d.

"You mean you're rich?" the Earther said.

"Sure," Rolf said. "Every Spacer is. So what? What can I spend it on? My
money's banked on Mars and Venus. Thanks to the law I can't legally get
it to Earth. So I live in Spacertown."

"Have you ever seen an Earther city?" the earless one asked, looking
around at the quiet streets of Spacertown with big powerful men sitting
idly in front of every house.

"I used to live in Yawk," Rolf said. "My grandmother was an Earther; she
brought me up there. I haven't been back there since I left for space."
_They forced me out of Yawk_, he thought. _I'm not part of their
species. Not one of them._

* * * * *

The two Earthers exchanged glances.

"Can we interest you in a suggestion?" They drew in their breath as if
they expected to be knocked sprawling.

Kanaday appeared at the door of the shack again.

"Rolf. Hey! You turning into an Earther? Get rid of them two cuties
before there's trouble."

Rolf turned and saw a little knot of Spacers standing on the other side
of the street, watching him with curiosity. He glared at them.

"I'll do whatever I damn well please," he shouted across.

He turned back to the two Earthers. "Now, what is it you want?"

"I'm giving a party next week," the earless one said. "I'd like you to
come. We'd like to get the Spacer slant on life."

"Party?" Rolf repeated. "You mean, dancing, and games, and stuff like
that?"

"You'll enjoy it," the Earther said coaxingly. "And we'd all love to
have a real Spacer there."

"When is it?"

"A week."

"I have ten days left of my leave. All right," he said. "I'll come."

He accepted the Earther's card, looked at it mechanically, saw the
name--Kal Quinton--and pocketed it. "Sure," he said. "I'll be there."

The Earthers moved toward their little jetcar, smiling gratefully. As
Rolf crossed the street, the other Spacers greeted him with cold,
puzzled stares.

* * * * *

Kanaday was almost as tall as Rolf, and even uglier. Rolf's eyebrows
were bold and heavy; Kanaday's, thick, contorted, bushy clumps of hair.
Kanaday's nose had been broken long before in some barroom brawl; his
cheekbones bulged; his face was strong and hard. More important, his
left foot was twisted and gnarled beyond hope of redemption by the most
skillful surgeon. He had been crippled in a jet explosion three years
before, and was of no use to the Spacelines any mo