n\"But----\"\n\n\"You need a work card to hold a job. But to get a job, you have to pass\nguild exams. And in order to take the exams you have to find a sponsor\nwho's already in the guild. But you have to post bond for your sponsor,\ntoo--five thousand credits. And unless you have the work card and have\nbeen working, you don't have the five thousand, so you can't post bond\nand get a work card. See? Round and round.\"\n\nAlan's head swam. \"Is that what they meant when they said I was\nunrotational?\"\n\n\"No, that's something else. I'll get to that in a second. But you see\nthe work setup? The guilds are virtually hereditary, even the fruit\nvenders' guild. It's next to impossible for a newcomer to crack into a\nguild--and it's pretty tough for a man in one guild to move up a notch.\nYou see, Earth's a terribly overcrowded planet--and the only way to\navoid cutthroat job competition is to make sure it's tough to get a job.\nIt's rough on a starman trying to bull his way into the system.\"\n\n\"You mean Steve may not have gotten a work card? In that case how will I\nbe able to find him?\"\n\n\"It's harder,\" Hawkes said. \"But there's also a registry of Free Status\nmen--men without cards. He isn't required to register there, but if he\ndid you'd be able to track him down eventually. If he didn't, I'm afraid\nyou're out of luck. You just can't find a man on Earth if he doesn't\nwant to be found.\"\n\n\"Free Status? Isn't that what the policeman said----\"\n\n\"I was in?\" Hawkes nodded. \"Sure, I'm Free Status. Out of choice,\nthough, not necessity. But that doesn't matter much right now. Let's go\nover to the Central Directory Matrix Building and see if we can find any\ntrail for your brother.\"\n\nThey rose. Alan saw that Hawkes was tall, like himself; he walked with\neasygoing grace. Questioningly Alan twitched his shoulder-blade in a\nsignal that meant, _What do you think of this guy, Rat?_\n\n_Stick with him_, Rat signalled back. _He sounds okay._\n\nThe streets seemed a great deal less terrifying now that Alan had a\ncompanion, someone who knew his way around. He didn't have the feeling\nthat all eyes were on him, any more; he was just one of the crowd. It\nwas good to have Hawkes at his side, even if he didn't fully trust the\nolder man.\n\n\"The Directory Building's way across town,\" Hawkes said. \"We can't walk\nit. Undertube or Overshoot?\"\n\n\"What?\"\n\n\"I said, do you want to take the Undertube or the Overshoot? Or doesn't\nit matter to you what kind of transportation we take?\"\n\nAlan shrugged. \"One's as good as any other.\"\n\nHawkes fished a coin out of his pocket and tossed it up. \"Heads for\nOvershoot,\" he said, and caught the coin on the back of his left hand.\nHe peered at it. \"Heads it is. We take the Overshoot. This way.\"\n\nThey ducked into the lobby of the nearest building and took the elevator\nto the top floor. Hawkes stopped a man in a blue uniform and said,\n\"Where's the nearest Shoot pickup?\"\n\n\"Take the North Corridor bridge across to the next building. The\npickup's there.\"\n\n\"Right.\"\n\nHawkes led the way down the corridor, up a staircase, and through a\ndoor. With sudden alarm Alan found himself on one of the bridges linking\nthe skyscrapers. The bridge was no more than a ribbon of plastic with\nhandholds at each side; it swayed gently in the breeze.\n\n\"You better not look down,\" Hawkes said. \"It's fifty stories to the\nbottom.\"\n\nAlan kept his eyes stiffly forward. There was a good-sized crowd\ngathered on the top of the adjoining building, and he saw a metal\nplatform of some kind.\n\nA vender came up to them. Alan thought he might be selling tickets, but\ninstead he held forth a tray of soft drinks. Hawkes bought one; Alan\nstarted to say he didn't want one when he felt a sharp kick in his\nankle, and he hurriedly changed his mind and produced a coin.\n\nWhen the vender was gone, Hawkes said, \"Remind me to explain rotation to\nyou when we get aboard the Shoot. And here it comes now.\"\n\nAlan turned and saw a silvery torpedo come whistling through the air and\nsettle in the landing-rack of the platform; it looked like a jet-powered\nvessel of some kind. A line formed, and Hawkes stuffed a ticket into\nAlan's hand.\n\n\"I have a month's supply of them,\" he explained. \"It's cheaper that\nway.\"\n\nThey found a pair of seats together and strapped themselves in. With a\nroar and a hiss the Overshoot blasted away from the landing platform,\nand almost immediately came to rest on another building some distance\naway.\n\n\"We've just travelled about half a mile,\" Hawkes said. \"This ship really\nmoves.\"\n\nA jet-propelled omnibus that travelled over the roofs of the buildings,\nAlan thought. Clever. He said, \"Isn't there any public surface\ntransportation in the city?\"\n\n\"Nope. It was all banned about fifty years ago, on account of the\ncongestion. Taxis and everything. You can still use a private car in\nsome parts of the city, of course, but the only people who own them are\nthose who like to impress their neighbors. Most of us take the Undertube\nor the Overshoot to get around.\"\n\nThe Shoot blasted off from its third stop and picked up passengers at\nits fourth. Alan glanced up front and saw the pilot peering over an\nelaborate radar setup.\n\n\"Westbound Shoots travel a hundred feet over the roof-tops, eastbound\nones two hundred. There hasn't been a major accident in years. But about\nthis rotation--that's part of our new economic plan.\"\n\n\"Which is?\"\n\n\"_Keep the money moving!_ Saving's discouraged. Spending's the thing\nnow. The guilds are really pushing it. Instead of buying one piece of\nfruit from a vender, buy two. Spend, spend, spend! It's a little tough\non the people in Free Status--we don't offer anything for sale, so we\ndon't benefit much--but we don't amount to one per cent of the\npopulation, so who cares about us?\"\n\n\"You mean it's sort of subversive not to spend money, is that it?\" Alan\nasked.\n\nHawkes nodded. \"You get in trouble if you're too openly penny-pinching.\nKeep the credits flowing; that's the way to be popular around here.\"\n\nThat had been his original mistake, Alan thought. He saw he had a lot to\nlearn about this strange, unfriendly world if he were going to stay here\nlong. He wondered if anyone had missed him back at the Enclave, yet.\nMaybe it won't take too long to find Steve, he thought. I should have\nleft a note for Dad explaining I'd be back. But----\n\n\"Here we are,\" Hawkes said, nudging him. The door in the Overshoot's\nside opened and they got out quickly. They were on another rooftop.\n\nTen minutes later they stood outside an immense building whose walls\nwere sleek slabs of green pellucite, shining with a radiant inner warmth\nof their own. The building must have been a hundred stories high, or\nmore. It terminated in a burnished spire.\n\n\"This is it,\" Hawkes said. \"The Central Directory Building. We'll try\nthe Standard Matrix first.\"\n\nA little dizzy, Alan followed without discussing the matter. Hawkes led\nhim through a vast lobby big enough to hide the _Valhalla_ in, past\nthrongs of Earthers, into a huge hall lined on all sides by computer\nbanks.\n\n\"Let's take this booth here,\" Hawkes suggested. They stepped into it;\nthe door clicked shut automatically behind them. There was a row of\nblank forms in a metal rack against the inside of the door.\n\nHawkes pulled one out. Alan looked at it. It said, CENTRAL DIRECTORY\nMATRIX INFORMATION REQUISITION 1067432. STANDARD SERIES.\n\nHawkes took a pen from the rack. \"We have to fill this out. What's your\nbrother's full name?\"\n\n\"Steve Donnell.\" He spelled it.\n\n\"Year of birth?\"\n\nAlan paused. \"3576,\" he said finally.\n\nHawkes frowned, but wrote it down that way.\n\n\"Work card number--well, we don't know that. And they want five or six\nother numbers too. We'll just have to skip them. Better give me a full\nphysical description as of the last time you saw him.\"\n\nAlan thought a moment. \"He looked pretty much like me. Height 73 inches,\nweight 172 or so, reddish-blonde hair, and so on.\"\n\n\"Don't you have a gene-record?\"\n\nBlankly, Alan said, \"A what?\"\n\nHawkes scowled. \"I forgot--I keep forgetting you're a spacer. Well, if\nhe's not using his own name any more it may make things really tough.\nGene-records make absolute identification possible. But if you don't\nhave one----\"\n\nWhistling tunelessly, Hawkes filled out the rest of the form. When it\ncame to REASON FOR APPLICATION, he wrote in, _Tracing of missing\nrelative_.\n\n\"That just about covers it,\" he said finally. \"It's a pretty lame\napplication, but if we're lucky we may find him.\" He rolled the form up,\nshoved it into a gray metal tube, and dropped it in a slot in the wall.\n\n\"What happens now?\" Alan asked.\n\n\"Now we wait. The application goes downstairs and the big computer goes\nto work on it. First thing they'll do is kick aside all the cards of men\nnamed Steve Donnell. Then they'll check them all against the physical\ndescription I supplied. Soon as they find a man who fits the bill,\nthey'll 'stat his card and send it up here to us. We copy down the\ntelevector number and have them trace him down.\"\n\n\"The _what_ number?\"\n\n\"You'll see,\" Hawkes said, grinning. \"It's a good system. Just wait.\"\n\nThey waited. One minute, two, three.\n\n\"I hope I'm not keeping you from something important,\" Alan said,\nbreaking a long uncomfortable silence. \"It's really good of you to take\nall this time, but I wouldn't want to inconvenience you if----\"\n\n\"If I didn't want to help you,\" Hawkes said sharply, \"I wouldn't be\ndoing it. I'm Free Status, you know. That means I don't have any boss\nexcept me. Max Hawkes, Esquire. It's one of the few compensations I have\nfor the otherwise lousy deal life handed me. So if I choose to waste an\nhour or two helping you find your brother, don't worry yourself about\nit.\"\n\nA bell rang, once, and a gentle red light glowed over the slot. Hawkes\nreached in and scooped out the container that sat there.\n\nInside he found a rolled-up slip of paper. He pulled it out and read the\nmessage typed on it several times, pursing his lips.\n\n\"Well? Did they find him?\"\n\n\"Read it for yourself,\" Hawkes said. He pushed the sheet over to Alan.\n\nIt said, in crisp capital letters, A SEARCH OF THE FILES REVEALS THAT\nNO WORK CARD HAS BEEN ISSUED ON EARTH IN THE PAST TEN YEARS TO STEVE\nDONNELL, MALE, WITH THE REQUIRED PHYSICAL CHARACTERISTICS.\n\nAlan's face fell. He tossed the slip to the table and said, \"Well? What\ndo we do now?\"\n\n\"Now,\" Hawkes said, \"we go upstairs to the cubbyhole where they keep the\nFree Status people registered. We go through the same business there. I\ndidn't really expect to find your brother here, but it was worth a look.\nIt's next to impossible for a ship-jumping starman to buy his way into a\nguild and get a work card.\"\n\n\"Suppose he's not registered with the Free Status people?\"\n\nHawkes smiled patiently. \"Then, my dear friend, you go back to your ship\nwith your mission incomplete. If he's not listed upstairs, there's no\nway on Earth you could possibly find him.\"\n\n\n\n\n_Chapter Seven_\n\n\nThe sign over the office door said REGISTRY OF FREE-STATUS LABOR FORCE,\nand under that ROOM 1104. Hawkes nudged the door open and they went in.\n\nIt was not an imposing room. A fat pasty-faced man sat behind a scarred\nneoplast desk, scribbling his signature on forms that he was taking from\nan immense stack. The room was lined with records of one sort or\nanother, untidy, poorly assembled. There was dust everywhere.\n\nThe man at the desk looked up as they entered and nodded to Hawkes.\n\"Hello, Max. Making an honest man of yourself at last?\"\n\n\"Not on your life,\" Hawkes said. \"I came up here to do some checking.\nAlan, this is Hines MacIntosh, Keeper of the Records. Hines, want you to\nmeet a starman friend of mine. Alan Donnell.\"\n\n\"Starman, eh?\" MacIntosh's pudgy face went suddenly grave. \"Well, boy, I\nhope you know how to get along on an empty stomach. Free Status life\nisn't easy.\"\n\n\"No,\" Alan said. \"You don't under----\"\n\nHawkes cut him off. \"He's just in the city on leave, Hines. His ship\nblasts off in a couple of days and he figures to be on it. But he's\ntrying to track down his brother, who jumped ship nine years back.\"\n\nMacIntosh nodded. \"I suppose you drew a blank in the big room\ndownstairs?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Not surprising. We get these ship-jumping starmen all the time up here;\nthey never do get work cards, it seems. What's that thing on your\nshoulder, boy?\"\n\n\"He's from Bellatrix VII.\"\n\n\"Intelligent?\"\n\n\"I should say so!\" Rat burst in indignantly. \"Just because I have a\ncertain superficial physiological resemblance to a particular species of\nunpleasant Terran rodent----\"\n\nMacIntosh chuckled and said, \"Ease up! I didn't mean to insult you,\nfriend! But you'll have to apply for a visa if you're going to stay here\nmore than three days.\"\n\nAlan frowned. \"Visa?\"\n\nHawkes cut in: \"The boy's going back on his ship, I told you. He won't\nneed a visa, or the alien either.\"\n\n\"Be that as it may,\" MacIntosh said. \"So you're looking for your\nbrother, boy? Give me the specifications, now. Name, date of birth, and\nall the rest.\"\n\n\"His name is Steve Donnell, sir. Born 3576. He jumped ship in----\"\n\n\"Born _when_, did you say?\"\n\n\"They're spacers,\" Hawkes pointed out quietly.\n\nMacIntosh shrugged. \"Go ahead.\"\n\n\"Jumped ship in 3867--I think. It's so hard to tell what year it is on\nEarth.\"\n\n\"And physical description?\"\n\n\"He was my twin,\" Alan said. \"Identical twin.\"\n\nMacIntosh jotted down the data Alan gave him and transferred it to a\npunched card. \"I don't remember any spacers of that name,\" he said, \"but\nnine years is a long time. And we get so many starmen coming up here to\ntake out Free Status.\"\n\n\"You do?\"\n\n\"Oh, fifteen or twenty a year, at least--and that's in this office\nalone. They're forever getting stranded on leave and losing their ships.\nWhy, there was one boy who was robbed and beaten in the Frisco Enclave\nand didn't wake up for a week. Naturally he missed his ship, and no\nother starship would sign him on. He's on Free Status now, of course.\nWell, let's see about Donnell Steve Male, shall we? You realize the law\ndoesn't require Free Status people to register with us, and so we may\nnot necessarily have any data on him in our computer files?\"\n\n\"I realize that,\" Alan said tightly. He wished the chubby records-keeper\nwould stop talking and start looking for Steve's records. It was getting\nalong toward late afternoon now; he had come across from the Enclave\naround noontime, and certainly it was at least 1600 by now. He was\ngetting hungry--and he knew he would have to start making plans for\nspending the night somewhere, if he didn't go back to the Enclave.\n\nMacIntosh pulled himself laboriously out of his big webwork cradle and\nwheezed his way across the room to a computer shoot. He dropped the card\nin.\n\n\"It'll take a few minutes for them to make the search,\" he said,\nturning. He looked in both directions and went on, \"Care for a drink?\nJust to pass the time?\"\n\nHawkes grinned. \"Good old Hinesy! What's in the inkwell today?\"\n\n\"Scotch! Bottled in bond, best syntho stuff to come out of Caledonia in\nthe last century!\" MacIntosh shuffled back behind his desk and found\nthree dingy glasses in one of the drawers; he set them out and uncorked\na dark blue bottle plainly labelled INK.\n\nHe poured a shot for Hawkes and then a second shot; as he started to\npush it toward Alan, the starman shook his head. \"Sorry, but I don't\ndrink. Crewmen aren't allowed to have liquor aboard starships.\nRegulation.\"\n\n\"Oh, but you're off-duty now!\"\n\nAlan shook his head a second time; shrugging, MacIntosh took the drink\nhimself and put the unused third glass back in the drawer.\n\n\"Here's to Steve Donnell!\" he said, lifting his glass high. \"May he have\nhad the good sense to register his name up here!\"\n\nThey drank. Alan watched. Suddenly, the bell clanged and a tube rolled\nout of the computer shoot.\n\nAlan waited tensely while MacIntosh crossed the room again, drew out the\ncontents of the tube, and scanned them. The fat man's face was broken by\na smile.\n\n\"You're in luck, starman. Your brother did register with us. Here's the\n'stat of his papers.\"\n\nAlan looked at them. The photostat was titled, APPLICATION FOR ADMISSION\nTO FREE-STATUS LABOR FORCE, and the form had been filled out in a\nhandwriting Alan recognized immediately as Steve's: bold, untidy, the\nletters slanting slightly backward.\n\nHe had given his name as Steve Donnell, his date of birth as 3576, his\nchronological age as seventeen. He had listed his former occupation as\n_Starman_. The application was dated 4 June 3867, and a stamped\nnotation on the margin declared that Free Status had been granted on 11\nJune 3867.\n\n\"So he did register,\" Alan said. \"But now what? How do we find him?\"\n\nHawkes reached for the photostat. \"Here. Let me look at that.\" He\nsquinted to make out the small print, then nodded and wrote down\nsomething. \"His televector number's a local one. So far, so good.\" He\nturned the form over and glanced at the reproduced photo of Steve on the\nback. He looked up, comparing it with Alan.\n\n\"Dead ringers, these two. But I'll bet this one doesn't look much like\nthis any more--not after nine years of Free Status!\"\n\n\"It only pays off for the lucky few, eh, Max?\" MacIntosh asked slyly.\n\nHawkes grinned. \"Some of us make out all right. You have to have the\nknack, though. You can get awful hungry otherwise. Come on, kid--let's\ngo up a little higher, now. Up to the televector files. Thanks for the\nhelp, Hinesy. You're a pal.\"\n\n\"Just doin' my job,\" MacIntosh said. \"See you tonight as usual?\"\n\n\"I doubt it,\" Hawkes replied. \"I'm going to take the night off. I have\nit coming to me.\"\n\n\"That leaves the coast clear for us amateurs, doesn't it? Maybe I'll\ncome out ahead tonight.\"\n\nHawkes smiled coldly. \"Maybe you will. Let's go, kid.\"\n\nThey took the lift tube outside and rode it as high as it went. It\nopened out into the biggest room Alan had ever seen, bigger even than\nthe main registry downstairs--a vast affair perhaps a hundred feet high\nand four hundred feet on the side.\n\nAnd every inch of those feet was lined with computer elements.\n\n\"This is the nerve-center of the world,\" Hawkes said as they went in.\n\"By asking the right questions you can find out where anybody in the\nworld happens to be at this very moment.\"\n\n\"How can they do that?\"\n\nHawkes nudged a tiny sliver of metal embedded in a ring on his finger.\n\"Here's my televector transmitter. Everyone who has a work card or Free\nStatus carries one, either on a ring or in a locket round his neck or\nsomewhere else. Some people have them surgically embedded in their\nbodies. They give off resonance waves, each one absolutely unique;\nthere's about one chance in a quadrillion of a duplicate pattern. The\ninstruments here can pick up a given pattern and tell you exactly where\nthe person you're looking for is.\"\n\n\"So we can find Steve without much trouble!\"\n\n\"Probably.\" Hawkes' face darkened. \"I've known it to happen that the\ntelevector pattern picks up a man who's been at the bottom of the sea\nfor five years. But don't let me scare you; Steve's probably in good\nshape.\"\n\nHe took out the slip of paper on which he had jotted down Steve's\ntelevector code number and transferred the information to an application\nblank.\n\n\"This system,\" Alan said. \"It means no one can possibly hide anywhere on\nEarth unless he removes his televector transmitter.\"\n\n\"You can't do that, though. Strictly illegal. An alarm goes out whenever\nsomeone gets more than six inches from his transmitter, and he's picked\nup on suspicion. It's an automatic cancellation of your work card if\nyou try to fool with your transmitter--or if you're Free Status a fine\nof ten thousand credits.\"\n\n\"And if you can't pay the fine?\"\n\n\"Then you work it off in Government indenture, at a thousand credits a\nyear--chopping up rocks in the Antarctica Penitentiary. The system's\nflawless. It _has_ to be. With Earth as overpopulated as it is, you need\nsome system of tracking down people--otherwise crime would be ten times\nas prevalent as it is now.\"\n\n\"There still is crime?\"\n\n\"Oh, sure. There's always somebody who needs food bad enough to rob for\nit, even though it means a sure arrest. Murder's a little less common.\"\nHawkes fed the requisition slip into the slot. \"You'd be surprised what\na deterrent the televector registry system is. It's not so easy to run\noff to South America and hide when anybody at all can come in here and\nfind out exactly where you are.\"\n\nA moment went by. Then the slot clicked and a glossy pink slip came\nrolling out.\n\nAlan looked at it. It said:\n\n                 TELEVECTOR REGISTRY\n                     21 May 3876\n    Location of Donnell Steve, YC83-10j6490k37618\n                    Time: 1643:21\n\nThere followed a street map covering some fifteen square blocks, and a\nbright red dot was imprinted in the center of the map.\n\nHawkes glanced at the map and smiled. \"I thought that was where he would\nbe!\"\n\n\"Where's that?\"\n\n\"68th Avenue and 423rd Street.\"\n\n\"Is that where he lives?\" Alan asked.\n\n\"Oh, no. The televector tells you where he is right now. I'd venture to\nsay that was his--ah--place of business.\"\n\nAlan frowned. \"What are you talking about?\"\n\n\"That happens to be the address of the Atlas Games Parlor. Your brother\nSteve probably spends most of his working day there, when he has enough\ncash to get in. I know the place. It's a cheap joint where the payoffs\nare low but easy. It's the kind of place a low-budget man would\nfrequent.\"\n\n\"You mean Steve's a gambler?\"\n\nHawkes smiled. \"Most Free Status men are. It's one of the few ways we\ncan earn a living without getting a work card. There isn't any gamblers'\nguild. There are a few other ways, too, but they're a lot less savory,\nand the televector surveillance makes it hard for a man to stay in\nbusiness for long.\"\n\nAlan moistened his lips. \"What do _you_ do?\"\n\n\"Gamble. I'm in the upper brackets, though. As I say: some of us have\nthe knack. I doubt if your brother does, though. After nine years he\nwouldn't still be working the Atlas if he had any dough.\"\n\nAlan shrugged that off. \"How do we get there? I'd like to go right away.\nI----\"\n\n\"Patience, lad,\" Hawkes murmured. \"There's plenty of time for that. When\ndoes your ship leave?\"\n\n\"Couple of days.\"\n\n\"Then we don't need to rush right over to the Atlas now. Let's get some\nfood in ourselves first. Then a good night's rest. We can go over there\ntomorrow.\"\n\n\"But my brother----\"\n\n\"Your brother,\" Hawkes said, \"has been in York City for nine years, and\nI'll bet he's spent every night for the last eight of them sitting in\nthe Atlas. He'll keep till tomorrow. Let's get something to eat.\"\n\n\n\n\n_Chapter Eight_\n\n\nThey ate in a dark and unappealing restaurant three blocks from the\nCentral Directory Matrix Building. The place was crowded, as all Earth\nplaces seemed to be. They stood on line for nearly half an hour before\nbeing shown to a grease-stained table in the back.\n\nThe wall clock said 1732.\n\nA robowaiter approached them, holding a menu board in its metal hands.\nHawkes leaned forward and punched out his order; Alan took slightly\nlonger about it, finally selecting protein steak, synthocoffee, and\nmixed vegetables. The robot clicked its acknowledgement and moved on to\nthe next table.\n\n\"So my brother's a gambler,\" Alan began.\n\nHawkes nodded. \"You say it as if you were saying, _so my brother's a\npickpocket_, or _so my brother's a cutpurse_. It's a perfectly\nlegitimate way of making a living.\" Hawkes' eyes hardened suddenly, and\nin a flat quiet voice added, \"The way to stay out of trouble on Earth is\nto avoid being preachy, son. This isn't a pretty world. There are too\nmany people on it, and not many can afford the passage out to Gamma\nLeonis IV or Algol VII or some of the nice uncluttered colony-worlds. So\nwhile you're in York City keep your eyes wide and your mouth zippered,\nand don't turn your nose up at the sordid ways people make their\nlivings.\"\n\nAlan felt his face go red, and he was happy to have the trays of food\narrive at that moment, causing some sort of distraction. \"Sorry, Max. I\ndidn't mean to sound preachy.\"\n\n\"I know, kid. You lead a pretty sheltered life on those starships. And\nnobody can adjust to Earthside life in a day. How about a drink?\"\n\nAlan started to say that he didn't drink, but kept the words back. He\nwas on Earth, now, not aboard the _Valhalla_; he wasn't required to keep\nship's regs. And he didn't want to be trying to look superior. \"Okay.\nHow about Scotch--is that the stuff MacIntosh was drinking?\"\n\n\"Fair enough,\" Hawkes said.\n\nHe signalled for a robot waiter, and after a moment the robot slithered\nup to them. Hawkes punched a lever on the robot's stomach and the metal\ncreature began to click and glow. An instant later a panel in its\nstomach slid open and two glasses appeared within. The robot's wiry\ntentacles reached in, took out the drinks, and set them on the table.\nHawkes dropped a coin in a slot in the robot's side, and the machine\nbustled away, its service completed.\n\n\"There you are,\" Hawkes said, pointing to the glass of amber-colored\nliquid. \"Drink up.\" As if to set an example he lifted his own drink and\ntossed it down in one gulp, with obvious pleasure.\n\nAlan picked up the little glass and held it before his eyes, staring at\nthe man opposite him through its translucent depths. Hawkes appeared\noddly distorted when viewed through the glass.\n\nHe grinned. He tried to propose a toast, but couldn't think of any\nappropriate words, so he simply upended the glass and drained its\ncontents. The stuff seemed to burn its way down his throat and explode\nin his stomach; the explosion rose through his gullet and into his\nbrain. For a moment he felt as if the top of his head had been blown\noff. His eyes watered.\n\n\"Pretty potent stuff!\"\n\n\"It's the best there is,\" Hawkes said. \"Those boys really know the\nformulas.\"\n\nAlan felt a wave of dizziness, but it passed quickly; all that was left\nwas a pleasant inner warmth, now. He pulled his tray toward him and\nattacked the synthetic meat and vegetables.\n\nHe ate quietly, making no attempt at conversation. Soft music bubbled up\naround them. He thought about his brother. So Steve was a gambler! And\ndoing poorly at it, Hawkes said. He wondered if Steve would want to go\nback on the ship. He wondered also how it would be if Steve did agree to\ngo back.\n\nThe old comradeship would be gone, he realized sadly. They had shared\neverything for seventeen years, grown up together, played together,\nworked together. Up till six weeks ago they had been so close that Alan\ncould almost read Steve's mind, and Steve Alan's. They made a good team.\n\nBut that was finished, now. Steve would be a stranger to him aboard the\n_Valhalla_--an older, perhaps wiser man, with nine solid years of tough\nEarther life behind him. He would not be able to help but regard Alan as\na kid, a greenhorn; it was natural. They would never be comfortable in\neach other's presence, with the old easy familiarity that was so close\nto telepathy. That nine-year gulf would see to that.\n\n\"Thinking about your brother, aren't you?\"\n\nAlan blinked. \"How did you know?\"\n\nGrinning, Hawkes said, \"A gambler has to know how to figure things. And\nit's written in permoscript all over your forehead anyway. You're\nwondering what the first face-to-face meeting's going to be like. I'll\nbet on it.\"\n\n\"I won't cover the bet. You'd win.\"\n\n\"You want to know how it'll be? I can tell you, Alan: you'll feel sick.\nSick and bewildered and ashamed of the guy who used to be your brother.\nBut that'll pass. You'll look behind the things the nine years did to\nhim, and you'll see your brother back there. He'll see you, too. It\nwon't be as bad as you're expecting.\"\n\nSomehow Alan felt relieved. \"You're sure of that?\"\n\nHawkes nodded. \"You know, I'm taking such a personal interest in this\nbusiness because I've got a brother too. _Had_ a brother.\"\n\n\"Had?\"\n\n\"Kid about your age. Same problem I had, too: no guild. We were born\ninto the street sweepers' guild, but neither of us could go for that, so\nwe checked out and took Free Status. I went into gambling. He hung\naround the Enclave. He always wanted to be a spacer.\"\n\n\"What happened to him?\"\n\n\"He pulled a fast one. Starship was in town and looking for a new\ngalley-boy. Dave did some glib talking and got aboard. It was a fluke\nthing, but he made it.\"\n\n\"Which ship?\" Alan asked.\n\n\"_Startreader_. Bound out on a hop to Beta Crucis XVIII. 465\nlight-years.\" Hawkes smiled faintly. \"He left a year, year and a half\nago. The ship won't be back on Earth again for nine hundred thirty years\nor so. I don't figure to be around that long.\" He shook his head. \"Let's\nget out of here. People waiting for tables.\"\n\nOut in the street again, Alan noticed that the sun was low in the sky;\nit was past 1800, and getting along toward evening. But the streets were\nnot getting dark. From everywhere a soft glow was beginning to\nradiate--from the pavement, the buildings, everywhere. It was a gentle\ngleaming brightness that fell from the air; there was no perceptible\nchange from day-illumination to night-illumination.\n\nBut it was getting late. And they would miss him back at the\nEnclave--unless Captain Donnell had discovered that Alan had gone into\nthe Earther city, in which case he wouldn't be missed at all. Alan\nremembered sharply the way the Captain had calmly blotted the name of\nhis son Steve from the _Valhalla's_ roster as if Steve had never\nexisted.\n\n\"Are we going to go over to the Atlas now?\"\n\nHawkes shook his head. \"Not unless you want to go in there alone?\"\n\n\"Huh?\"\n\n\"I can't go in there with you. I've got an A card, and that's a Class C\njoint.\"\n\n\"You mean even gambling places are classified and regulated and\neverything?\"\n\nHawkes nodded. \"It has to be that way. This is a very complicated\nsociety you've stumbled into, Alan. Look: I'm a first-rate gamesman.\nThat's not boasting; it's empirical truth proven over and over again\nduring the course of a fifteen-year career. I could make a fortune\ncompeting against beginners and dubs and has-beens, so they legislate\nagainst me. You make a certain annual income from gambling and you go\ninto Class A, and then you can't enter any of the lower-class joints\nlike the Atlas. You slip under the Class A minimum three years in a row\nand you lose your card. I stay over the minimum.\"\n\n\"So I'll have to go after Steve myself. Well, in that case, thanks for\nall the help, and if you'll show me which Shoot I take to get to the\nAtlas----\"\n\n\"Not so fast, son.\" Hawkes grasped Alan's wrist. \"Even in a Class C dump\nyou can lose plenty. And you can't just stand around hunting for your\nbrother. Unless you're there as a learner you'll have to play.\"\n\n\"So what am I supposed to do?\"\n\n\"I'll take you to a Class A place tonight. You can come in as a learner;\nthey all know me. I'll try to show you enough about the game so you\ndon't get rooked. Then you can stay over at my place and tomorrow we'll\ngo up to the Atlas and look around for your brother. I'll have to wait\noutside, of course.\"\n\nAlan shrugged. He was beginning to realize he was a little nervous about\nthe coming meeting with Steve--and perhaps, he thought, a little extra\ndelay would be useful. And he still had plenty of time to get back to\nthe _Valhalla_ after he saw Steve, even if he stayed in the city\novernight.\n\n\"Well?\" Hawkes said.\n\n\"Okay. I'll go with you.\"\n\nThis time they took the Undertube, which they reached by following a\nglowing sign and then an underground passageway. Alan rode down behind\nHawkes on the moving ramp and found himself in a warm, brightly-lit\nunderground world with stores, restaurants, newsboys hawking telefax\nsheets, milling swarms of homebound commuters.\n\nThey reached the entrance to a tube and Hawkes handed him a small oval\nobject with figures engraved on it. \"That's your tube-token. It goes in\nthe slot.\"\n\nThey passed through the turnstile and followed signs indicating the West\nSide Tube. The tube was a long sleek affair, windowless, shaped like a\nbullet. The tube was already packed with commuters when they got aboard;\nthere were no empty seats, of course, and everyone seemed to be jostling\neveryone else for the right to stand upright. The sign at the end of the\ntube said, _Tube X#3174-WS_.\n\nThe trip took only a few minutes of seemingly effortless gliding, and\nthen they emerged far on the other side of the giant city. The\nneighborhood they were in was considerably less crowded; it had little\nof the mad hubbub of the downtown district.\n\nA neon sign struck his eyes at once: SUPERIOR GAMES PARLOR. Under that\nin smaller letters was: CLASS A ESTABLISHMENT. A robot stood outside, a\ngleaming replica of the one he had tussled with earlier in the day.\n\n\"Class A only,\" the robot said as they came near. \"This Games Parlor is\nfor Class A only.\"\n\nHawkes stepped around him and broke the photo-contact on the door. Alan\nfollowed him in.\n\nThe place was dimly lit, as all Earther pleasure-places seemed to be.\nAlan saw a double row of tables spreading to the back of the parlor. At\neach table was an earnest-looking citizen hunched over a board, watching\nthe pattern of lights in front of him come and go, change and shift.\n\nAnother robot glided up to them. \"May I see your card, please?\" It\npurred.\n\nHawkes passed his card before the robot's photonic scanners and the\nrobot clicked acknowledgement, stepping to one side and letting Hawkes\npass. It turned to Alan and said, \"May I see your card, please?\"\n\n\"I don't----\"\n\n\"He's with me,\" Hawkes said. \"A learner.\"\n\nA man in a dirty gray smock came up to them. \"Evening, Max. Hinesy was\nhere already and told me you weren't coming in tonight.\"\n\n\"I wasn't, but I changed my mind. I brought a learner along with\nme--friend of mine name of Alan Donnell. This is Joe Luckman, Alan. He\nruns this place.\"\n\nLuckman nodded absently to Alan, who mumbled a greeting in return.\n\n\"Guess you want your usual table?\" Luckman asked.\n\n\"If it's open,\" Hawkes said.\n\n\"Been open all evening.\"\n\nLuckman led them down the long aisle to the back of the big hall, where\nthere was a vacant table with one seat before it. Hawkes slid smoothly\ninto the seat and told Alan to stand behind him and watch carefully.\n\n\"We'll start at the beginning of the next round,\" he said.\n\nAlan looked around. Everywhere men were bent over the patterns of lights\non the boards before them, with expressions of fierce concentration on\ntheir faces. Far in the corner Alan saw the pudgy figure of MacIntosh,\nthe Keeper of the Records; MacIntosh was bathed in his own sweat, and\nsat rigid as if hypnotized.\n\nHawkes nudged him. \"Keep your eyes on me. The others don't matter. I'm\nready to get started.\"\n\n\n\n\n_Chapter Nine_\n\n\nHawkes took a coin from his pocket and dropped it in a slot at the side\nof the board. It lit up. A crazy, shifting pattern of colored lights\npassed over it, restless, never pausing.\n\n\"What happens now?\"\n\n\"You set up a mathematical pattern with these keys,\" Hawkes said,\npointing to a row of enamelled studs along the side of the machine.\n\"Then the lights start flashing, and as soon as they flash--at random,\nof course--into the pattern you've previously set up, you're the winner.\nThe skill of the game comes in predicting the kind of pattern that will\nbe the winning one. You've got to keep listening to the numbers that the\ncroupier calls off, and fit them into your sequence.\"\n\nSuddenly a bell rang loudly, and the board went dead. Alan looked around\nand saw that all the other boards in the hall were dark as well.\n\nThe man on the rostrum in the center of the hall cleared his throat and\nsang out, \"Table 403 hits us for a hundred! 403! One hundred!\"\n\nA pasty-faced bald man at a table near theirs rose with a broad grin on\nhis face and went forward to collect. Hawkes rapped sharply on the side\nof the table to get Alan's attention.\n\n\"Look here, now. You have to get a head start. As soon as the boards\nlight up again, I have to begin setting up my pattern. I'm competing\nagainst everyone else here, you see. And the quickest man wins, usually.\nOf course, blind luck sometimes brings you a winner--but not very\noften.\"\n\nAlan nodded and watched carefully as Hawkes' fingers flew nimbly over\nthe controlling studs the instant the tables lit for the next round. The\nothers nearby were busy doing the same thing, but few of them set about\nit with the air of cocky jauntiness that Hawkes wore.\n\nFinally he stared at the board in satisfaction and sat back. The\ncroupier pounded three times with a little gavel and said, \"103\nsub-prime 5.\"\n\nHastily Hawkes made a correction in his equation. The lights on the\nboard flickered and faded, moving faster than Alan could see.\n\n\"377 third-quadrant 7.\"\n\nAgain a correction. Hawkes sat transfixed, staring intently at the\nboard. The other players were similarly entranced, Alan saw. He realized\nit was possible for someone to become virtually hypnotized by the game,\nto spend days on end sitting before the board.\n\nHe forced himself to follow Hawkes' computations as number after number\nwas called off. He began to see the logical pattern of the game.\n\nIt was a little like astrogation, in which he had had the required\npreliminary instruction. When you worked out a ship's course, you had to\nkeep altering it to allow for course deflection, effects of planetary\nmagnetic fields, meteor swarms, and such obstacles--and you had to be\none jump ahead of the obstacles all the time.\n\nIt was the same here. The pilot board at the croupier's rostrum had a\nprearranged mathematical pattern on it. The idea of the game was to set\nup your own board in the identical pattern. As each succeeding\ncoordinate on the graph was called out, you recomputed in terms of the\nnew probabilities, rubbing out old equations and substituting new ones.\n\nThere was always the mathematical chance that a pattern set up at random\nwould be identical to the master control pattern--but that was a pretty\nslim chance. It took brains to win at this game. The man whose board was\nfirst to match the pilot pattern won.\n\nHawkes worked quietly, efficiently, and lost the first four rounds. Alan\ncommiserated. But the gambler snapped, \"Don't waste your pity. I'm still\nexperimenting. As soon as I've figured out the way the numbers are\nrunning tonight, I'll start raking it in.\"\n\nIt sounded boastful to the starman, but Hawkes won on the fifth round,\nmatching the hidden pattern in only six minutes. The previous four\nrounds had taken from nine to twelve minutes before a winner appeared.\nThe croupier, a small, sallow-faced chap, shoved a stack of coins and a\nfew bills at Hawkes when he went to the rostrum to claim his winnings. A\nlow murmur rippled through the hall; Hawkes had evidently been\nrecognized.\n\nHis take was a hundred credits. In less than an hour, he was already\nseventy-five credits to the good. Hawkes' sharp eyes glinted brightly;\nhe was in his element now, and enjoying it.\n\nThe sixth round went to a bespectacled round-faced man three tables to\nthe left, but Hawkes won a hundred credits each on the seventh and\neighth rounds, then lost three in a row, then plunged for a heavy stake\nin his ninth round and came out ahead by five hundred credits.\n\nSo Hawkes had won four times in nine rounds, Alan thought. And there\nwere at least a hundred people in the hall. Even assuming the gambler\ndid not always have the sort of luck he was having now, that meant most\npeople did not win very often, and some did not win at all.\n\nAs the evening went along, Hawkes made it look simple. At one point he\nwon four rounds in a row; then he dropped off for a while, but came back\nfor another big pot half an hour later. Alan estimated Hawkes' night's\nwork had been worth more than a thousand credits so far.\n\nThe gambler pushed his winnings to fourteen hundred credits, while Alan\nwatched; the fine points of the game became more comprehensible to him\nwith each passing moment, and he longed to sit down at the table\nhimself. That was impossible, he knew; this was a Class A parlor, and a\nrank beginner such as himself could not play.\n\nBut then Hawkes began to lose. Three, four, five rounds in a row slipped\nby without a win. At one point Hawkes committed an elementary mistake in\narithmetic that made Alan cry out; Hawkes turned and silenced him with a\nfierce bleak scowl, and Alan went red.\n\nSix rounds. Seven. Eight. Hawkes had lost nearly a hundred of his\nfourteen hundred credits. Luck and skill seemed to have deserted him\nsimultaneously. After the eleventh consecutive losing round, Hawkes rose\nfrom the table, shaking his head bitterly.\n\n\"I've had enough. Let's get out of here.\"\n\nHe pocketed his winnings--still a healthy twelve hundred credits,\ndespite his late-evening slump--and Alan followed him out of the parlor\ninto the night. It was late now, past midnight. The streets, fresh and\nclean, were damp. It had rained while they were in the parlor, and Alan\nrealized wryly he had been so absorbed by the game that he had not even\nnoticed.\n\nCrowds of home-going Yorkers moved rapidly through the streets. As they\nmade their way to the nearest Undertube terminal, Alan broke the\nsilence. \"You did all right tonight, didn't you?\"\n\n\"Can't complain.\"\n\n\"It's too bad you had that slump right at the end. If you'd quit half an\nhour earlier you'd be two hundred credits richer.\"\n\nHawkes smiled. \"If you'd been born a couple of hundred years later,\nyou'd be a lot smarter.\"\n\n\"What is that supposed to mean?\" Alan felt annoyed by Hawkes' remark.\n\n\"Simply that I lost deliberately toward the end.\" They turned into the\nUndertube station and headed for the ticket windows. \"It's part of a\nsmart gambler's knowhow to drop a few credits deliberately now and\nthen.\"\n\n\"Why?\"\n\n\"So the jerks who provide my living keep on coming back,\" Hawkes said\nbluntly. \"I'm good at that game. Maybe I'm the best there is. I can feel\nthe numbers with my hands. If I wanted to, I could win four out of five\ntimes, even at a Class A place.\"\n\nAlan frowned. \"Then why don't you? You could get rich!\"\n\n\"I _am_ rich,\" Hawkes said in a tone that made Alan feel tremendously\nfoolish. \"If I got much richer too fast I'd wind up with a soft burn in\nthe belly from a disgruntled customer. Look here, boy: how long would\n_you_ go back to that casino if one player took 80% of the pots, and a\nhundred people competed with you for the 20% he left over? You'd win\nmaybe once a month, if you played full time every day. In a short time\nyou'd be broke, unless you quit playing first. So I ease up. I let the\nothers win about half the time. I don't want _all_ the money the mint\nturns out--just some of it. It's part of the economics of the game to\nlet the other guys take a few pots.\"\n\nAlan nodded. He understood. \"And you don't want to make them too jealous\nof you. So you made sure you lost consistently for the final half hour\nor so, and that took the edge off your earlier winning in their minds.\"\n\n\"That's the ticket!\"\n\nThe Undertube pulled out of the station and shot bullet-like through its\ndark tunnel. Silently, Alan thought about his night's experience. He saw\nhe still had much, very much to learn about life on Earth.\n\nHawkes had a gift--the gift of winning. But he didn't abuse that gift.\nHe concealed it a little, so the people who lacked his talent did not\nget too jealous of him. Jealousy ran high on Earth; people here led\nshort ugly lives, and there was none of the serenity and friendliness of\nlife aboard a starship.\n\nHe felt very tired, but it was just physical fatigue; he felt wide awake\nmentally. Earth life, for all its squalor and brutality, was\ntremendously exciting compared with shipboard existence. It was with a\nmomentary pang of something close to disappointment that he remembered\nhe would have to report back to the _Valhalla_ in several days; there\nwere so many fascinating aspects of Earth life he still wanted to\nexplore.\n\nThe Undertube stopped at a station labelled _Hasbrouck_. \"This is where\nwe get off,\" Hawkes told him.\n\nThey took a slidewalk to street level. The street was like a canyon,\nwith towering walls looming up all around. And some of the gigantic\nbuildings seemed quite shabby-looking by the street-light. Obviously\nthey were in a less respectable part of the city.\n\n\"This is Hasbrouck,\" Hawkes said. \"It's a residential section. And\nthere's where I live.\"\n\nHe pointed to the tarnished chrome entrance of one of the biggest and\nshabbiest of the buildings on the street. \"Be it ever so humble, there's\nno place like North Hasbrouck Arms. It's the sleaziest, cheapest, most\nrun-down tenement in one hemisphere, but I love it. It's a real palace.\"\n\nAlan followed him through a gate that had once been imposing; now it\nswung open rather rustily as they broke the photobeam in front of it.\nThe lobby was dark and dimly lit, and smelled faintly musty.\n\nAlan was unprepared for the shabbiness of the house where the gambler\nlived. A moment after he spoke, he realized the question was highly\nimpertinent, but by then it was too late: \"I don't understand, Max. If\nyou make so much money gambling, why do you live in a place like this?\nAren't there any better--I mean----\"\n\nAn unreadable expression flitted briefly across the gambler's lean face.\n\"I know what you mean. Let's just say that the laws of this planet\ndiscriminate slightly against Free Status people like yours truly. They\nrequire us to live in approved residences.\"\n\n\"But this is practically a slum.\"\n\n\"Forget the _practically_. This is the raw end of town, and no denying\nit. But I have to live here.\" They entered a creaky old elevator\ndecorated with too much chrome, most of it chipped, and Hawkes pressed\n_106_. \"When I first moved in here, I made up my mind I'd bribe my way\ninto a fancier neighborhood as soon as I had the cash. But by the time I\nhad enough to spare I didn't feel like moving, you see. I'm sort of\nlazy.\"\n\nThe elevator stopped with a jarring jolt at the hundred-sixth floor.\nThey passed down a narrow, poorly-lit corridor. Hawkes paused suddenly\nin front of a door, pressed his thumb against the doorplate, and waited\nas it swung open in response to the imprint of his fingerprints against\nthe sensitive electronic grid.\n\n\"Here we are,\" he said.\n\nIt was a three-room apartment that looked almost as old and as\ndisreputable as the rooms in the Enclave. But the furniture was new and\nattractive; these were not the rooms of a poor man. An elaborate audio\nsystem took up one entire wall; elsewhere, Alan saw books of all kinds,\ntapes, a tiny mounted globe of light-sculpture within whose crystal\ninterior abstract colors flowed kaleidoscopically, a handsome robot bar.\n\nHawkes gestured Alan to a seat; Alan chose a green lounge-chair with\nquivering springs and stretched out. He did not want to go to sleep; he\nwanted to stay up half the night and talk.\n\nThe gambler busied himself at the bar a moment and returned with two\ndrinks. Alan looked at the glass a moment: the drink was bright yellow\nin color, sparkling. He sipped it. The flavor was gentle but striking, a\nmixture of two or three tastes and textures that chased each other round\nAlan's tongue.\n\n\"I like it. What is it?\"\n\n\"Wine from Antares XIII. I bought it for a hundred credits a bottle\nlast year. Still have three bottles left, too. I go easy on it; the next\nship from Antares XIII won't be in for fourteen more years.\"\n\nThe drink made Alan mellow and relaxed. They talked a while, and he\nhardly noticed the fact that the time was getting along toward 0300 now,\nlong past his shiptime bunk-hour. He didn't care. He listened to every\nword Hawkes had to say, drinking it in with the same delight he felt\nwhen drinking the Antarean wine. Hawkes was a complex, many-faceted\ncharacter; he seemed to have been everywhere on Earth, done everything\nthe planet had to offer. And yet there was no boastfulness in his tone\nas he spoke of his exploits; he was simply stating facts.\n\nApparently his income from gambling was staggering; he averaged nearly a\nthousand credits a night, night in and night out. But a note of\nplaintiveness crept into his voice: success was boring him, he had no\nfurther goals to shoot for. He stood at the top of his profession, and\nthere were no new worlds for him to conquer. He had seen and done\neverything, and lamented it.\n\n\"I'd like to go to space someday,\" he remarked. \"But of course that's\nout. I wouldn't want to rip myself away from the year 3876 forever. You\ndon't know what I'd give to see the suns come up over Albireo V, or to\nwatch the thousand moons of Capella XVI. But I can't do it.\" He shook\nhis head gravely. \"Well, I better not dream. I like Earth and I like the\nsort of life I lead. And I'm glad I ran into you, too--we'll make a good\nteam, you and me, Donnell.\"\n\nAlan had been lulled by the sound of Hawkes' voice--but he snapped to\nattention now, surprised. \"Team? What are you talking about?\"\n\n\"I'll take you on as my protege. Make a decent gambler out of you. Set\nyou up. We can go travelling together, see the world again. You've been\nto space; you can tell me what it's like out there. And----\"\n\n\"Hold on,\" Alan said sharply. \"You've got things mixed up a little bit.\nI'm going to Procyon on the _Valhalla_ at the end of this week. I\nappreciate everything you've done for me, but if you think I'm going to\njump ship permanently and spend the rest of my life----\"\n\n\"You'll stay on Earth, all right,\" Hawkes said confidently. \"You're in\nlove with the place. You know yourself you don't want to spend the next\nseven decades of your life shuttling around in your old man's starship.\nYou'll check out and stay here. I know you will.\"\n\n\"I'll bet you I don't!\"\n\n\"That bet is herewith covered,\" Hawkes drawled. \"I never pass up a sure\nthing. Is ten to one okay--your hundred against my thousand that you'll\nstay?\"\n\nAlan scowled angrily. \"I don't want to bet with you, Max. I'm going back\non the _Valhalla_. I----\"\n\n\"Go ahead. Take my money, if you're so sure.\"\n\n\"All right, I will! A thousand credits won't hurt me!\" Suddenly he had\nno further desire to listen to Hawkes talk; he rose abruptly and gulped\ndown the remainder of his drink.\n\n\"I'm tired. Let's get some sleep.\"\n\n\"Fair enough,\" Hawkes said. He got up, touched a button in the wall, and\na panel slid back, exposing a bed. \"You sack out here. I'll wake you in\nthe morning and we'll go looking for your brother Steve.\"\n\n\n\n\n_Chapter Ten_\n\n\nAlan woke early the next morning, but it was Rat, not Hawkes, who pulled\nhim out of sleep. The little extra-terrestrial was nibbling on his ear.\n\nBleary-eyed, Alan sat up and blinked. \"Oh--it's you. I thought you were\non a silence strike.\"\n\n\"There wasn't anything I wanted to say, so I kept quiet. But I want to\nsay some things now, before your new friend wakes up.\"\n\nThe Bellatrician had been silent all the past evening, tagging along\nbehind Alan and Hawkes like a faithful pet, but keeping his mouth\nclosed. \"Go ahead and say them, then,\" Alan told him.\n\n\"I don't like this fellow Hawkes. I think you're in for trouble if you\nstick with him.\"\n\n\"He's going to take me to the Atlas to get Steve.\"\n\n\"You can get to the Atlas yourself. He's given you all the help you'll\nneed.\"\n\nAlan shook his head. \"I'm no baby. I can take care of myself, without\n_your_ help.\"\n\nThe little alien creature shrugged. \"Suit yourself. But I'll tell you\none thing, Alan: I'm going back to the _Valhalla_, whether you are or\nnot. I don't like Earth, or Hawkes either. Remember that.\"\n\n\"Who said I was staying here? Didn't you hear me bet Max that I'd go\nback?\"\n\n\"I heard you. I say you're going to lose that bet. I say this Hawkes is\ngoing to fast-talk you into staying here--and if I had any need for\nmoney I'd put down a side-bet on Hawkes' side.\"\n\nAlan laughed. \"You think you know me better than I know myself. I never\nfor a minute thought of jumping ship.\"\n\n\"Has my advice ever steered you wrong? I'm older than you are, Alan, and\nten or twenty times smarter. I can see where you're heading. And----\"\n\nAlan grew suddenly angry. \"Nag, nag, nag! You're worse than an old\nwoman! Why don't you keep quiet the way you did last night, and leave me\nalone? I know what I'm doing, and when I want your advice I'll ask for\nit.\"\n\n\"Have it your own way,\" Rat said. His tone was mildly reproachful. Alan\nfelt abashed at having scolded the little alien that way, but he did not\nknow how to make proper amends; besides, he _was_ annoyed at Rat's\npreachiness. He and Rat had been together too long. The Bellatrician\nprobably thought he was still only ten years old and in need of constant\nadvice.\n\nHe rolled over and went back to sleep. About an hour later, he was\nawakened again, this time by Hawkes. He dressed and they ate--good real\nfood, no synthetics, served by Hawkes' autochef--and then set out for\nthe Atlas Games Parlor, 68th Avenue and 423rd Street, in Upper York\nCity. The time was 1327 when they emerged on the street. Hawkes assured\nhim that Steve would already be at \"work\"; most unsuccessful gamblers\nstarted making the rounds of the parlors in early afternoon.\n\nThey took the Undertube back to the heart of the city and kept going,\ninto the suburb of Upper York. Getting out at the 423rd Street terminal,\nthey walked briskly through the narrow crowded streets toward 68th\nAvenue.\n\nWhen they were a block away Alan spotted the sign, blinking on and off\nin watery red letters: ATLAS GAMES PARLOR. A smaller sign proclaimed the\nparlor's Class C status, which allowed any mediocre player to make use\nof its facilities.\n\nAs they drew near Alan felt a tingle of excitement. This was what he had\ncome to the Earther city for in the first place--to find Steve. For\nweeks he had been picturing the circumstances of this meeting; now it\nwas about to take place.\n\nThe Atlas was similar to the other games parlor where Alan had had the\nset-to with the robohuckster; it was dark-windowed and a shining blue\nrobot stood outside, urging passersby to step inside and try their luck.\nAlan moistened his dry lips; he felt cold and numb inside. He won't be\nthere, he thought; he won't be there.\n\nHawkes took a wad of bills from his wallet. \"Here's two hundred credits\nfor you to use at the tables while you're looking around. I'll have to\nwait outside. There'd be a royal uproar if a Class A man ever set foot\ninside a place like the Atlas.\"\n\nAlan smiled nervously. He was pleased that Hawkes was unable to come\nwith him; he wanted to handle the problem by himself, for a change. And\nhe was not anxious for the gambler to witness the scene between him and\nSteve.\n\n_If_ Steve were inside, that is.\n\nHe nodded tightly and walked toward the door. The robohuckster outside\nchattered at him, \"Come right on, sir, step inside. Five credits can get\nyou a hundred here. Right this way.\"\n\n\"I'm going,\" Alan said. He passed through the photobeam and into the\ngames parlor. Another robot came sliding up to him and scanned his\nfeatures.\n\n\"This is a Class C establishment, sir. If your card is any higher than\nClass C you cannot compete here. Would you mind showing me your card,\nsir?\"\n\n\"I don't have any. I'm an unrated beginner.\" That was what Hawkes had\ntold him to say. \"I'd like a single table, please.\"\n\nHe was shown to a table to the left of the croupier's booth. The Atlas\nwas a good bit dingier than the Class A parlor he had been in the night\nbefore; its electroluminescent light-panels fizzed and sputtered,\ncasting uncertain shadows here and there. A round was in progress;\nfigures were bent busily over their boards, altering their computations\nand changing their light-patterns.\n\nAlan slid a five-credit piece into the slot and, while waiting for the\nround to finish and the next to begin, looked around at his fellow\npatrons. In the semi-dark that prevailed it was difficult to make out\nfaces. He would have trouble recognizing Steve.\n\nA musky odor hung low over the hall, sweet, pungent, yet somehow\nunpleasant. He realized he had experienced that odor before, and tried\nto remember--yes. Last night in the other games parlor he had smelled a\nwisp of the fragrance, and Hawkes had told him it was a narcotic\ncigarette. It lay heavy in the stale air of the Class C parlor.\n\nPatrons stared with fanatic intensity at the racing pattern of lights\nbefore them. Alan glanced from one to the next. A baldhead whose dome\nglinted bright gold in the dusk knotted his hands together in an anguish\nof indecision. A slim, dreamy-eyed young man gripped the sides of the\ntable frenziedly as the numbers spiralled upward. A fat woman in her\nlate forties, hopelessly dazed by the intricate game, slumped wearily in\nher seat.\n\nBeyond that he could not see. There were other patrons on the far side\nof the rostrum; perhaps Steve was over there. But it was forbidden for\nanyone to wander through the rows of tables searching for a particular\nplayer.\n\nThe gong rang, ending the round. \"Number 322 wins a hundred credits,\"\nbarked the croupier.\n\nThe man at Table 322 shambled forward for his money. He walked with a\ntwisted shuffle; his body shook palsiedly. Hawkes had warned him of\nthese, too--the dreamdust addicts, who in the late stages of their\naddiction became hollow shells of men, barely able to walk. He took his\nhundred credits and returned to his table without smiling. Alan\nshuddered and looked away. Earth was not a pretty world. Life was good\nif you had the stream running with you, as Hawkes did--but for each\nsuccessful one like Hawkes, how many fought unsuccessfully against the\ncurrent and were swept away into dreamdust or worse?\n\nSteve. He looked down the row for Steve.\n\nAnd then the board lit up again, and for the first time he was playing.\n\nHe set up a tentative pattern; golden streaks flitted across the board,\nmingling with red and blue blinkers. Then the first number came. Alan\nintegrated it hastily and realized he had constructed a totally\nworthless pattern; he wiped his board clean and set up new figures,\nbased on the one number he had. Already, he knew, he was hopelessly far\nbehind the others.\n\nBut he kept with it as the minutes crawled past. Sweat dribbled down his\nface and neck. He had none of Hawkes' easy confidence with the board's\ncontrols; this game was hard work for a beginner. Later, perhaps, some\nof the steps would become automatic, but now----\n\n\"Seventy-eight sub twelve over thirteen,\" came the droning instructions,\nand Alan pulled levers and twisted ratchets to keep his pattern true. He\nsaw the attraction the game held for the people of Earth: it required\nsuch deep concentration, such careful attention, that one had no time to\nponder other problems. It was impossible to think and compete at the\nsame time. The game offered perfect escape from the harsh realities of\nEarther existence.\n\n\"Six hundred twelve sigma five.\"\n\nAgain Alan recompensated. His nerves tingled; he felt he must be close\nto victory. All thought of what he had come here for slipped away; Steve\nwas forgotten. Only the flashing board counted, only the game.\n\nFive more numbers went by. Suddenly the gong rang, indicating that\nsomeone had achieved a winning pattern, and it was like the fall of a\nheadsman's axe to Alan. He had lost. That was all he could think of. He\nhad lost.\n\nThe winner was the dreamy-eyed youth at Table 166, who accepted his\nwinnings without a word and took his seat. As Alan drew out another\nfive-credit piece for the next round, he realized what he was doing.\n\nHe was being caught up in the nerve-stretching excitement of the game.\nHe was forgetting Steve, forgetting the waiting Hawkes outside.\n\nHe stretched back in his seat and peered as far down the row as he could\nsee. No sign of Steve there; he had to be on the other side of the\ncroupier. Alan decided to do his best to win; that way he could advance\nto the rostrum and scan the other half of the hall.\n\nBut the game fled by too quickly; he made a false computation on the\neleventh number and watched in dismay as his pattern drew further and\nfurther away from the numbers being called off. He drove himself\nfuriously, trying to make amends, but it was impossible. The winner was\nthe man at Table 217, on the other side. He was a lantern-jawed giant\nwith the powerful frame of a longshoreman, and he laughed in pleasure as\nhe collected his money.\n\nThree more rounds went by; Alan picked up increasing skill at the game,\nbut failed to win. He saw his shortcoming, but could not do anything to\nhelp it: he was unable to extrapolate ahead. Hawkes was gifted with the\nknack of being able to extend probable patterns two or three moves into\nthe future; Alan could only work with the given, and so he never made\nthe swift series of guesses which led to victory. He had spent nearly an\nhour in the parlor now, fruitlessly.\n\nThe next round came and went. \"Table 111 takes us for a hundred fifty\ncredits,\" came the croupier's cry. Alan relaxed, waiting for the lucky\nwinner to collect and for the next round to begin.\n\nThe winner reached the centrally located rostrum. Alan looked at him. He\nwas tall, fairly young--in his thirties, perhaps--with stooped shoulders\nand a dull glazedness about his eyes. He looked familiar.\n\nSteve.\n\nFeeling no excitement now that the quest had reached success, Alan\nslipped from his seat and made his way around the croupier's rostrum and\ndown the far aisle. Steve had already taken his seat at Table 111. Alan\ncame up behind him, just as the gong sounded to signal the new round.\n\nSteve was hunched over the board, calculating with almost desperate\nfury. Alan touched his shoulder.\n\n\"Steve?\"\n\nWithout looking up Steve snapped, \"Get out of here, whoever you are!\nCan't you see I'm busy?\"\n\n\"Steve, I----\"\n\nA robot sidled up to Alan and grasped him firmly by the arm. \"It is\nforbidden to disturb the players while they are engaged in the game. We\nwill have to eject you from this parlor.\"\n\nAngrily Alan broke loose from the robot's grasp and leaned over Steve.\nHe shook him by the shoulder, roughly, trying to shake loose his mind\nfrom the flickering games board.\n\n\"Steve, look up! It's me--Alan--your brother!\"\n\nSteve slapped at Alan's hand as he would at a fly. Alan saw other robots\nconverging on him from various points in the room. In a minute they'd\nhurl him out into the street.\n\nRecklessly he grabbed Steve by the shoulders and spun him around in his\nseat. A curse tumbled from Steve's lips; then he fell strangely silent.\n\n\"You remember me, Steve? Your brother Alan. Your _twin_ brother, once.\"\n\nSteve had changed, certainly. His hair was no longer thick and curly; it\nseemed to have straightened out, and darkened a little. Wrinkles seamed\nhis forehead; his eyes were deep-set and surrounded by lines. He was\nslightly overweight, and it showed. He looked terribly tired. Looking\nat him was like looking at a comic mirror that distorted and altered\nyour features. But there was nothing comic about Steve's appearance.\n\nIn a hoarse whisper he said, \"Alan?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\nAlan felt robot arms grasping him firmly. He struggled to break loose,\nand saw Steve trying to say something, only no words were coming. Steve\nwas very pale.\n\n\"Let go of him!\" Steve said finally, \"He--he wasn't disturbing me.\"\n\n\"He must be ejected. It is the rule.\"\n\nConflict traced deep lines on Steve's face. \"All right, then. We'll both\nleave.\"\n\nThe robots released Alan, who rubbed his arms ruefully. Together they\nwalked up the aisle and out into the street.\n\nHawkes stood waiting there.\n\n\"I see you've found him. It took long enough.\"\n\n\"M-Max, this is my brother, Steven Donnell.\" Alan's voice was shaky with\ntension. \"Steve, this is a friend of mine. Max Hawkes.\"\n\n\"You don't need to tell me who he is,\" Steve said. His voice was deeper\nand harsher than Alan remembered it. \"Every gamesman knows Hawkes. He's\nthe best there is.\" In the warm daylight, Steve looked even older than\nthe twenty-six years that was his chronological age. To Alan's eyes he\nseemed to be a man who had been kicked around by life, a man who had not\nyet given up but who knew he didn't stand much of a chance for the\nfuture.\n\nAnd he looked ashamed. The old sparkle was gone from his brother's eyes.\nQuietly Steve said, \"Okay, Alan. You tracked me down. Call me whatever\nnames you want to call me and let me get about my business. I don't do\nquite as well as your friend Hawkes, and I happen to be in need of a lot\nof cash in a hurry.\"\n\n\"I didn't come to call you names. Let's go someplace where we can talk,\"\nAlan said. \"There's a lot for us to talk about.\"\n\n\n\n\n_Chapter Eleven_\n\n\nThey adjourned to a small tavern three doors down 68th Avenue from the\ngames parlor, an old-fashioned tavern with manually operated doors and\nstuffed moose heads over the bar. Alan and Hawkes took seats next to\neach other in a booth in back; Steve sat facing them.\n\nThe barkeep came scuttling out--no robot in here, just a tired-faced old\nman--and took their orders. Hawkes called for beer, Steve for whiskey;\nAlan did not order.\n\nHe sat staring at his brother's oddly changed face. Steve was\ntwenty-six. From Alan's seventeen-year-old vantage-point, that seemed\ntremendously old, well past the prime of life.\n\nHe said, \"The _Valhalla_ landed on Earth a few days ago. We're bound out\nfor Procyon in a few days.\"\n\n\"So?\"\n\n\"The Captain would like to see you again, Steve.\"\n\nSteve stared moodily at his drink without speaking, for a long moment.\nAlan studied him. Less than two months had passed for Alan since Steve\nhad jumped ship; he still remembered how his twin had looked. There had\nbeen something smouldering in Steve's eyes then, a kind of rebellious\nfire, a smoky passion. That was gone now. It had burned out long ago. In\nits place Alan saw only tiny red veins--the bloodshot eyes of a man who\nhad been through a lot, little of it very pleasant.\n\n\"Is that the truth?\" Steve asked. \"_Would_ he like to see me? Or\nwouldn't he just prefer to think I never was born at all?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"I know the Captain--Dad--pretty well. Even though I haven't seen him in\nnine years. He'd never forgive me for jumping ship. I don't want to pay\nany visits to the _Valhalla_, Alan.\"\n\n\"Who said anything about visiting?\"\n\n\"Then what _were_ you talking about?\"\n\n\"I was talking about going back into the Crew,\" Alan said quietly.\n\nThe words seemed to strike Steve like physical blows. He shuddered a\nlittle and gulped down the drink he held clutched in tobacco-stained\nfingers. He looked up at Alan, finally.\n\n\"I can't. It's impossible. Flatly impossible.\"\n\n\"But----\"\n\nAlan felt Hawkes' foot kick him sharply under the table. He caught the\nhint, and changed the subject. There was time to return to it later.\n\n\"Okay, let's skip it for now. Why don't you tell me about your life on\nEarth these last nine years?\"\n\nSteve smiled sardonically. \"There's not much to tell, and what there is\nis a pretty dull story. I came across the bridge from the Enclave last\ntime the _Valhalla_ was in town, and came over into York City all set\nto conquer the world, become rich and famous, and live happily ever\nafter. Five minutes after I set foot on the Earther side of the river I\nwas beaten up and robbed by a gang of roving kids. It was a real fine\nstart.\"\n\nHe signalled the waiter for another drink. \"I guess I must have drifted\naround the city for two weeks or more before the police found me and\npicked me up for vagrancy. By that time the _Valhalla_ had long since\nhoisted for Alpha C--and didn't I wish I was on it! Every night I used\nto dream I had gone back on the ship. But when I woke up I always found\nout I hadn't.\n\n\"The police gave me an education in the ways of Earther life, complete\nwith rubber hoses and stingrays, and when they were through with me I\nknew all about the system of work cards and free status. I didn't have a\ncredit to my name. So I drifted some more. Then I got sick of drifting\nand tried to find a job, but of course I couldn't buy my way in to any\nof the hereditary guilds. Earth has enough people of her own; she's not\ninterested in finding jobs for kid spacemen who jump ship.\n\n\"So I starved a little. Then I got tired of starving. So about a year\nafter I first jumped ship I borrowed a thousand credits from somebody\nfoolish enough to lend them, and set myself up as a professional gambler\non Free Status. It was the only trade I could find that didn't have any\nentrance requirements.\"\n\n\"Did you do well?\"\n\n\"Yeah. Very well. At the end of my first six months I was fifteen\nhundred credits in debt. Then my luck changed; I won three thousand\ncredits in a single month and got shifted up to Class B.\" Steve laughed\nbitterly. \"That was beautiful, up there. Inside of two more months I'd\nnot only lost my three thousand, I was two thousand more in hock. And\nthat's the way it's been going ever since. I borrow here, win a little\nto pay him back, or lose a little and borrow from someone else, win a\nlittle, lose a little--round and round and round. A swell life, Alan.\nAnd I still dream about the _Valhalla_ once or twice a week.\"\n\nSteve's voice was leaden, dreary. Alan felt a surge of pity. The\nswashbuckling, energetic Steve he had known might still be there, inside\nthis man somewhere, but surrounding him were the scars of nine bitter\nyears on Earth.\n\nNine years. It was a tremendous gulf.\n\nAlan caught his breath a moment. \"If you had the chance to go back into\nthe Crew, no strings attached, no recriminations--would you take it?\"\n\nFor an instant the old brightness returned to Steve's eyes. \"Of course I\nwould! But----\"\n\n\"But what?\"\n\n\"I owe seven thousand credits,\" Steve said. \"And it keeps getting worse.\nThat pot I won today, just before you came over to me, that was the\nfirst take I'd had in three days. Nine years and I'm still a Class C\ngambler. We can't all be as good as Hawkes here. I'm lousy--but what\nother profession could I go into, on an overcrowded and hostile world\nlike this one?\"\n\nSeven thousand credits, Alan thought. It was a week's earnings for\nHawkes--but Steve would probably be in debt the rest of his life.\n\n\"Who do you owe this money to?\" Hawkes asked suddenly.\n\nSteve looked at him. \"The Bryson syndicate, mostly. And Lorne Hollis.\nThe Bryson people keep a good eye on me, too. There's a Bryson man\nthree booths up who follows me around. If they ever saw me going near\nthe spacefield they'd be pretty sure to cut me off and ask for their\nmoney. You can't welsh on Bryson.\"\n\n\"Suppose it was arranged that your debts be cancelled,\" Hawkes said\nspeculatively.\n\nSteve shook his head. \"No. I don't want charity. I know you're a Class A\nand seven thousand credits comes easy to you, but I couldn't take it.\nSkip it. I'm stuck here on Earth for keeps, and I'm resigned to it. I\nmade my choice, and this is what I got.\"\n\n\"Listen to reason,\" Alan urged. \"Hawkes will take care of the money you\nowe. And Dad will be so happy to see you come back to the ship\nagain----\"\n\n\"Like Mars he'll be happy! See me come back, beaten up and ragged, a\nwashed-out old man at twenty-six? No, sir. The Captain blotted me out of\nhis mind a long time ago, and he and I don't have any further business\ntogether.\"\n\n\"You're wrong, Steve. He sent me into the Earther city deliberately to\nfind you. He said to me, 'Find Steve and urge him to come back to the\nship.' He's forgiven you completely,\" Alan lied. \"Everyone's anxious to\nhave you come back on board.\"\n\nFor a moment Steve sat silent, indecisive, frowning deeply. Then he made\nup his mind. He shook his head. \"No--both of you. Thanks, but I don't\nwant any. Keep your seven thousand, Hawkes. And you, Alan--go back to\nthe ship and forget all about me. I don't even deserve a second chance.\"\n\n\"You're wrong!\" Alan started to protest, but a second time Hawkes kicked\nhim hard, and he shut up. He stared curiously at the gambler.\n\n\"I guess that about settles it,\" Hawkes observed. \"If the man wants to\nstay, we can't force him.\"\n\nSteve nodded. \"I have to stay on Earth. And now I'd better get back to\nthe games parlor--I can't waste any time, you know. Not with a seven\nthousand credit backlog to make up.\"\n\n\"Naturally. But there's time for one more drink, isn't there? On me.\nMaybe you don't want my money, but let me buy you a drink.\"\n\nSteve grinned. \"Fair enough.\"\n\nHe started to wave to the bartender, but Hawkes shot out an arm quickly\nand blocked off the gesture. \"He's an old man and he's tired. I'll go to\nthe bar and order.\" And before Steve could protest, Hawkes had slipped\nsmoothly out of the booth and was on his way forward to the bar.\n\nAlan sat facing his brother. He felt pity. Steve had been through a lot;\nthe freedom he had longed for aboard ship had had a heavy price. And was\nit freedom, to sit in a crowded games parlor on a dirty little planet\nand struggle to get out of debt?\n\nThere was nothing further he could say to Steve. He had tried, and he\nhad failed, and Steve would remain on Earth. But it seemed wrong. Steve\n_did_ deserve a second chance. He had jumped ship and it had been a\nmistake, but there was no reason why he could not return to his old\nlife, wiser for the experience. Still, if he refused----\n\nHawkes came back bearing two drinks--another beer for himself and a\nwhiskey for Steve. He set them out on the table and said, \"Well, drink\nup. Here's hoping you make Class A and stay there.\"\n\n\"Thanks,\" Steve said, and drained his drink in a single loud gulp. His\neyes widened; he started to say something, but never got the words out.\nHe slumped down in his seat and his chin thumped ringingly against the\ntable.\n\nAlan looked at Hawkes in alarm. \"What happened to him? Why'd he pass\nout?\"\n\nHawkes smiled knowingly. \"An ancient Earth beverage known as the Mickey\nFinn. Two drops of a synthetic enzyme in his drink; tasteless, but\nextremely effective. He'll be asleep for ten hours or more.\"\n\n\"How'd you arrange it?\"\n\n\"I told the bartender it was in a good cause, and he believed me. You\nwait here, now. I want to talk to that Bryson man about your brother's\ndebts, and then we'll spirit him out to the spaceport and dump him\naboard the _Valhalla_ before he wakes up.\"\n\nAlan grinned. He was going to have to do some explaining to Steve later,\nbut by that time it would be too late; the starship would be well on its\nway to Procyon. It was a dirty trick to play, he thought, but it was\njustifiable. In Hawkes' words, it was in a good cause.\n\nAlan put his arms around his brother's shoulders and gently lifted him\nout of the chair; Steve was surprisingly light, for all his lack of\ncondition. Evidently muscle weighed more than fat, and Steve had gone to\nfat. Supporting his brother's bulk without much trouble, Alan made his\nway toward the entrance to the bar. As he went past the bartender, the\nold man smiled at him. Alan wondered what Hawkes had said to him.\n\nRight now Hawkes was three booths up, leaning over and taking part in an\nurgent whispered conference with a thin dark-faced man in a sharply\ntailored suit. They reached some sort of agreement; there was a\nhandshake. Then Hawkes left the booth and slung one of Steve's dangling\narms around his own shoulder, easing the weight.\n\n\"There's an Undertube that takes us as far as Carhill Boulevard and the\nbridge,\" Hawkes said. \"We can get a ground vehicle there that'll go on\nthrough the Enclave and out to the spacefield.\"\n\nThe trip took nearly an hour. Steve sat propped up between Alan and\nHawkes, and every now and then his head would loll to one side or\nanother, and he would seem to be stirring; but he never woke. The sight\nof two men dragging a third along between them attracted not the\nslightest attention as they left the Undertube and climbed aboard the\nspacefield bus. Apparently in York City no one cared much about what\nwent on; it made no difference to the busy Earthers whether Steve were\nunconscious or dead.\n\nThe ground bus took them over the majestic arch of the bridge, rapidly\nthrough the sleepy Enclave--Alan saw nobody he recognized in the\nstreets--and through the restricted area that led to the spacefield.\n\nThe spaceport was a jungle of ships, each standing on its tail waiting\nto blast off. Most of them were small two-man cargo vessels, used in\ntravel between Earth and the colonies on the Moon, Mars, and Pluto, but\nhere and there a giant starship loomed high above the others. Alan stood\non tiptoes to search for the golden hull of the _Valhalla_, but he was\nunable to see it. Since the starship would be blasting off at the end of\nthe week, he knew the crew was probably already at work on it, shaping\nit up for the trip. He belonged on it too.\n\nHe saw a dark green starship standing nearby; the _Encounter_, Kevin\nQuantrell's ship. Men were moving about busily near the big ship, and\nAlan remembered that it had become obsolete during its last long voyage,\nand was being rebuilt.\n\nA robot came sliding up to the three of them as they stood there at the\nedge of the landing field.\n\n\"Can I help you, please?\"\n\n\"I'm from the starship _Valhalla_,\" Alan said. \"I'm returning to the\nship. Would you take me to the ship, please?\"\n\n\"Of course.\"\n\nAlan turned to Hawkes. The moment had come, much too suddenly. Alan felt\nRat twitching at his cuff, as if reminding him of something.\n\nGrinning awkwardly, Alan said, \"I guess this is the end of the line,\nMax. You'd better not go out on the spacefield with us. I--I sort of\nwant to thank you for all the help you've given me. I never would have\nfound Steve without you. And about the bet we made--well, it looks like\nI'm going back on my ship after all, so I've won a thousand credits from\nyou. But I can't ask for it, of course. Not after what you did for\nSteve.\"\n\nHe extended his hand. Hawkes took it, but he was smiling strangely.\n\n\"If I owed you the money, I'd pay it to you,\" the gambler said. \"That's\nthe way I work. The seven thousand I paid for Steve is extra and above\neverything else. But you haven't won that bet yet. You haven't won it\nuntil the _Valhalla's_ in space with you aboard it.\"\n\nThe robot made signs of impatience. Hawkes said, \"You'd better convoy\nyour brother across the field and dump him on his ship. Save the\ngoodbyes for later. I'll wait right here for you. Right here.\"\n\nAlan shook his head. \"Sorry, Max, but you're wasting your time by\nwaiting. The _Valhalla_ has to be readied for blastoff, and once I check\nin aboard ship I can't come back to visit. So this is goodbye, right\nhere.\"\n\n\"We'll see about that,\" Hawkes said. \"Ten to one odds.\"\n\n\"Ten to one,\" Alan said. \"And you've lost your bet.\" But his voice did\nnot sound very convincing, and as he started off across the field with\nSteve dragging along beside him he frowned, and did some very intense\nthinking indeed in the few minutes' time it took him to arrive at the\nshining _Valhalla_. He was beginning to suspect that Hawkes might be\ngoing to win the bet after all.\n\n\n\n\n_Chapter Twelve_\n\n\nHe felt a little emotional pang, something like nostalgia, as the\n_Valhalla_ came into sight, standing by itself tall and proud at the far\nend of the field. A cluster of trucks buzzed around it, transferring\nfuel, bringing cargo. He spotted the wiry figure of Dan Kelleher, the\ncargo chief, supervising and shouting salty instructions to the\nperspiring men.\n\nAlan tightened his grip on Steve's arm and moved forward. Kelleher\nshouted, \"You men back there, tighten up on that winch and give 'er a\nhoist! Tighten up, I say! Put some muscle into----\" He broke off.\n\"Alan,\" he said, in a quiet voice.\n\n\"Hello, Dan. Is my father around?\"\n\nKelleher was staring with frank curiosity at the slumped figure of Steve\nDonnell. \"The Captain's off watch now. Art Kandin's in charge.\"\n\n\"Thanks,\" Alan said. \"I'd better go see him.\"\n\n\"Sure. And----\"\n\nAlan nodded. \"Yes. That's Steve.\"\n\nHe passed between the cargo hoists and clambered onto the escalator\nrampway that led to the main body of the ship. It rose, conveying him\nseventy feet upward and through the open passenger hatch to the inner\nsection of the towering starship.\n\nHe was weary from having carried Steve so long. He put the sleeping form\ndown against a window-seat facing one of the viewscreens, and said to\nRat, \"You stay here and keep watch. If anyone wants to know who he is,\ntell them the truth.\"\n\n\"Right enough.\"\n\nAlan found Art Kandin where he expected to find him--in the Central\nControl Room, posting work assignments for the blastoff tomorrow. The\nlanky, pudgy-faced First Officer hardly noticed as Alan stepped up\nbeside him.\n\n\"Art?\"\n\nKandin turned--and went pale. \"Oh--Alan. Where in blazes have you been\nthe last two days?\"\n\n\"Out in the Earther city. Did my father make much of a fuss?\"\n\nThe First Officer shook his head. \"He kept saying you just went out to\nsee the sights, that you hadn't really jumped ship. But he kept saying\nit over and over again, as if he didn't really believe it, as if he\nwanted to convince himself you were coming back.\"\n\n\"Where is he now?\"\n\n\"In his cabin. He's off-watch for the next hour or two. I'll ring him up\nand have him come down here, I guess.\"\n\nAlan shook his head. \"No--don't do that. Tell him to meet me on B Deck.\"\nHe gave the location of the picture-viewscreen where he had parked\nSteve, and Kandin shrugged and agreed.\n\nAlan made his way back to the viewscreen. Rat looked up at him; he was\nsitting perched on Steve's shoulder.\n\n\"Anyone bother you?\" Alan asked.\n\n\"No one's come by this way since you left,\" Rat said.\n\n\"Alan?\" a quiet voice said.\n\nAlan turned. \"Hello, Dad.\"\n\nThe Captain's lean, tough face had some new lines on it; his eyes were\ndarkly shadowed, and he looked as if he hadn't slept much the night\nbefore. But he took Alan's hand and squeezed it warmly--in a fatherly\nway, not a Captainly one. Then he glanced at the sleeping form behind\nAlan.\n\n\"I--went into the city, Dad. And found Steve.\"\n\nSomething that looked like pain came into Captain Donnell's eyes, but\nonly for an instant. He smiled. \"It's strange, seeing the two of you\nlike this. So you brought back Steve, eh? We'll have to put him back on\nthe roster. Why is he asleep? He looks like he's out cold.\"\n\n\"He is. It's a long story, Dad.\"\n\n\"You'll have to explain it to me later, then--after blastoff.\"\n\nAlan shook his head. \"No, Dad. Steve can explain it when he wakes up,\ntonight. Steve can tell you lots of things. I'm going back to the city.\"\n\n\"What?\"\n\nIt was easy to say, now--the decision that had been taking vague form\nfor several hours, and which had crystallized as he trudged across the\nspacefield toward the _Valhalla_. \"I brought you back Steve, Dad. You\nstill have one son aboard ship. I want off. I'm resigning. I want to\nstay behind on Earth. By our charter you can't deny such a request.\"\n\nCaptain Donnell moistened his lips slowly. \"Agreed, I can't deny. But\nwhy, Alan?\"\n\n\"I think I can do more good Earthside. I want to look for Cavour's old\nnotebooks; I think he developed the hyperdrive, and if I stay behind on\nEarth maybe I can find it. Or else I can build my own. So long, Dad. And\ntell Steve that I wish him luck--and that he'd better do the same for\nme.\" He glanced at Rat. \"Rat, I'm deeding you to Steve. Maybe if he had\nhad you instead of me, he never would have jumped ship in the first\nplace.\"\n\nHe looked around, at his father, at Steve, at Rat. There was not much\nelse he could say. And he knew that if he prolonged the farewell scene\ntoo long, he'd only be burdening his father and himself with the weight\nof sentimental memory.\n\n\"We won't be back from Procyon for almost twenty years, Alan. You'll be\nthirty-seven before we return to Earth again.\"\n\nAlan grinned. \"I have a hunch I'll be seeing you all before then, Dad. I\nhope. Give everyone my best. So long, Dad.\"\n\n\"So long, Alan.\"\n\nHe turned away and rapidly descended the ramp. Avoiding Kelleher and the\ncargo crew, for goodbyes would take too long, he trotted smoothly over\nthe spacefield, feeling curiously lighthearted now. Part of the quest\nwas over; Steve was back on board the _Valhalla_. But Alan knew the real\nwork was just beginning. He would search for the hyperdrive; perhaps\nHawkes would help him. Maybe he would succeed in his quest this time,\ntoo. He had some further plans, in that event, but it was not time to\nthink of them now.\n\nHawkes was still standing at the edge of the field, and there was a\nthoughtful smile on his face as Alan came running up to him.\n\n\"I guess you won your bet,\" Alan said, when he had his breath back.\n\n\"I almost always do. You owe me a hundred credits--but I'll defer\ncollection.\"\n\nThey made the trip back to York City in virtual silence. Either Hawkes\nwas being too tactful to ask the reasons for Alan's decision or\nelse--this seemed more likely, Alan decided--the gambler had already\nmade some shrewd surmises, and was waiting for time to bear him out.\nHawkes had known long before Alan himself realized it that he would not\nleave with the _Valhalla_.\n\nThe Cavour Hyperdrive, that was the rainbow's end Alan would chase now.\nHe would accept Hawkes' offer, become the gambler's protege, learn a few\nthing about life. The experience would not hurt him. And always in the\nfront of his mind he would keep the ultimate goal, of finding a\nspacedrive that would propel a ship faster than the speed of light.\n\nAt the apartment in Hasbrouck, Hawkes offered him a drink. \"To celebrate\nour partnership,\" he explained.\n\nAlan accepted the drink and tossed it down. It stung, momentarily; he\nsaw sadly he was never going to make much of a drinking man. He drew\nsomething from his pocket, and Hawkes frowned.\n\n\"What's that?\"\n\n\"My Tally. Every spaceman has one. It's the only way we can keep track\nof our chronological ages when we're on board ship.\" He showed it to\nHawkes; it read _Year 17 Day 3_. \"Every twenty-four hours of subjective\ntime that goes by, we click off another day. Every three hundred\nsixty-five days another year is ticked off. But I guess I won't be\nneeding this any more.\"\n\nHe tossed it in the disposal unit. \"I'm an Earther now. Every day that\ngoes by is just one day; objective time and subjective time are equal.\"\n\nHawkes grinned cheerfully. \"A little plastic doodad to tell you how old\nyou are, eh? Well, that's all behind you now.\" He pointed to a button in\nthe wall. \"There's the operating control for your bed; I'll sleep in\nback, where I did last night. First thing tomorrow we'll get you a\ndecent set of clothes, so you can walk down the street without having\npeople yell '_Spacer!_' at you. Then I want you to meet a few\npeople--friends of mine. And then we start breaking you in at the Class\nC tables.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe first few days of life with Hawkes were exciting ones. The gambler\nbought Alan new clothing, modern stuff with self-sealing zippers and\npressure buttons, made of filmy clinging materials that were incredibly\nmore comfortable than the rough cloth of his _Valhalla_ uniform. York\nCity seemed less strange to him with each passing hour; he studied\nUndertube routes and Overshoot maps until he knew his way around the\ncity fairly well.\n\nEach night about 1800 they would eat, and then it was time to go to\nwork. Hawkes' routine brought him to three different Class A gambling\nparlors, twice each week; on the seventh day he always rested. For the\nfirst week Alan followed Hawkes around, standing behind him and\nobserving his technique. When the second week began, Alan was on his\nown, and he began to frequent Class C places near the A parlors Hawkes\nused.\n\nBut when he asked Hawkes whether he should take out a Free Status\nregistration, the gambler replied with a quick, snappish, \"Not yet.\"\n\n\"But why? I'm a professional gambler, since last week. Why shouldn't I\nregister?\"\n\n\"Because you don't need to. It's not required.\"\n\n\"But I want to. Gosh, Max, I--well, I sort of want to put my name down\non something. Just to show I belong here on Earth. I want to register.\"\n\nHawkes looked at him strangely, and it seemed to Alan there was menace\nin the calm blue eyes. In suddenly ominous tones he said, \"I don't want\nyou signing your name to anything, Alan. Or registering for Free Status.\nGot that?\"\n\n\"Yes, but----\"\n\n\"No buts! Got it?\"\n\nRepressing his anger, Alan nodded. He was used to taking orders from his\nshipboard superiors and obeying them. Hawkes probably knew best. In any\ncase, he was dependent on the older man right now, and did not want to\nanger him unnecessarily. Hawkes was wealthy; it might take money to\nbuild a hyperdrive ship, when the time came. Alan was flatly\ncold-blooded about it, and the concept surprised and amused him when he\nrealized just how single-minded he had become since resigning from the\n_Valhalla_.\n\nHe turned the single-mindedness to good use at the gaming tables first.\nDuring his initial ten days as a professional, he succeeded in losing\nseven hundred credits of Hawkes' money, even though he did manage to win\na three-hundred-credit stake one evening.\n\nBut Hawkes was not worried. \"You'll make the grade, Alan. A few more\nweeks, days maybe, while you learn the combinations, limber up your\nfingers, pick up the knack of thinking fast--you'll get there.\"\n\n\"I'm glad _you're_ so optimistic.\" Alan felt downcast. He had dropped\nthree hundred credits that evening, and it seemed to him that his\nfumbling fingers would never learn to set up the combinations fast\nenough. He was just like Steve, a born loser, without the knack the game\nrequired. \"Oh, well, it's your money.\"\n\n\"And I expect you to double it for me some day. I've got a five-to-one\nbet out now that you'll make Class B before fall.\"\n\nAlan snorted doubtfully. In order to make Class B, he would have to make\naverage winnings of two hundred credits a night for ten days running, or\nelse win three thousand credits within a month. It seemed a hopeless\ntask.\n\nBut, as usual, Hawkes won the bet. Alan's luck improved as May passed\nand June dwindled; at the beginning of July he hit a hot streak when he\nseemed to be marching up to the winner's rostrum every other round, and\nthe other Class C patrons began to grumble. The night he came home with\nsix hundred newly-won credits, Hawkes opened a drawer and took out a\nslim, sleek neutrino gun.\n\n\"You'd better carry this with you from now on,\" the gambler said.\n\n\"What for?\"\n\n\"They're starting to notice you now. I hear people talking. They know\nyou're carrying cash out of the game parlors every night.\"\n\nAlan held the cool gray weapon, whose muzzle could spit a deadly stream\nof energized neutrinos, undetectable, massless, and fatal. \"If I'm held\nup I'm supposed to use this?\"\n\n\"Just the first time,\" Hawkes said. \"If you do the job right, you won't\nneed to use it any more. There won't be any second time.\"\n\nAs it turned out, Alan had no need for the gun, but he carried it within\neasy reach whenever he left the apartment. His skill at the game\ncontinued to increase; it was, he saw, just like astrogation, and with\ngrowing confidence he learned to project his moves three and sometimes\nfour numbers ahead.\n\nOn a warm night in mid-July the proprietor of the games hall Alan\nfrequented most regularly stopped him as he entered.\n\n\"You're Donnell, aren't you?\"\n\n\"That's right. Anything wrong?\"\n\n\"Nothing much, except that I've been tallying up your take the past two\nweeks. Comes to close to three thousand credits, altogether. Which means\nyou're not welcome around this parlor any more. Nothing personal, son.\nYou'd better carry this with you next time out.\"\n\nAlan took the little card the proprietor offered him. It was made of\ngray plastic, and imprinted on it in yellow were the letters, CLASS B.\nHe had been promoted.\n\n\n\n\n_Chapter Thirteen_\n\n\nThings were not quite so easy in the Class B games parlors. Competition\nwas rough. Some of the players were, like Alan, sharp newcomers just up\nfrom the bottom of the heap; others were former Class A men who were\nsliding down again, but still did well enough to hang on in Class B.\nEvery day, some of the familiar faces were gone, as one man after\nanother failed to meet the continuing qualifications for the\nintermediary class.\n\nAlan won fairly steadily--and Hawkes, of course, was a consistent winner\non the Class A level. Alan turned his winnings over to the older man,\nwho then allowed him to draw any cash he might need without question.\n\nThe summer rolled on through August--hot and sticky, despite the best\nefforts of the local weather-adjustment bureau. The cloud-seeders\nprovided a cooling rain-shower at about 0100 every night to wash away\nthe day's grime. Alan was usually coming home at that time, and he would\nstand in the empty streets letting the rain pelt down on him, and\nenjoying it. Rain was a novelty for him; he had spent so much of his\nlife aboard the starship that he had had little experience with it. He\nwas looking forward to the coming of winter, and with it snow.\n\nHe hardly ever thought of the _Valhalla_. He disciplined himself to keep\nthoughts of the starship out of his mind, for he knew that once he began\nregretting his decision there would be no stopping. Life on Earth was\nendlessly fascinating; and he was confident that someday soon he would\nget a chance to begin tracking down the Cavour hyperdrive.\n\nHawkes taught him many things--how to wrestle, how to cheat at cards,\nhow to throw knives. None of the things Alan learned from Hawkes were\nproper parts of the education of a virtuous young man--but on Earth,\nvirtue was a negative accomplishment. You were either quick or dead. And\nuntil he had an opportunity to start work on the hyperdrive, Alan knew\nhe had better learn how to survive on Earth. Hawkes was a master of\nsurvival techniques; Alan was a good student.\n\nHe had his first test on a muggy night early in September. He had spent\nhis evening at the Lido, a flossy games parlor in the suburb of\nRidgewood, and had come away with better than seven hundred credits--the\nsecond best single night he had ever had. He felt good about things.\nHawkes was working at a parlor far across the city, and so they did not\narrange to meet when the evening was over; instead, they planned to come\nhome separately. Usually they talked for an hour or two each night\nbefore turning in, Alan reviewing his evening's work and having Hawkes\npick out the weak points in his technique and show him the mistakes he\nhad made.\n\nAlan reached Hasbrouck about 0030 that evening. There was no moon; and\nin Hasbrouck the street-lighting was not as efficient as it was in more\nrespectable areas of York City. The streets were dark. Alan was\nperspiring heavily from the humidity. But the faint hum of the\ncloud-seeders' helicopters could be heard; the evening rain was on the\nway. He decided to wait outside a while.\n\nThe first drops splashed down at 0045. Alan grinned gleefully as the\ncool rain washed away the sweat that clung to him; while pedestrians\nscurried for cover, he gloried in the downpour.\n\nDarkness lay all around. Alan heard sudden footsteps; a moment later he\nfelt sharp pressure in the small of his back and a hand gripping his\nshoulder.\n\nA quiet voice said, \"Hand over your cash and you won't get hurt.\"\n\nAlan froze just an instant. Then the months of Hawkes' training came\ninto play. He wiggled his back tentatively to see whether the knife was\npenetrating his clothing. Good; it wasn't.\n\nIn one quick motion he whirled and spun away, dancing off to the left\nand clubbing down sharply on his opponent's knife-hand. A grunted\nexclamation of pain rewarded him. He stepped back two steps; as his\nattacker advanced, Alan drove a fist into his stomach and leaped lithely\naway again. This time his hand emerged holding the neutrino gun.\n\n\"Stand where you are or I'll burn you,\" he said quietly. The\nshadow-shrouded attacker made no move. Cautiously Alan kicked the fallen\nknife out of his reach without lowering his gun.\n\n\"Okay,\" Alan said. \"Come on over here in the light where I can see who\nyou are. I want to remember you.\"\n\nBut to his astonishment he felt strong arms slipping around his and\npinioning him; a quick twist and his neutrino gun dropped from his\nnumbed hands. The arms locked behind his back in an unbreakable full\nnelson.\n\nAlan writhed, but it was no use. The hidden accomplice held him tightly.\nAnd now the other man came forward and efficiently went through his\npockets. Alan felt more angry than afraid, but he wished Hawkes or\nsomeone else would come along before this thing went too far.\n\nSuddenly Alan felt the pressure behind his neck easing up. His captor\nwas releasing him. He poised, debating whether or not to whirl and\nattack, when a familiar voice said, \"Rule Number One: never leave your\nback unguarded for more than half a second when you're being held up.\nYou see what happens.\"\n\nAlan was too stunned to reply for several moments. In a whisper he said\nfinally, \"Max?\"\n\n\"Of course. And lucky for you I'm who I am, too. John, step out here in\nthe light where he can see you. Alan, meet John Byng. Free Status, Class\nB.\"\n\nThe man who had originally attacked him came forward now, into the light\nof the street-glow. He was shorter than Alan, with a lean, almost\nfleshless face and a scraggly reddish-brown beard. He looked cadaverous.\nHis eyeballs were stained a peculiar yellowish tinge.\n\nAlan recognized him--a Class B man he had seen several times at various\nparlors. It was not a face one forgot easily.\n\nByng handed over the thick stack of bills he had taken from Alan. As he\npocketed them, Alan said in some annoyance, \"A very funny prank, Max.\nBut suppose I had burned your friend's belly, or he had stabbed me?\"\n\nHawkes chuckled. \"One of the risks of the game, I guess. But I know you\ntoo well to think that you'd burn down an unarmed man, and John didn't\nintend to stab you. Besides, I was right here.\"\n\n\"And what was the point of this little demonstration?\"\n\n\"Part of your education, m'boy. I was hoping you'd be held up by one of\nthe local gangs, but they didn't oblige, so I had to do it myself. With\nJohn's help, of course. Next time remember that there may be an\naccomplice hiding in the shadows, and that you're not safe just because\nyou've caught one man.\"\n\nAlan grinned. \"Good point. And I guess this is the best way to learn\nit.\"\n\nThe three of them went upstairs. Byng excused himself and vanished into\nthe extra room almost immediately; Hawkes whispered to Alan, \"Johnny's a\ndreamduster--a narcosephrine addict. In the early stages; you can spot\nit by the yellowing of the eyeballs. Later on it'll cripple him, but he\ndoesn't worry about later on.\"\n\nAlan studied the small, lean man when he returned. Byng was smiling--a\nstrange unworldly smile. He held a small plastic capsule in his right\nhand.\n\n\"Here's another facet of your education,\" he said. He looked at Hawkes.\n\"Is it okay?\"\n\nHawkes nodded.\n\nByng said, \"Take a squint at this capsule, boy. It's\ndreamdust--narcosephrine. That's my kick.\"\n\nHe tossed the capsule nonchalantly to Alan, who caught it and held it at\narm's distance as if it were a live viper. It contained a yellow powder.\n\n\"You twist the cap and sniff a little,\" Hawkes said. \"But don't try it\nunless you hate yourself real bad. Johnny can testify to that.\"\n\nAlan frowned. \"What does the stuff do?\"\n\n\"It's a stimulant--a nerve-stimulant. Enhances perception. It's made\nfrom a weed that grows only in dry, arid places--comes from Epsilon\nEridani IV originally, but the galaxy's biggest plantation is in the\nSahara. It's habit-forming--and expensive.\"\n\n\"How much of it do you have to take to--to get the habit?\"\n\nByng's thin lips curled in a cynical scowl. \"One sniff. And the drug\ntakes all your worries away. You're nine feet tall and the world's your\nplaything, when you're up on dream dust. Everything you look at has six\ndifferent colors.\" Bitterly Byng said, \"Just one catch--after about a\nyear you stop feeling the effect. But not the craving. That stays with\nyou forever. Every night, one good sniff--at a hundred credits a sniff.\nAnd there's no cure.\"\n\nAlan shuddered. He had seen dreamdust addicts in the advanced\nstate--withered palsied old men of forty, unable to eat, crippled,\ndrying up and nearing death. All that for a year's pleasure!\n\n\"Johnny used to be a starman,\" Hawkes said suddenly. \"That's why I\npicked him for our little stunt tonight. I thought it was about time I\nintroduced you two.\"\n\nAlan's eyes widened. \"What ship?\"\n\n\"_Galactic Queen._ A dreamdust peddler came wandering through the\nEnclave one night and let me have a free sniff. Generous of him.\"\n\n\"And you--became an addict?\"\n\n\"Five minutes later. So my ship left without me. That was eleven years\nago, Earthtime. Figure it out--a hundred credits a night for eleven\nyears.\"\n\nAlan felt cold inside. It could have happened to him, he thought--that\nfree sniff. Byng's thin shoulders were quivering. The advanced stage of\naddiction was starting to set in.\n\nByng was only the first of Hawkes' many friends that Alan met in the\nnext two weeks. Hawkes was the center of a large group of men in Free\nStatus, not all of whom knew each other but who all knew Hawkes. Alan\nfelt a sort of pride in being the protege of such an important and\nwidely-known man as Max Hawkes, until he started discovering what sort\nof people Hawkes' friends were.\n\nThere was Lorne Hollis, the loansman--one of the men Steve had borrowed\nfrom. Hollis was a chubby, almost greasy individual with flat milky gray\neyes and a cold, chilling smile. Alan shook hands with him, and then\nfelt like wiping off his hand. Hollis came to see them often.\n\nAnother frequent visitor was Mike Kovak of the Bryson Syndicate--a\nsharp-looking businessman type in ultra-modern suits, who spoke clearly\nand well and whose specialty was forgery. There was Al Webber, an\namiable, soft-spoken little man who owned a fleet of small ion-drive\ncargo ships that plied the spacelines between Earth and Mars, and who\nalso exported dreamdust to the colony on Pluto, where the weed could not\nbe grown.\n\nSeven or eight others showed up occasionally at Hawkes' apartment. Alan\nwas introduced to them all, and then generally dropped out of the\nconversation, which usually consisted of reminiscences and gossip about\npeople he did not know.\n\nBut as the days passed, one thing became evident: Hawkes might not be a\ncriminal himself, but certainly most of his friends operated on the far\nside of the law. Hawkes had seen to it that they stayed away from the\napartment during the first few months of Alan's Earther education; but\nnow that the ex-starman was an accomplished gambler and fairly well\nskilled in self-defense, all of Hawkes' old friends were returning once\nagain.\n\nDay by day Alan increasingly realized how innocent and childlike a\nstarman's life was. The _Valhalla_ was a placid little world of 176\npeople, bound together by so many ties that there was rarely any\nconflict. Here on Earth, though, life was tough and hard.\n\nHe was lucky. He had stumbled into Hawkes early in his wanderings. With\na little less luck he might have had the same sort of life Steve had\nhad ... or John Byng. It was not fun to think about that.\n\nUsually when Hawkes had friends visiting him late at night, Alan would\nsit up for a while listening, and then excuse himself and get some\nsleep. As he lay in bed he could hear low whispering, and once he woke\ntoward morning and heard the conversation still going on. He strained\nhis ears, but did not pick up anything.\n\nOne night early in October he had come home from the games parlor and,\nfinding nobody home, had gone immediately to sleep. Some time later he\nheard Hawkes and his friends come in, but he was too tired to get out of\nbed and greet them. He rolled over and went back to sleep.\n\nBut later that night he felt hands touching him, and he opened an eye to\nsee Hawkes bending over him.\n\n\"It's me--Max. Are you awake?\"\n\n\"No,\" Alan muttered indistinctly.\n\nHawkes shook him several times. \"Come on--get up and put some clothes\non. Some people here who want to talk to you.\"\n\nOnly half comprehending, Alan clambered unwillingly from bed, dressed,\nand splashed cold water in his face. He followed Hawkes back inside.\n\nThe living room was crowded. Seven or eight men were there--the ones\nAlan thought of as the inner circle of Hawkes' cronies. Johnny Byng,\nMike Kovak, Al Webber, Lorne Hollis, and some others. Sleepily Alan\nnodded at them and took a seat, wondering why Hawkes had dragged him out\nof bed for this.\n\nHawkes looked at him sharply. \"Alan, you know all these people, don't\nyou?\"\n\nAlan nodded. He was still irritated at Hawkes; he had been sound asleep.\n\n\"You're now facing ninety per cent of what we've come to call the Hawkes\nSyndicate,\" Hawkes went on. \"These eight gentlemen and myself have\nformed the organization recently for a certain specific purpose. More of\nthat in a few minutes. What I got you out here to tell you was that\nthere's room in our organization for one more man, and that you fit the\nnecessary qualifications.\"\n\n\"Me?\"\n\nHawkes smiled. \"You. We've all been watching you since you came to live\nwith me, testing you, studying you. You're adaptable, strong,\nintelligent. You learn fast. We had a little vote tonight, and decided\nto invite you in.\"\n\nAlan wondered if he were still asleep or not. What was all this talk of\nsyndicates? He looked round the circle, and realized that this bunch\ncould be up to no good.\n\nHawkes said, \"Tell him about it, Johnny.\"\n\nByng leaned forward and blinked his drug-stained eyes. In a quiet voice,\nalmost a purr, he said, \"It's really very simple. We're going to stage a\ngood old-fashioned hold-up. It's a proposition that'll net us each about\na million credits, even with the ten-way split. It ought to go off\npretty easy but we need you in on it. As a matter of fact, I'd say you\nwere indispensable to the project, Alan.\"\n\n\n\n\n_Chapter Fourteen_\n\n\nHawkes took over, explaining the proposition to a now very much awake\nAlan.\n\n\"There's going to be a currency transfer at the World Reserve Bank\ndowntown next Friday. At least ten million credits are going to be\npicked up by an armored truck and taken to branch banks for\ndistribution.\n\n\"Hollis, here, happens to have found out the wave-patterns of the\nroboguards who'll be protecting the currency shipment. And Al Webber has\nsome equipment that can paralyze roboguards if we know their operational\nwavelength. So it's a simple matter to leave the car unprotected; we\nwait till it's loaded, then blank out the robots, seize the human\nguards, and drive away with the truck.\"\n\nAlan frowned thoughtfully. \"Why am _I_ so indispensable to this\nbusiness?\" He had no desire to rob banks or anything else.\n\n\"Because you're the only one of us who isn't registered on the central\ndirectory. You don't have any televector number. You can't be traced.\"\n\nSuddenly Alan understood. \"So _that's_ why you didn't let me register!\nYou've been grooming me for this all along!\"\n\nHawkes nodded. \"As far as Earth is concerned, you don't exist. If any of\nus drove off with that truck, all they need to do is plot the truck's\ncoordinates and follow the televector patterns of the man who's driving\nit. Capture is inevitable that way. But if _you're_ aboard the truck,\nthere's no possible way of tracing your route. Get it?\"\n\n\"I get it,\" Alan said slowly. _But I don't like it_, he added silently.\n\"I want to think about the deal a little longer, though. Let me sleep on\nit. I'll tell you tomorrow whether I'll go through with it.\"\n\nPuzzled expressions appeared on the faces of Hawkes' eight guests, and\nWebber started to say something, but Hawkes hastily cut him off. \"The\nboy's a little sleepy, that's all. He needs time to get used to the idea\nof being a millionaire. I'll call each of you in the morning, okay?\"\n\nThe eight were shepherded out of the apartment rapidly, and when they\nwere gone Hawkes turned to face Alan. Gone now was the bland\nfriendliness, gone the warm-hearted brotherliness of the older man. His\nlean face was cold and businesslike now, and his voice was harsh as he\nsaid, \"What's this talk of thinking it over? Who said you had any choice\nabout this thing?\"\n\n\"Don't I have any say in my own life?\" Alan asked hotly. \"Suppose I\ndon't want to be a bank robber? You didn't tell me----\"\n\n\"I didn't need to. Listen, boy--I didn't bring you in here for my\nhealth. I brought you in because I saw you had the potential for this\njob. I've coddled you along for more than three months, now. Given you a\nvaluable education in how to get along on this planet. Now I'm asking\nyou to pay me back, a little. Byng told the truth: you're indispensable\nto this project. Your personal feelings are irrelevant just now.\"\n\n\"Who says?\"\n\n\"I do.\"\n\nAlan stared coldly at Hawkes' transformed face. \"Max, I didn't bargain\nfor a share in your bank-robbing syndicate. I don't want any part of it.\nLet's call it quits right now. I've turned over quite a few thousand\ncredits of my winnings to you. Give me five hundred and keep the rest.\nIt's your pay for my room and board and instruction the last three\nmonths. You go your way, I'll go mine.\"\n\nHawkes laughed sharply. \"Just as simple as that? I pocket your winnings\nand you walk out of here? How dumb do you think I am? You know the names\nof the syndicate, you know the plans, you know everything. A lot of\npeople would pay big money for an advance tip on this bit.\" He shook his\nhead. \"I'll go my way and you'll go it too, Alan. Or else. You know what\nthat _or else_ means.\"\n\nAngrily Alan said, \"You'd kill me, too, if I backed down now. Friendship\ndoesn't mean a thing to you. 'Help us rob this bank, or else.'\"\n\nHawkes' expression changed again; he smiled warmly, and when he spoke\nhis voice was almost wheedling. \"Listen, Alan, we've been planning this\nthing for months. I put down seven thousand to clear your brother, just\nso I'd be sure of getting your cooperation. I tell you there's no\ndanger. I didn't mean to threaten you--but try to see my side of it. You\n_have_ to help out!\"\n\nAlan looked at him curiously. \"How come you're so hot to rob the bank,\nMax? You earn a fortune every night. You don't need a million more\ncredits.\"\n\n\"No. I don't. But some of them do. Johnny Byng does; and Kovak, too--he\nowes Bryson thirty thousand. But I organized the scheme.\" Hawkes was\npleading now. \"Alan, I'm bored. Deadly bored. Gambling isn't gambling\nfor me; I'm too good. I never lose except when I want to. So I need to\nget my kicks someplace else. This is it. But it won't come off without\nyou.\"\n\nThey were silent for a moment. Alan realized that Hawkes and his group\nwere desperate men; they would never let him live if he refused to\ncooperate. He had no choice at all. It was disillusioning to discover\nthat Hawkes had taken him in mostly because he would be useful in a\nrobbery.\n\nHe tried to tell himself that this was a jungle world where morality\ndidn't matter, and that the million credits he'd gain would help finance\nhyperdrive research. But those were thin arguments that held no\nconviction. There was no justification for what he was going to do. None\nwhatsoever.\n\nBut Hawkes held him in a cleft stick. There was no way out. He had\nfallen among thieves--and, willy-nilly, he would be forced to become one\nhimself.\n\n\"All right,\" he said bitterly. \"I'll drive the getaway truck for you.\nBut after it's over, I'll take my share and get out. I won't want to see\nyou again.\"\n\nHawkes seemed to look hurt, but he masked the emotion quickly enough.\n\"That's up to you, Alan. But I'm glad you gave in. It would have been\nrough on both of us otherwise. Suppose we get some sleep.\"\n\nAlan slept poorly during what was left of the night. He kept mulling the\nsame thoughts round and round endlessly in his head, until he wished he\ncould unhinge the front of his skull and let the thoughts somehow\nescape.\n\nIt irritated him to know that Hawkes had taken him in primarily because\nhe fit the qualifications for a plan concocted long before, and not for\nhis own sake. All the intensive training the gambler had given him had\nbeen directed not merely toward toughening Alan but toward preparing him\nfor the role he would play in the projected robbery.\n\nHe felt unhappy about the robbery too. The fact that he was being\ncoerced into taking part made him no less a criminal, and that went\nagainst all his long-ingrained codes of ethics. He would be just as\nguilty as Hawkes or Webber, and there was no way out.\n\nThere was no sense brooding over it, he decided finally. When it was all\nover he would have enough money to begin aiming for his real goal,\ndevelopment of a workable hyperspace drive. He would break completely\nwith Hawkes, move to some other city perhaps. If his quest were\nsuccessful, it would in some measure be an atonement for the crime he\nwas going to commit. Only in some measure, though.\n\nThe week passed slowly, and Alan did poorly at his nightly work. His\nmind was anywhere but on the flashing games board, and the permutations\nand combinations eluded him. He lost, though not heavily.\n\nEach night the ten members of the Syndicate met at Hawkes' apartment and\nplanned each step of the crime in great detail, drilling and re-drilling\nuntil it was second nature for each man to recite his particular part in\nthe robbery. Alan's was at once the simplest and most difficult; he\nwould have nothing to do until the others had finished their parts, but\nthen he would have to board the armored car and outrace any pursuers. He\nwas to drive the car far outside city limits, where he would be met and\nrelieved of the cash by Byng and Hollis; then he was to lose the truck\nsomewhere and return to the city by public transit.\n\nThe day of the robbery dawned cold and clear; an autumn chill was in the\nair. Alan felt some anticipatory nervousness, but he was calmer than he\nexpected to be--almost fatalistically calm. By nightfall, he would be a\nwanted criminal. He wondered whether it would be worth it, even for the\nmillion credits. Perhaps it would be best to defy Hawkes and make some\nsort of escape try.\n\nBut Hawkes, as always a shrewd judge of human character, seemed\nobviously aware that Alan was wavering. He kept a close watch over him,\nnever allowing him to stray. Hawkes was taking no chances. He was\ncompelling Alan to take part in the robbery.\n\nThe currency transfer was scheduled to take place at 1240, according to\nthe inside information that Hollis had somehow obtained. Shortly after\nnoon, Hawkes and Alan left the apartment and boarded the Undertube,\ntheir destination the downtown section of York City where the World\nReserve Bank was located.\n\nThey reached the bank about 1230. The armored truck was parked outside,\nlooking sleek and impregnable, and four massive roboguards stood watch,\none by each wheel. There were three human policemen too, but they were\nstrictly for effect; in case of any trouble, the roboguards were\nexpected to handle the rough work.\n\nThe bank was a mighty edifice indeed--over a hundred stories high,\nrising in sweeping setbacks to a point where its tapering top was lost\nin the shimmering noonday sky. It was, Alan knew, the center of global\ncommerce.\n\nArmed guards were bringing packages of currency from within the bank and\nwere placing them on the truck. Alan's heart raced. The streets were\ncrowded with office workers out for lunch; could he get away with it?\n\nIt was all precisely synchronized. As Hawkes and Alan strolled toward\nthe bank, Alan caught sight of Kovak lounging across the street, reading\na telefax sheet. None of the others were visible.\n\nWebber, Alan knew, was at this moment sitting in an office overlooking\nthe bank entrance, staring out the window at the scene below. At\nprecisely 1240, Webber was to throw the switch on the wave-damper that\nwould paralyze the four roboguards.\n\nThe instant the roboguards froze, the other conspirators would go into\naction. Jensen, McGuire, Freeman, and Smith, donning masks, would leap\nfor the three human guards of the truck and pin them to the ground. Byng\nand Hawkes, who would enter the bank a moment before, would stage an\nimpromptu fist-fight with each other just inside the main entrance,\nthereby creating confusion and making it difficult for reinforcement\nguards to get past them and into the street.\n\nJust outside the door, Hollis and Kovak would lurk. As the quartet\npounced on the truck's guards, they would sprint across and yank the\ndriver out of the cab. Then Alan would enter quickly from the other side\nand drive off, while the remaining nine would vanish into the crowd in\nas many different directions as possible. Byng and Hollis, if they got\naway, would head for the rendezvous to meet Alan and take the cash from\nhim.\n\nIf it went off properly the whole thing should take less than fifteen\nseconds, from the time Webber threw the switch to the time Alan drove\naway with the truck. If it went off properly.\n\nThe seconds crawled by. The time was 1235, now. At 1237 Hawkes and Byng\nsauntered into the bank from opposite directions. Three minutes to go.\nAlan's false calm deserted him; he pictured all sorts of possible\ncalamities.\n\n1238. Everyone's watch was synchronized to the second.\n\n1239. 1239:30.\n\nThirty seconds to go. Alan took his position in a crowd of bystanders,\nas prearranged. Fifteen seconds to go. Ten. Five.\n\n1240. The roboguards were in the act of directing the locking of the\ntruck; the loading had been carried out precisely on schedule. The truck\nwas shut and sealed.\n\nThe roboguards froze.\n\nWebber had been right on time. Alan tensed, caught up in the excitement\nof the moment and thinking now only of the part he was to play.\n\nThe three policemen glanced at each other in some confusion. Jensen and\nMcGuire came leaping out at them----\n\nAnd the roboguards returned to life.\n\nThe sound of blaster shots was heard within the bank; Alan whirled,\nstartled. Four guards came racing out of the building, blasters drawn.\nWhat had happened to Hawkes and Byng--why weren't they obstructing the\nentrance, as it had been arranged?\n\nThe street was a scene of wild confusion now; people milled everywhere.\nAlan saw Jensen writhing in the steel grip of a roboguard. Had Webber's\ndevice failed? Evidently so.\n\nAlan was unable to move. He saw Freeman and McGuire streaking wildly\ndown the street with police in keen pursuit. Hollis stood staring dumbly\ninside the bank door. Alan saw Kovak come running toward him.\n\n\"Everything's gone wrong!\" Kovak whispered harshly. \"The cops were\nwaiting for us! Byng and Hawkes are dead. Come on--run, if you want to\nsave yourself!\"\n\n\n\n\n_Chapter Fifteen_\n\n\nAlan sat very quietly in the empty apartment that had once belonged to\nMax Hawkes, and stared at nothing in particular. It was five hours since\nthe abortive robbery. He was alone.\n\nThe news had been blared out over every form of communication there was;\nhe knew the story by heart. A daring robbery had been attempted, but\npolice detection methods had yielded advance warning, and the robbers\nhad been frustrated. The roboguards had been specially equipped ones\nwhich could shift to an alternate wavelength in case of emergency; they\nhad blanked out only momentarily. And special guards had been posted\nwithin the bank, ready to charge out. Byng and Hawkes had tried to block\nthe doorway and they had been shot down. Hawkes was killed instantly;\nByng died an hour later in the hospital.\n\nAt least two other members of the gang had been apprehended--Jensen and\nSmith, both trapped by the roboguards. It was known that at least two\nother men and possibly more had participated in the attempt, and these\nwere being traced now.\n\nAlan was not worried. He had not been within a hundred feet of the\ncrime, and it had been easy for him to slip away unnoticed. The others\nhad had little difficulty either--Webber, Hollis, Kovak, McGuire, and\nFreeman. There was a chance that Hollis or Kovak had been recognized; in\nthat case, they could be tracked down by televector. But Alan was not\nregistered on the televector screens--and there was no other way of\nlinking him with the crime.\n\nHe glanced around the apartment at Hawkes' bar and his audio system and\nall the dead man's other things. Yesterday, Alan thought, Hawkes had\nbeen here, alive, eyes sparkling as he outlined the plans for the\nrobbery a final time. Now he was dead. It was hard to believe that such\na many-sided person could have been snuffed out so soon, so quickly.\n\nA thought occurred. The police would be investigating the disposition of\nHawkes' property; they would want to know the relationship between\nHawkes and Alan, and perhaps there would be questions asked about the\nrobbery. Alan decided to forestall that.\n\nHe reached for the phone. He would call Security, tell them he had been\nliving with Hawkes and had heard of the gambler's sudden violent death,\nand in all innocence ask for details. He would----\n\nThe door-announcer chimed.\n\nAlan whirled and put down the receiver. Reaching out, he flicked on the\ndoorscreen and was shown a view of a distinguished-looking middle-aged\nman in the silver-gray uniform of the police. _So soon?_ Alan thought.\n_I didn't even get a chance to call----_\n\n\"Who is it?\" he asked, in a surprisingly even voice.\n\n\"Inspector Gainer of Global Security.\"\n\nAlan opened the door. Inspector Gainer smiled warmly, walked in, took\nthe seat Alan offered him. Alan felt tense and jumpy, and hoped not too\nmuch of it showed.\n\nThe Security man said, \"Your name is Alan Donnell, isn't it? And you're\na Free Status man, unregistered, employed as a professional gamesman\nClass B?\"\n\nAlan nodded. \"That's right, sir.\"\n\nGainer checked a notation on a pad he carried. \"I suppose you've heard\nthat the man who lived here--Max Hawkes--was killed in an attempted\nrobbery this morning.\"\n\n\"Y-yes, sir. I heard it a little while ago, on the newscasts. I'm still\na little shaken up. W-would you care for a drink, Inspector?\"\n\n\"Not on duty, thanks,\" Gainer said cheerfully. \"Tell me, Alan--how long\ndid you know Max Hawkes?\"\n\n\"Since last May. I'm an ex-starman. I--jumped ship. Max found me\nwandering around the city and took me in. But I never knew anything\nabout any robberies, Inspector. Max kept his mouth pretty well sealed\nmost of the time. When he left here this morning, he said he was going\nto the bank to make a deposit. I never thought----\"\n\nHe stopped, wondering whether he sounded convincing. At that moment a\nlong jail sentence or worse seemed inevitable. And the worst part of it\nwas that he had not wanted to take part in the robbery, indeed _had_ not\ntaken part--but in the eyes of the law he was undoubtedly as guilty as\nany of the others.\n\nGainer raised one hand. \"Don't misunderstand, son. I'm not here as a\ncriminal investigator. We don't suspect you had any part in the\nattempt.\"\n\n\"Then why----\"\n\nHe drew an envelope from his breast pocket and unfolded the papers it\ncontained. \"I knew Max pretty well,\" he said. \"About a week ago he came\nto see me and gave me a sealed envelope which was to be opened only in\nthe event of his death on this particular day, and to be destroyed\nunopened otherwise. I opened it a few hours ago. I think you ought to\nread it.\"\n\nWith trembling fingers Alan took the sheaf of papers and scanned them.\nThey were neatly typed; Alan recognized the blocky purple characters of\nthe voicewrite Hawkes kept in his room.\n\nHe started to read.\n\nThe document explained that Hawkes was planning a bank robbery to take\nplace on Friday, October 3, 3876. He named none of his accomplices. He\nwent on to state that one Alan Donnell, an unregistered ex-starman, was\nliving with him, and that this Alan Donnell had no knowledge whatsoever\nof the intended bank robbery.\n\n_Furthermore_, Hawkes added, _in the event of my death in the intended\nrobbery, Alan Donnell is to be sole heir and assign of my worldly goods.\nThis supersedes and replaces any and all wills and testaments I may have\nmade at any past time._\n\nAppended was a schedule of the properties Hawkes was leaving behind.\nAccounts in various savings banks totalled some three quarters of a\nmillion credits; besides that, there were scattered investments, real\nestate holdings, bonds. The total estate, Hawkes estimated, was worth\nslightly over one million credits.\n\nWhen Alan finished, he looked up startled and white-faced at the older\nman. \"All of this is mine?\"\n\n\"You're a pretty rich young man,\" Gainer agreed. \"Of course, there are\nformalities--the will has to be probated and contested, and you can\nexpect it to be contested by somebody. If you still have the full estate\nwhen the courts get through with you, you'll be all right.\"\n\nAlan shook his head uncomprehendingly. \"The way he wrote this--it's as\nif he _knew_.\"\n\n\"Max Hawkes always knew,\" Gainer said gently. \"He was the best hunch-man\nI've ever seen. It was almost as if he could look a couple of days into\nthe future all the time. Sure, he knew. And he also knew it was safe to\nleave this document with me--that he could trust me not to open it.\nImagine, announcing a week ahead of time that you're going to rob a bank\nand then turning the announcement over sealed to a police officer!\"\n\nAlan started. The police had known about the robbery in advance--that\nwas how Max and the dreamduster Byng had been killed. Had Gainer been\nthe one who had betrayed them? Had he opened the sealed envelope ahead\nof time, and sent Max to his death?\n\nNo. It was inconceivable that this soft-spoken man would have done such\na thing. Alan banished the thought.\n\n\"Max knew he was going to be killed,\" he said. \"And yet he went ahead\nwith it. Why?\"\n\n\"Maybe he wanted to die,\" Gainer suggested. \"Maybe he was bored with\nlife, bored with always winning, bored with things as they were. The man\nwas never born who could figure out Max Hawkes, anyway. You must have\nfound that out yourself.\"\n\nGainer rose. \"I'll have to be moving along, now. But let me give you\nsome suggestions, first.\"\n\n\"Sir?\"\n\n\"Go downtown and get yourself registered in Free Status. Have them give\nyou a televector number. You're going to be an important person when you\nget all that money. And be very careful about who your friends are. Max\ncould take care of himself; you may not be so lucky, son.\"\n\n\"Is there going to be an investigation of the robbery?\" Alan asked.\n\n\"It's under way already. You may be called down for questioning, but\ndon't let it worry you. I turned a copy of Max's will over to them\ntoday, and that exonerates you completely.\"\n\nIt was strangely empty in the apartment that night; Alan wished Gainer\nhad stayed longer. He walked through the dark rooms, half expecting Max\nto come home. But Max wasn't coming home.\n\nAlan realized he had been tremendously fond of Hawkes. He had never\nreally shown it; he had never demonstrated much warmth toward the\ngambler, especially in the final days when they both lived under the\npressure of the planned robbery. But Alan knew he owed much to Hawkes,\nrogue and rascal though he was. Hawkes had been basically a good man,\ngifted--_too_ gifted, perhaps--whose drives and passions led him beyond\nthe bounds of society. And at thirty-five he was dead, having known in\nadvance that his last day was at hand.\n\nThe next few days were busy ones. Alan was called to Security\nheadquarters for questioning, but he insisted he knew nothing about the\nrobbery or Hawkes' friends, and the document Hawkes had left seemed to\nbear him out. He was cleared of all complicity in the robbery.\n\nHe next went to the Central Directory Matrix and registered in Free\nStatus. He was given a televector transmitter--it was surgically\nembedded in the fleshy part of his thigh--and he accepted a drink from\nfat old Hines MacIntosh in remembrance of Hawkes.\n\nHe spoke briefly with MacIntosh about the process of collecting on\nHawkes' estate, and learned it was a complex process, but nothing to be\nfrightened of. The will was being sent through channels now.\n\nHe met Hollis in the street several days later. The bloated loansman\nlooked pale and harried; he had lost weight, and his skin hung flabbily\nover his bones now. Little as Alan liked the loansman, he insisted on\ntaking him to a local restaurant for lunch.\n\n\"How come you're still hanging around York City?\" Alan asked. \"I thought\nthe heat was on for any of Max's old buddies.\"\n\n\"It is,\" Hollis said, wiping sweat from his white shiny forehead. \"But\nso far I'm in the clear. There won't be much of an investigation; they\nkilled two and caught two, and that'll keep them happy. After all, the\nrobbery was a failure.\"\n\n\"Any notion why it failed?\"\n\nHollis nodded. \"Sure I have a notion! It was Kovak who tipped them off.\"\n\n\"Mike?--but he looked okay to me.\"\n\n\"And to everybody. But he owed Bryson a lot, and Bryson was anxious to\ndispose of Max. So Kovak turned the plans of the robbery over to\nBryson's boys in exchange for a quitclaim on the money he owed, and\nBryson just forwarded it all on to the police. They were waiting for us\nwhen we showed up.\"\n\nThat cleared Gainer, Alan thought in some relief. \"How did you find all\nthis out?\"\n\n\"Bryson himself told me.\"\n\n\"What!\"\n\n\"I guess he didn't know exactly who besides Max was in on the deal.\nAnyway, he certainly didn't know I was part of the group,\" Hollis said.\n\"Old man Bryson was laying off some bets with me and he let something\nslip about how he tipped the police to Max. Then he told me the whole\nthing.\"\n\n\"And Kovak?\"\n\n\"Dead,\" Hollis said bluntly. \"Bryson must have figured that if he'd sell\nMax out he'd sell anybody out, so Kovak got taken care of. He was found\nyesterday. Heart failure, the report said. Bryson has some good drugs.\nSay, kid--any word yet on what's going to happen to all Max's dough?\"\n\nAlan thought a moment before replying. \"I haven't heard a thing. I guess\nthe government inherits it.\"\n\n\"That would be too bad,\" Hollis said speculatively. \"Max was well\nloaded. I'd like to get my hands into some of that dough myself. So\nwould Bryson and his bunch, I'll bet.\"\n\nAlan said nothing. When he was through eating, he paid the check and\nthey left, Hollis heading north, Alan south. In three days, Hawkes' will\nwould go through the courts. Alan wondered if Bryson, who seemed to be\nYork City's major criminal syndic man, would try to angle some share of\nMax's money.\n\nA Bryson man did show up at the hearing--a slick-looking operator named\nBerwin. His claim was that Hawkes had been affiliated with Bryson a\nnumber of years ago, and that Hawkes' money should revert to Bryson by\nvirtue of an obscure law of the last century involving the estates of\nprofessional gamblers killed in criminal actions.\n\nThe robocomputer who was in charge of the hearing pondered the request a\nfew moments; then relays clicked and the left-hand panel on the computer\nface lit up with a bright red APPLICATION DENIED signal.\n\nBerwin spoke for three minutes, ending up with a request that the\nrobocomputer disqualify itself from the hearing and allow itself to be\nreplaced by a human judge.\n\nThe computer's decision was even quicker this time. APPLICATION DENIED.\n\nBerwin tossed Alan's side of the courtroom a black look and yielded\nground. Alan had engaged a lawyer recommended once by Hawkes, a man\nnamed Jesperson. Briefly and concisely Jesperson cited Alan's claim to\nthe money, read the terms of the will, and stepped back.\n\nThe computer considered Jesperson's plea a few moments, reviewing the\nbrief which the lawyer had taped and fed to the computer earlier. Time\npassed. Then the green panel lit, and the words, APPLICATION GRANTED.\n\nAlan smiled. Bryson had been defeated; Max's money was his. Money that\ncould be turned toward intensified research on the hyperdrive.\n\n\"Well, son?\" Jesperson asked. \"How does it feel to be a millionaire?\"\n\n\n\n\n_Chapter Sixteen_\n\n\nAt the time, he had been much too excited and flustered to answer\nanything. But, as the next twelve months went by, he learned that being\na millionaire was quite pleasant indeed.\n\nThere were headaches, of course. There was the initial headache of\nsigning his name several hundred times in the course of the transfer of\nHawkes' wealth to him. There were also the frequent visits from the\ntax-collectors, and the payment to them of a sum that staggered Alan to\nthink about, in the name of Rotation Tax.\n\nBut even after taxes, legal fees, and other expenses, Alan found he\nowned better than nine hundred thousand credits, and the estate grew by\ninvestment every day. The court appointed a legal guardian for him, the\nlawyer Jesperson, who was to administer Alan's money until Alan reached\nthe biological age of twenty-one. The decision was an involved one,\nsince Alan had undeniably been born three hundred years earlier, in\n3576--but the robojudge that presided over that particular hearing\ncited a precedent seven hundred years old which stated that for legal\npurposes a starman's biological and not his chronological age was to be\naccepted.\n\nThe guardianship posed no problems for Alan, though. When he met with\nJesperson to discuss future plans, the lawyer told him, \"You can handle\nyourself, Alan. I'll give you free rein with the estate--with the\nproviso that I have veto power over any of your expenditures until your\ntwenty-first birthday.\"\n\nThat sounded fair enough. Alan had reason to trust the lawyer; hadn't\nHawkes recommended him? \"I'll agree to that,\" Alan said. \"Suppose we\nstart right now. I'd like to take a year and travel around the world. As\nmy legal guardian you'll be stuck with the job of managing my estate and\nhandling investments for me.\"\n\nJesperson chuckled. \"You'll be twice as wealthy when you get back!\nNothing makes money so fast as money.\"\n\nAlan left the first week in December, having spent three weeks doing\nvirtually nothing but sketching out his itinerary. There were plenty of\nplaces he intended to visit.\n\nThere was London, where James Hudson Cavour had lived and where his\nhyperdrive research had been carried out. There was the Lexman Institute\nof Space Travel in Zurich, where an extensive library of space\nliterature had been accumulated; it was possible that hidden away in\ntheir files was some stray notebook of Cavour's, some clue that would\ngive Alan a lead. He wanted to visit the area in Siberia that Cavour had\nused as his testing-ground, and from which the last bulletin had come\nfrom the scientist before his unexplained disappearance.\n\nBut it was not only a business trip. Alan had lived nearly half a year\nin the squalor of Hasbrouck--and because of his Free Status he would\nnever be able to move into a better district, despite his wealth. But he\nwanted to see the rest of Earth. He wanted to travel just for the sake\nof travel.\n\nBefore he left, he visited a rare book dealer in York City, and for an\nexorbitant fifty credits purchased a fifth-edition copy of _An\nInvestigation into the Possibility of Faster-than-Light Space Travel_,\nby James H. Cavour. He had left his copy of the work aboard the\n_Valhalla_, along with the few personal possessions he had managed to\naccumulate during his life as a starman.\n\nThe book dealer had frowned when Alan asked for the volume under the\ntitle he knew. \"_The Cavour Theory_? I don't think--ah, wait.\" He\nvanished for perhaps five minutes and returned with an old, fragile,\nalmost impossibly delicate-looking book. Alan took it and scanned the\nopening page. There were the words he had read so many times: \"The\npresent system of interstellar travel is so grossly inefficient as to be\nvirtually inoperable on an absolute level.\"\n\n\"Yes, that's the book. I'll take it.\"\n\nHis first stop on his round-the-globe jaunt was London, where Cavour had\nbeen born and educated more than thirteen centuries before. The\nstratoliner made the trip across the Atlantic in a little less than\nthree hours; it took half an hour more by Overshoot from the airport to\nthe heart of London.\n\nSomehow, from Cavour's few autobiographical notes, Alan had pictured\nLondon as a musty old town, picturesque, reeking of medieval history. He\ncouldn't have been more wrong. Sleek towers of plastic and concrete\ngreeted him. Overshoots roared by the tops of the buildings. A busy\nnetwork of bridges connected them.\n\nHe went in search of Cavour's old home in Bayswater, with the nebulous\nidea of finding some important document wedged in the woodwork. But a\nlocal security officer shook his head as Alan asked for directions.\n\n\"Sorry, lad. I've never heard of that street. Why don't you try the\ninformation robot up there?\"\n\nThe information robot was a blocky green-skinned synthetic planted in a\nkiosk in the middle of a broad well-paved street. Alan approached and\ngave the robot Cavour's thirteen-century-old address.\n\n\"There is no record of any such address in the current files,\" the\nsteely voice informed him.\n\n\"No. It's an old address. It dates back to at least 2570. A man named\nCavour lived there.\"\n\nThe robot digested the new data; relays hummed softly within it as it\nscanned its memory banks. Finally it grunted, \"Data on the address you\nseek has been reached.\"\n\n\"Fine! Where's the house?\"\n\n\"The entire district was demolished during the general rebuilding of\nLondon in 2982-2997. Nothing remains.\"\n\n\"Oh,\" Alan said.\n\nThe London trail trickled out right then and there. He pursued it a\nlittle further, managed to find Cavour's name inscribed on the honor\nrole of the impressive London Technological Institute for the year 2529,\nand discovered a copy of Cavour's book in the Institute Library. There\nwas nothing else to be found. After a month in London, Alan moved on\neastward across Europe.\n\nMost of it was little like the descriptions he had read in the\n_Valhalla's_ library. The trouble was that the starship's visits to\nEarth were always at least a decade behind, usually more. Most of the\nlibrary books had come aboard when the ship had first been commissioned,\nfar back in the year 2731. The face of Europe had almost totally\naltered since then.\n\nNow, shiny new buildings replaced the ancient houses which had endured\nfor as much as a thousand years. A gleaming bridge linked Dover and\nCalais; elsewhere, the rivers of Europe were bridged frequently,\nproviding easy access between the many states of the Federation of\nEurope. Here, there, monuments of the past remained--the Eiffel Tower,\nabsurdly dwarfed by the vast buildings around it, still reared its\nspidery self in Paris, and Notre Dame still remained as well. But the\nrest of Paris, the ancient city Alan had read so much of--that had long\nsince been swept under by the advancing centuries. Buildings did not\nendure forever.\n\nIn Zurich he visited the Lexman Institute for Space Travel, a\nmagnificent group of buildings erected on the royalties from the Lexman\nSpacedrive. A radiant statue sixty feet high was the monument to\nAlexander Lexman, who in 2337 had first put the stars within the reach\nof man.\n\nAlan succeeded in getting an interview with the current head of the\nInstitute, but it was anything but a satisfactory meeting. It was held\nin an office ringed with mementoes of the epoch-making test flight of\n2338.\n\n\"I'm interested in the work of James H. Cavour,\" Alan said almost\nimmediately--and from the bleak expression that appeared on the\nscientist's face, he knew he had made a grave mistake.\n\n\"Cavour is as far from Lexman as possible, my friend. Cavour was a\ndreamer; Lexman, a doer.\"\n\n\"Lexman succeeded--but how do you know Cavour didn't succeed as well?\"\n\n\"Because, my young friend, faster-than-light travel is flatly\nimpossible. A dream. A delusion.\"\n\n\"You mean that there's no faster-than-light research being carried on\nhere?\"\n\n\"The terms of our charter, set down by Alexander Lexman himself, specify\nthat we are to work toward improvements in the technique of space travel.\nIt said nothing about fantasies and daydreams. No--ah--hyperdrive\nresearch is taking place at this institute, and none will take place so\nlong as we remain true to the spirit of Alexander Lexman.\"\n\nAlan felt like crying out that Lexman was a bold and daring pioneer,\nnever afraid to take a chance, never worried about expense or public\nreaction. It was obvious, though, that the people of the Institute had\nlong since fossilized in their patterns. It was a waste of breath to\nargue with them.\n\nDiscouraged, he moved on, pausing in Vienna to hear the opera--Max had\nalways intended to spend a vacation with him in Vienna, listening to\nMozart, and Alan felt he owed it to Hawkes to pay his respects. The\noperas he saw were ancient, medieval in fact, better than two thousand\nyears old; he enjoyed the tinkly melodies but found some of the plots\nhard to understand.\n\nHe saw a circus in Ankara, a football game in Budapest, a nullgrav\nwrestling match in Moscow. He journeyed to the far reaches of Siberia,\nwhere Cavour had spent his final years, and found that what had been a\nbleak wasteland suitable for spaceship experiments in 2570 was now a\nthriving modern city of five million people. The site of Cavour's camp\nhad long since been swallowed up.\n\nAlan's faith in the enduring nature of human endeavor was restored\nsomewhat by his visit to Egypt--for there he saw the pyramids, nearly\nseven thousand years old; they looked as permanent as the stars.\n\nThe first anniversary of his leaving the _Valhalla_ found him in South\nAfrica; from there he travelled eastward through China and Japan, across\nthe highly industrialized islands of the Far Pacific, and from the\nPhilippines he returned to the American mainland by jet express.\n\nHe spent the next four months travelling widely through the United\nStates, gaping at the Grand Canyon and the other scenic preserves of the\nwest. East of the Mississippi, life was different; there was barely a\nstretch of open territory between York City and Chicago.\n\nIt was late in November when he returned to York City. Jesperson greeted\nhim at the airfield, and they rode home together. Alan had been gone a\nyear; he was past eighteen, now, a little heavier, a little stronger.\nVery little of the wide-eyed boy who had stepped off the _Valhalla_ the\nyear before remained intact. He had changed inwardly.\n\nBut one part of him had not changed, except in the direction of greater\ndetermination. That was the part that hoped to unlock the secret of\nfaster-than-light travel.\n\nHe was discouraged. His journey had revealed the harsh fact that nowhere\non Earth was research into hyperdrive travel being carried on; either\nthey had tried and abandoned it as hopeless, or, like the Zurich people,\nthey had condemned the concept from the start.\n\n\"Did you find what you were looking for?\" Jesperson asked.\n\nAlan slowly shook his head. \"Not a hint. And I really covered ground.\"\nHe stared at the lawyer a moment. \"How much am I worth, now?\"\n\n\"Well, offhand--\" Jesperson thought for a moment. \"Say, a million three\nhundred. I've made some good investments this past year.\"\n\nAlan nodded. \"Good. Keep the money piling up. I may decide to open a\nresearch lab of my own, and we'll need every credit we've got.\"\n\nBut the next day an item arrived in the morning mail which very much\naltered the character of Alan's plans for the future. It was a small but\nthick package, neatly wrapped, which bore as return address the name\n_Dwight Bentley_, with a London number.\n\nAlan frowned for a moment, trying to place the name. Then it came back\nto him--Bentley was the vice-provost of the London Institute of\nTechnology, Cavour's old school. Alan had had a long talk with Bentley\none afternoon in January, about Cavour, about space travel, and about\nAlan's hopes for developing a hyperspace drive.\n\nThe parcel was the right size and thickness to contain a book. Alan slit\nthe fastenings, and folded back the outer wrapper. A note from Bentley\nlay on top.\n\n                                                      _London\n                                                      3rd November 3877_\n\n    _My dear Mr. Donnell:_\n\n    _Perhaps you may remember the very enjoyable chat you and I had one\n    day at this Institute last winter, on the occasion of your visit to\n    London. You were, I recall, deeply interested in the life and work\n    of James H. Cavour, and anxious to carry on the developments he had\n    achieved in the field of space travel._\n\n    _Several days ago, in the course of an extensive resurveying of the\n    Institute's archives, the enclosed volume was discovered very\n    thoroughly hidden in the dusty recesses of our library. Evidently\n    Mr. Cavour had forwarded the book to us from his laboratory in\n    Asia, and it had somehow become misfiled._\n\n    _I am taking the liberty of forwarding the book on to you, in the\n    hopes that it will aid you in your work and perhaps ultimately bring\n    you success. Would you be kind enough to return the book to me c/o\n    this Institute when you are finished with it?_\n\n                                                  _Cordially,\n                                                  Dwight Bentley_\n\nAlan let the note slip to the floor as he reached for the enclosed book.\nIt was leather-bound and even more fragile than the copy of _The Cavour\nTheory_ he had purchased; it looked ready to crumble at a hostile\nbreath.\n\nWith mounting excitement he lifted the ancient cover and turned it over.\nThe first page of the book was blank; so were the second and third. On\nthe fourth page, Alan saw a few lines of writing, in an austere, rigid\nhand. He peered close, and with awe and astonishment read the words\nwritten there:\n\n    _The Journal of James Hudson Cavour. Volume 16--Jan. 8 to October\n    11, 2570._\n\n\n\n\n_Chapter Seventeen_\n\n\nThe old man's diary was a curious and fascinating document. Alan never\ntired of poring over it, trying to conjure up a mental image of the\nqueer, plucky fanatic who had labored so desperately to bring the stars\nclose to Earth.\n\nLike many embittered recluses, Cavour had been an enthusiastic diarist.\nEverything that took place in his daily life was carefully noted\ndown--his digestion, the weather, any stray thoughts that came to him,\ntart observations on humanity in general. But Alan was chiefly\ninterested in the notations that dealt with his researches on the\nproblem of a faster-than-the-speed-of-light spacedrive.\n\nCavour had worked for years in London, harried by reporters and mocked\nby scientists. But late in 2569 he had sensed he was on the threshold of\nsuccess. In his diary for January 8, 2570, he wrote:\n\n\"The Siberian site is almost perfect. It has cost me nearly what remains\nof my savings to build it, but out here I will have the solitude I need\nso much. I estimate six months more will see completion of my pilot\nmodel. It is a source of deep bitterness in me that I am forced to work\non my ship like a common laborer, when my part should have ceased three\nyears ago with the development of my theory and the designing of my\nship. But this is the way the world wants it, and so shall it be.\"\n\nOn May 8 of that year:\n\n\"Today there was a visitor--a journalist, no doubt. I drove him away\nbefore he could disturb me, but I fear he and others will be back. Even\nin the bleak Siberian steppes I shall have no privacy. Work is moving\nalong smoothly, though somewhat behind schedule; I shall be lucky to\ncomplete my ship before the end of the year.\"\n\nOn August 17:\n\n\"Planes continue to circle my laboratory here. I suspect I am being\nspied on. The ship is nearing completion. It will be ready for standard\nLexman-drive flights any day now, but installation of my spacewarp\ngenerator will take several more months.\"\n\nOn September 20:\n\n\"Interference has become intolerable. For the fifth day an American\njournalist has attempted to interview me. My 'secret' Siberian\nlaboratory has apparently become a world tourist attraction. The final\ncircuitry on the spacewarp generator is giving me extreme difficulties;\nthere are so many things to perfect. I cannot work under these\ncircumstances. I have virtually ceased all machine-work this week.\"\n\nAnd on October 11, 2570:\n\n\"There is only one recourse for me. I will have to leave Earth to\ncomplete the installation of my generator. The prying fools and mockers\nwill not leave me alone, and nowhere on Earth can I have the needed\nsolitude. I shall go to Venus--uninhabited, uninhabitable. Perhaps they\nwill leave me alone for the month or two more I need to make my vessel\nsuitable for interstellar drive. Then I can return to Earth, show them\nwhat I have done, offer to make a demonstration flight--to Rigel and\nback in days, perhaps----\n\n\"Why is it that Earth so tortures its few of original mind? Why has my\nlife been one unending persecution, ever since I declared there was a\nway to shortcut through space? There are no answers. The answers lie\ndeep within the dark recesses of the human collective soul, and no man\nmay understand what takes place there. I am content to know that I shall\nhave succeeded despite it all. Some day a future age may remember me,\nlike Copernicus, like Galileo, as one who fought upstream successfully.\"\n\nThe diary ended there. But in the final few pages were computations--a\ntrial orbit to Venus, several columns of blastoff figures, statistics on\ngeographical distribution of the Venusian landmasses.\n\nCavour had certainly been a peculiar bird, Alan thought. Probably half\nthe \"persecutions\" he complained of had existed solely inside his own\nfevered brain. But that hardly mattered. He had gone to Venus; the diary\nthat had found its way back to the London Institute of Technology\ntestified to that. And there was only one logical next step for Alan.\n\nGo to Venus. Follow the orbit Cavour had scribbled at the back of his\ndiary.\n\nPerhaps he might find the Cavour ship itself; perhaps, the site of his\nlaboratory, some notes, anything at all. He could not allow the trail to\ntrickle out here.\n\nHe told Jesperson, \"I want to buy a small spaceship. I'm going to\nVenus.\"\n\nHe looked at the lawyer expectantly and got ready to put up a stiff\nargument when Jesperson started to raise objections. But the big man\nonly smiled.\n\n\"Okay,\" he said. \"When are you leaving?\"\n\n\"You aren't going to complain? The kind of ship I have in mind costs at\nleast two hundred thousand credits.\"\n\n\"I know that. But I've had a look at Cavour's diary, too. It was only a\nmatter of time before you decided to follow the old duck to Venus, and\nI'm too smart to think that there's any point in putting up a battle.\nLet me know when you've got your ship picked out and I'll sit down and\nwrite the check.\"\n\nBut it was not as simple as all that. Alan shopped for a ship--he wanted\na new one, as long as he could afford it--and after several months of\ncomparative shopping and getting advice from spaceport men, he picked\nthe one he wanted. It was a sleek glossy eighty-foot job, a Spacemaster\n3878 model, equipped with Lexman converters and conventional ion-jets\nfor atmosphere flying. Smooth, streamlined, it was a lovely sight as it\nstood at the spacefield in the shadow of the great starships.\n\nAlan looked at it with pride--a slender dark-green needle yearning to\npierce the void. He wandered around the spaceport and heard the fuelers\nand oilers discussing it in reverent tones.\n\n\"That's a mighty fine piece of ship, that green one out there. Some\nlucky fellow's got it.\"\n\nAlan wanted to go over to them and tell them, \"That's my ship. Me. Alan\nDonnell.\" But he knew they would only laugh. Tall boys not quite\nnineteen did not own late-model Spacemasters with price-tags of cr.\n225,000.\n\nHe itched to get off-planet with it, but there were more delays. He\nneeded a flight ticket, first, and even though he had had the necessary\ngrounding in astrogation technique and spacepiloting as an automatic\npart of his education aboard the _Valhalla_, he was rusty, and needed a\nrefresher course that took six weary months.\n\nAfter that came the physical exams and the mental checkup and everything\nelse. Alan fumed at the delay, but he knew it was necessary. A\nspaceship, even a small private one, was a dangerous weapon in unskilled\nhands. An out-of-control spaceship that came crashing to Earth at high\nvelocity could kill millions; the shock wave might flatten fifty square\nmiles. So no one was allowed up in a spaceship of any kind without a\nflight ticket--and you had to work to win your ticket.\n\nIt came through, finally, in June of 3879, a month after Alan's\ntwentieth birthday. By that time he had computed and recomputed his\norbit to Venus a hundred different times.\n\nThree years had gone by since he last had been aboard a spaceship, and\nthat had been the _Valhalla_. His childhood and adolescence now seemed\nlike a hazy dream to him, far in the back of his mind. The _Valhalla_,\nwith his father and Steve and all the friends of his youth aboard, was\nthree years out from Earth--with seven years yet to go before it reached\nProcyon, its destination.\n\nOf course, the Crew had experienced only about four weeks, thanks to the\nFitzgerald Contraction. To the _Valhalla_ people only a month had passed\nsince Alan had left them, while he had gone through three years.\n\nHe had grown up, in those three years. He knew where he was heading,\nnow, and nothing frightened him. He understood people. And he had one\ngreat goal which was coming closer and closer with each passing month.\n\nBlastoff day was the fifth of September, 3879. The orbit Alan finally\nsettled on was a six-day trip at low acceleration across the\n40,000,000-odd miles that separated Earth from Venus.\n\nAt the spaceport he handed in his flight ticket for approval, placed a\ncopy of his intended orbit on file with Central Routing Registration,\nand got his field clearance.\n\nThe ground crew had already been notified that Alan's ship was blasting\noff that day, and they were busy now putting her in final departure\ncondition. There were some expressions of shock as Alan displayed his\ncredentials to the ground chief and climbed upward into the control\nchamber of the ship he had named the _James Hudson Cavour_, but no one\ndared question him.\n\nHis eyes caressed the gleaming furnishings of the control panel. He\nchecked with the central tower, was told how long till his blastoff\nclearance, and rapidly surveyed the fuel meters, the steering-jet\nresponse valves, the automatic pilot. He worked out a tape with his\norbit on it. Now he inserted it into the receiving tray of the autopilot\nand tripped a lever. The tape slid into the computer, clicking softly\nand emitting a pleasant hum.\n\n\"Eight minutes to blastoff,\" came the warning.\n\nNever had eight minutes passed so slowly. Alan snapped on his viewscreen\nand looked down at the field; the ground crew men were busily clearing\nthe area as blastoff time approached.\n\n\"One minute to blastoff, Pilot Donnell.\" Then the count-down began,\nsecond by second.\n\nAt the ten-seconds-to-go announcement, Alan activated the autopilot and\nnudged the button that transformed his seat into a protective\nacceleration cradle. His seat dropped down, and Alan found himself\nstretched out, swinging gently back and forth in the protecting hammock.\nThe voice from the control tower droned out the remaining seconds.\nTensely Alan waited for the sharp blow of acceleration.\n\nThen the roaring came, and the ship jolted from side to side, struggled\nwith gravity for a moment, and then sprang up free from the Earth.\n\nSome time later came the sudden thunderous silence as the jets cut out;\nthere was the dizzying moment of free fall, followed by the sound of the\nlateral jets imparting longitudinal spin to the small ship. Artificial\ngravity took over. It had been a perfect takeoff. Now there was nothing\nto do but wait for Venus to draw near.\n\nThe days trickled past. Alan experienced alternating moods of gloom and\nexultation. In the gloomy moods he told himself that this trip to Venus\nwas a fool's errand, that it would be just another dead end, that Cavour\nhad been a paranoid madman and the hyperspace drive was an idiot's\ndream.\n\nBut in the moments of joy he pictured the finding of Cavour's ship, the\nbuilding of a fleet of hyperdrive vessels. The distant stars within\nalmost instantaneous reach! He would tour the galaxies as he had two\nyears ago toured Earth. Canopus and Deneb, Rigel and Procyon, he would\nvisit them all. From star to bright star, from one end of the universe\nto the other.\n\nThe shining oval of Venus grew brighter and brighter. The cloud layer\nthat enveloped Earth's sister planet swirled and twisted.\n\nVenus was virtually an unknown world. Earth colonies had been\nestablished on Mars and on Pluto, but Venus, with her harsh\nformaldehyde atmosphere, had been ignored. Uninhabited, uninhabitable,\nthe planet was unsuitable for colonization.\n\nThe ship swung down into the cloud layer; floating wisps of gray vapor\nstreamed past the orbiting _Cavour_. Finally Alan broke through,\nnavigating now on manual, following as best he could Cavour's old\ncomputations. He guided the craft into a wide-ranging spiral orbit three\nthousand feet above the surface of Venus, and adjusted his viewscreens\nfor fine pickup.\n\nHe was orbiting over a vast dust-blown plain. The sky was a fantastic\ncolor, mottled blues and greens and an all-pervading pink, and the air\nwas dull gray. No sun at all penetrated the heavy shroud of vapor that\nhung round the planet.\n\nFor five hours he scouted the plain, hoping to find some sign of\nCavour's habitation. It was hopeless, he told himself; in thirteen\nhundred years the bitter winds of Venus would have destroyed any hint of\nCavour's site, assuming the old man had reached Venus successfully.\n\nBut grimly Alan continued to circle the area. Maybe Cavour had been\nforced to land elsewhere, he thought. Maybe he never got here. There\nwere a million maybes.\n\nHe computed his orbit and locked the ship in. Eyes pressed to the\nviewscreen, he peered downward, hoping against hope.\n\nThis trip to Venus had been a wild gamble from the start. He wondered if\nMax Hawkes would have covered a bet on the success of his trip. Max had\nbeen infallible when it came to hunches.\n\n_Well_, Alan thought, _now I've got a hunch. Help me one more time, Max,\nwherever you are! Lend me some of your luck. I need it, Max._\n\nHe circled once more. The Venusian day would last for three weeks more;\nthere was no fear of darkness. But would he find anything?\n\n_What's that?_\n\nHe leaped to the controls, switched off the autopilot, and broke out of\norbit, going back for a return look. Had there been just the faintest\nmetallic glint below, as of a spaceship jutting up from the sand?\n\nYes.\n\nThere was a ship down there, and a cave of some sort. Alan felt\nstrangely calm. With confident fingers he punched out a landing orbit,\nand brought his ship down in the middle of the barren Venusian desert.\n\n\n\n\n_Chapter Eighteen_\n\n\nAlan brought the _Cavour_ down less than a mile away from the scene of\nthe wreckage--it was the best he could do, computing the landing by\nguesswork--and climbed into his spacesuit. He passed through the airlock\nand out into the windswept desert.\n\nHe felt just a little lightheaded; the gravity was only 0.8 of\nEarth-norm, and besides that the air in his spacesuit, being perpetually\nrenewed by the Bennerman re-breathing generator strapped to his back,\nwas just a shade too rich in oxygen.\n\nIn the back of his mind he realized he ought to adjust his oxygen flow,\nbut before he brought himself to make the adjustment the surplus took\nits effect. He began to hum, then to dance awkwardly over the sand. A\nmoment later he was singing a wild space ballad that he thought he had\nforgotten years before. After ten feet he tripped and went sprawling\ndown in the sand. He lay there, trickling the violet sands through the\ngloves of his spacesuit, feeling very lightheaded and very foolish all\nat the same time.\n\nBut he was still sober enough to realize he was in danger. It was an\neffort to reach over his shoulder and move the oxygen gauge back a\nnotch. After a moment the flow levelled out and he felt his head\nbeginning to clear.\n\nHe was marching through a fantastic baroque desert. Venus was a riot of\ncolors, all in a minor key: muted greens and reds, an overbearing gray,\na strange, ghostly blue. The sky, or rather the cloud layer, dominated\nthe atmosphere with its weird pinkness. It was a silent world--a dead\nworld.\n\nIn the distance he saw the wreckage of the ship; beyond it the land\nbegan to rise, sloping imperceptibly up into a gentle hill with bizarre\nsculptured rock outcroppings here and there. He walked quickly.\n\nFifteen minutes later he reached the ship. It stood upright--or rather,\nits skeleton did. The ship had not crashed. It had simply rotted away,\nthe metal of its hide eaten by the sand-laden winds over the course of\ncenturies. Nothing remained but a bare framework.\n\nHe circled the ship, then entered the cave a hundred feet away. He\nsnapped on his lightbeam. In the darkness, he saw----\n\nA huddled skeleton, far to the rear of the cave. A pile of corroded\nequipment; atmosphere generators, other tools now shapeless.\n\nCavour had reached Venus safely. But he had never departed.\n\nTo his astonishment Alan found a sturdy volume lying under the pile of\nbones--a book, wrapped in metal plates. Somehow it had withstood the\npassage of centuries, here in this quiet cave.\n\nGently he unwrapped the book. The cover dropped off at his touch; he\nturned back the first three pages, which were blank. On the fourth,\nwritten in the now-familiar crabbed hand, were the words: _The Journal\nof James Hudson Cavour. Volume 17--October 20, 2570----_\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nHe had plenty of time, during the six-day return journey, to read and\nre-read Cavour's final words and to make photographic copies of the\nwithered old pages.\n\nThe trip to Venus had been easy for old Cavour; he had landed precisely\non schedule, and established housekeeping for himself in the cave. But,\nas his diary detailed it, he felt strength ebbing away with each passing\nday.\n\nHe was past eighty, no age for a man to come alone to a strange planet.\nThere remained just minor finishing to be done on his pioneering\nship--but he did not have the strength to do the work. Climbing the\ncatwalk of the ship, soldering, testing--now, with his opportunity\nbefore him, he could not attain his goal.\n\nHe made several feeble attempts to finish the job, and on the last of\nthem fell from his crude rigging and fractured his hip. He had managed\nto crawl back inside the cave, but, alone, with no one to tend him, he\nknew he had nothing to hope for.\n\nIt was impossible for him to complete his ship. All his dreams were\nended. His equations and his blueprints would die with him.\n\nIn his last day he came to a new realization: nowhere had he left a\ncomplete record of the mechanics of his spacewarp generator, the key\nmechanism without which hyperspace drive was unattainable. So, racing\nagainst encroaching death, James Hudson Cavour turned to a new page in\nhis diary, headed it, in firm, forceful letters, _For Those Who Follow\nAfter_, and inked in a clear and concise explanation of his work.\n\nIt was all there, Alan thought exultantly: the diagrams, the\nspecifications, the equations. It would be possible to build the ship\nfrom Cavour's notes.\n\nThe final page of the diary had evidently been Cavour's dying thoughts.\nIn a handwriting increasingly ragged and untidy, Cavour had indited a\nparagraph forgiving the world for its scorn, hoping that some day\nmankind would indeed have easy access to the stars. The paragraph ended\nin midsentence. It was, thought Alan, a moving testament from a great\nhuman being.\n\nThe days went by, and the green disk of Earth appeared in the\nviewscreen. Late on the sixth day the _Cavour_ sliced into Earth's\natmosphere, and Alan threw it into the landing orbit he had computed\nthat afternoon. The ship swung in great spirals around Earth, drawing\never closer, and finally began to home in on the spaceport.\n\nAlan busied himself over the radio transmitter, getting landing\nclearance. He brought the ship down easily, checked out, and hurried to\nthe nearest phone.\n\nHe dialed Jesperson's number. The lawyer answered.\n\n\"When did you get back?\"\n\n\"Just now,\" Alan said. \"Just this minute.\"\n\n\"Well? Did you----\"\n\n\"Yes! I found it! I found it!\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nOddly enough, he was in no hurry to leave Earth now. He was in\npossession of Cavour's notes, but he wanted to do a perfect job of\nreproducing them, of converting the scribbled notations into a ship.\n\nTo his great despair he discovered, when he first examined the Cavour\nnotebook in detail, that much of the math was beyond his depth. That was\nonly a temporary obstacle, though. He hired mathematicians. He hired\nphysicists. He hired engineers.\n\nThrough it all, he remained calm; impatient, perhaps, but not overly so.\nThe time had not yet come for him to leave Earth. All his striving would\nbe dashed if he left too soon.\n\nThe proud building rose a hundred miles from York City: _The Hawkes\nMemorial Laboratory_. There, the team of scientists Alan had gathered\nworked long and painstakingly, trying to reconstruct what old Cavour had\nwritten, experimenting, testing.\n\nEarly in 3881 the first experimental Cavour Generator was completed in\nthe lab. Alan had been vacationing in Africa, but he was called back\nhurriedly by his lab director to supervise the testing.\n\nThe generator was housed in a sturdy windowless building far from the\nmain labs; the forces being channelled were potent ones, and no chances\nwere being taken. Alan himself threw the switch that first turned the\nspacewarp generator on, and the entire research team gathered by the\nclosed-circuit video pickup to watch.\n\nThe generator seemed to blur, to waver, to lose substance and become\nunreal. It vanished.\n\nIt remained gone fifteen seconds, while a hundred researchers held their\nbreaths. Then it returned. It shorted half the power lines in the\ncounty.\n\nBut Alan was grinning as the auxiliary feeders turned the lights in the\nlab on again. \"Okay,\" he yelled. \"It's a start, isn't it? We got the\ngenerator to vanish, and that's the toughest part of the battle. Let's\nget going on Model Number Two.\"\n\nBy the end of the year, Model Number Two was complete, and the tests\nthis time were held under more carefully controlled circumstances. Again\nsuccess was only partial, but again Alan was not disappointed. He had\nworked out his time-table well. Premature success might only make\nmatters more difficult for him.\n\n3882 went by, and 3883. He was in his early twenties, now, a tall,\npowerful figure, widely known all over Earth. With Jesperson's shrewd\naid he had pyramided Max's original million credits into an imposing\nfortune--and much of it was being diverted to hyperspace research. But\nAlan Donnell was not the figure of scorn James Hudson Cavour had been;\nno one laughed at him when he said that by 3885 hyperspace travel would\nbe reality.\n\n3884 slipped past. Now the time was drawing near. Alan spent virtually\nall his hours at the research center, aiding in the successive tests.\n\nOn March 11, 3885, the final test was accomplished satisfactorily.\nAlan's ship, the _Cavour_, had been completely remodeled to accommodate\nthe new drive; every test but one had been completed.\n\nThe final test was that of actual performance. And here, despite the\nadvice of his friends, Alan insisted that he would have to be the man\nwho took the _Cavour_ on her first journey to the stars.\n\nNine years had passed, almost to the week, since a brash youngster named\nAlan Donnell had crossed the bridge from the Spacer's Enclave and\nhesitantly entered the bewildering complexity of York City. Nine years.\n\nHe was twenty-six now, no boy any more. He was the same age Steve had\nbeen, when he had been dragged unconscious to the _Valhalla_ and taken\naboard.\n\nAnd the _Valhalla_ was still bound on its long journey to Procyon. Nine\nyears had passed, but yet another remained before the giant starship\nwould touch down on a planet of Procyon's. But the Fitzgerald\nContraction had telescoped those nine years into just a few months, for\nthe people of the _Valhalla_.\n\nSteve Donnell was still twenty-six.\n\nAnd now Alan had caught him. The Contraction had evened out. They were\ntwins again.\n\nAnd the _Cavour_ was ready to make its leap into hyperspace.\n\n\n\n\n_Chapter Nineteen_\n\n\nIt was not difficult for Alan to get the route of the _Valhalla_, which\nhad been recorded at Central Routing Registration. Every starship was\nrequired by law to register a detailed route-chart before leaving, and\nthese charts were filed at the central bureau. The reason was simple: a\nstarship with a crippled drive was a deadly object. In case a starship's\ndrive conked out, it would keep drifting along toward its destination,\nutterly helpless to turn, maneuver, or control its motion. And if any\nplanets or suns happened to lie in its direct path----\n\nThe only way a ship could alter its trajectory was to cut speed\ncompletely, and with the drive dead there would be no way of picking it\nup again. The ship would continue to drift slowly out to the stars,\nwhile its crew died of old age.\n\nSo the routes were registered, and in the event of drive trouble it was\nthus possible for a rescue ship to locate the imperilled starship. Space\nis immense, and only with a carefully registered route could a ship be\nfound.\n\nStarship routes were restricted information. But Alan had influence; he\nwas easily able to persuade the Routing Registration people that his\nintentions were honorable, that he planned to overtake the _Valhalla_ if\nthey would only let him have the coordinates. A bit of minor legal\njugglery was all that was needed to give him access to the data.\n\nIt seemed there was an ancient regulation that said any member of a\nstarship's crew was entitled by law to examine his ship's registered\nroute, if he wanted to. The rule was intended to apply to starmen who\ndistrusted their captains and were fearful of being shipped off to some\nimpossibly distant point; it said nothing at all about starmen who had\nbeen left behind and were planning to overtake their ships. But nothing\nprohibited Alan from getting the coordinates, and so they gave them to\nhim.\n\nThe _Cavour_ was ready for the departure. Alan elbowed his way through\nthe crowd of curious onlookers and clambered into the redesigned control\nchamber.\n\nHe paused a moment, running his fingers over the shiny instrument panel\nwith its new dials, strange levers, unfamiliar instruments. Overdrive\nCompensator. Fuel Transmuter. Distortion Guide. Bender Index. Strange\nnew names, but Alan realized they would be part of the vocabulary of all\nfuture spacemen.\n\nHe began to work with the new controls, plotting his coordinates with\nextreme care and checking them through six or seven times. At last he\nwas satisfied; he had computed a hyperdrive course that would loop him\nthrough space and bring him out in only a few days' time in the general\nvicinity of the _Valhalla_, which was buzzing serenely along at near the\nspeed of light.\n\nThat was practically a snail's pace, compared with hyperdrive.\n\nThe time for the test had come. He spoke briefly with his friends and\nassistants in the control tower; then he checked his figures through one\nlast time and requested blastoff clearance.\n\nA moment later the count-down began, and he began setting up for\ndeparture.\n\nA tremor of anticipation shot through him as he prepared to blast off on\nthe first hyperdrive voyage ever made. He was stepping out into the\nunknown, making the first use ever of a strange, perhaps dangerous means\nof travel. The drive would loop him out of the space-time continuum,\ninto--_where?_--and back again.\n\nHe hoped.\n\nHe punched down the keys, and sat back to wait for the automatic pilot\nto carry him out from Earth.\n\nSomewhere past the orbit of the moon, a gong told him that the Cavour\ndrive was about to come into play. He held his breath. He felt a\ntwisting sensation. He stared at the viewscreen.\n\nThe stars had vanished. Earth, with all its memories of the last nine\nyears, was gone, taking with it Hawkes, Jesperson, York City, the\nEnclaves--everything.\n\nHe floated in a featureless dull gray void, without stars, without\nworlds. _So this is hyperspace_, he thought. He felt tired, and he felt\ntense. He had reached hyperspace; that was half the struggle. It\nremained to see whether he would come out where he expected to come out,\nor whether he would come out at all.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nFour days of boredom. Four days of wishing that the time would come to\nleave hyperspace. And then the automatic pilot came to life; the Cavour\ngenerator thrummed and signalled that it had done its work and was\nshutting down. Alan held his breath.\n\nHe felt the twisting sensation. The _Cavour_ was leaving hyperdrive.\n\nStars burst suddenly against the blackness of space; the viewscreen\nbrightened. Alan shut his eyes a moment as he readjusted from the sight\nof the gray void to that of the starry reaches of normal space. He had\nreturned.\n\nAnd, below him, making its leisurely journey to Procyon, was the great\ngolden-hulled bulk of the _Valhalla_, gleaming faintly in the black\nnight of space.\n\nHe reached for the controls of his ship radio. Minutes later, he heard a\nfamiliar voice--that of Chip Collier, the _Valhalla's_ Chief Signal\nOfficer.\n\n\"Starship _Valhalla_ picking up. We read you. Who is calling, please?\"\n\nAlan smiled. \"This is Alan Donnell, Chip. How goes everything?\"\n\nFor a moment nothing came through the phones but astonished sputtering.\nFinally Collier said thickly, \"_Alan?_ What sort of gag is this? Where\nare you?\"\n\n\"Believe it or not, I'm hovering right above you in a small ship.\nSuppose you get my father on the wire, and we can discuss how I'll go\nabout boarding you.\"\n\nFifteen minutes later the _Cavour_ was grappled securely to the skin of\nthe _Valhalla_ like a flea riding an elephant, and Alan was climbing in\nthrough the main airlock. It felt good to be aboard the big ship once\nagain, after all these years.\n\nHe shucked his spacesuit and stepped into the corridor. His father was\nstanding there waiting for him.\n\n\"Hello, Dad.\"\n\nCaptain Donnell shook his head uncomprehendingly. \"Alan--how did you--I\nmean--and you're so much older, too! I----\"\n\n\"The Cavour Drive, Dad. I've had plenty of time to develop it. Nine good\nlong years, back on Earth. And for you it's only a couple of months\nsince you blasted off!\"\n\nAnother figure appeared in the corridor. Steve. He looked good; the last\nfew months aboard the _Valhalla_ had done their work. The unhealthy fat\nhe had been carrying was gone; his eyes were bright and clear, his\nshoulders square. It was like looking into a mirror to see him, Alan\nthought. It hadn't been this way for a long time.\n\n\"Alan? How did you----\"\n\nQuickly Alan explained. \"So I couldn't reverse time,\" he finished. \"I\ncouldn't make you as young as I was--so I took the opposite tack and\nmade myself as old as you were.\" He looked at his father. \"The universe\nis going to change, now. Earth won't be so overcrowded. And it means the\nend of the Enclave system, and the Fitzgerald Contraction.\"\n\n\"We'll have to convert the _Valhalla_ to the new drive,\" Captain Donnell\nsaid. He looked still stunned by Alan's sudden appearance. \"Otherwise\nwe'll never be able to meet the competition of the new ships. There will\nbe new ships, won't there?\"\n\n\"As soon as I return to Earth and tell them I've been successful. My men\nare ready to go into immediate production of hyperspace vessels. The\nuniverse is going to be full of them even before your ship reaches\nProcyon!\" He sensed now the full importance of what he had done. \"Now\nthat there's practical transportation between stars, the Galaxy will\ngrow close together--as close as the Solar System is now!\"\n\nCaptain Donnell nodded. \"And what are you planning to do, now that\nyou've dug up the Cavour drive?\"\n\n\"Me?\" Alan took a deep breath. \"I've got my own ship, Dad. And out there\nare Rigel and Deneb and Fomalhaut and a lot of other places I want to\nsee.\" He was speaking quietly, calmly, but with an undercurrent of inner\nexcitement. He had dreamed of this day for nine years.\n\n\"I'm going to take a grand tour of the universe, Dad. Everywhere. The\nhyperdrive can take me. But there's just one thing----\"\n\n\"What's that?\" Steve and the Captain said virtually in the same moment.\n\n\"I've been practically alone for the last nine years. I don't want to\nmake this trip by myself. I'm looking for a companion. A fellow\nexplorer.\"\n\nHe stared squarely at Steve.\n\nA slow grin spread over his brother's face. \"You devil,\" Steve said.\n\"You've planned this too well. How could I possibly turn you down?\"\n\n\"Do you want to?\" Alan asked.\n\nSteve chuckled. \"Do you think I do?\"\n\nAlan felt something twitching at his cuff. He looked down and saw a\nbluish-purple ball of fur sitting next to his shoe, studying him with a\nwry expression.\n\n\"Rat!\"\n\n\"Of course. Is there room for a third passenger on this jaunt of yours?\"\n\n\"Application accepted,\" Alan said. Warmth spread over him. The long\nquest was over. He was back among the people he loved, and the galaxy\nwas opening wide before him. A sky full of bright stars, growing\nbrighter and closer by the moment, was beckoning to him.\n\nHe saw the Crewmen coming from their posts now; the rumor had flitted\nrapidly around the ship, it seemed. They were all there, Art Kandin and\nDan Kelleher and a gaping Judy Collier and Roger Bond and all the rest\nof them.\n\n\"You won't be leaving right away, will you?\" the Captain asked. \"You can\nstay with us a while, just to see if you remember the place?\"\n\n\"Of course I will, Dad. There's no hurry now. But I'll have to go back\nto Earth first and let them know I've succeeded, so they can start\nproduction. And then----\"\n\n\"Deneb first,\" Steve said. \"From there out to Spica, and Altair----\"\n\nGrinning, Alan said, \"More worlds are waiting than we can see in ten\nlifetimes, Steve. But we'll give it a good try. We'll get out there.\"\n\nA multitude of stars thronged the sky. He and Steve and Rat, together at\nlast--plunging from star to star, going everywhere, seeing everything.\nThe little craft grappled to the _Valhalla_ would be the magic wand that\nput the universe in their hands.\n\nIn this moment of happiness he frowned an instant, thinking of a lean,\npleasantly ugly man who had befriended him and who had died nine years\nago. This had been Max Hawkes' ambition, to see the stars. But Max had\nnever had the chance.\n\n_We'll do it for you, Max. Steve and I._\n\nHe looked at Steve. He and his brother had so much to talk about. They\nwould have to get to know each other all over again, after the years\nthat had gone by.\n\n\"You know,\" Steve said, \"When I woke up aboard the _Valhalla_ and found\nout you'd shanghaied me, I was madder than a hornet. I wanted to break\nyou apart. But you were too far away.\"\n\n\"You've got your chance now,\" Alan said.\n\n\"Yeah. But now I don't want to,\" Steve laughed.\n\nAlan punched him goodnaturedly. He felt good about life. He had found\nSteve again, and he had given the universe the faster-than-light drive.\nIt didn't take much more than that to make a man happy.\n\nAnd now a new and longer quest was beginning for Alan and his brother. A\nquest that could have no end, a quest that would send them searching\nfrom world to world, out among the bright infinity of suns that lay\nwaiting for them."