ing down one field and waving at someone.

The ramp floor was supported by steel tubes at its edges and in its
exact center. He tentatively put one foot in the middle over the support
and gradually shifted his weight to it. The metal complained creakily,
but held, and he slowly trod the exact center line to Earth. The
stewardess' back was turned toward him as he walked off across the field
toward the customhouse.

He found it comforting to have under his feet what felt like at least
one yard of cement. He could step briskly and not be fearful of
betraying himself.

There was one further danger: the customs inspector.

He took his place at the end of the line and waited patiently until it
led him up to a desk at which a uniformed man sat, busily checking and
stamping declarations and traveling papers. The official, however, did
not even look up when he handed him his passport and identification.

"Human. You don't have to go through immigration," the agent said. "Do
you have anything to declare?"

"N-no," the traveler said. "I d-didn't bring anything in."

"Sign the affidavit," the agent said and pushed a sheet of paper toward
him.

The traveler picked up a pen from the desk and signed "Jon Hall" in a
clear, perfect script.

The agent gave it a passing glance and tossed it into a wire basket.

Then he pushed his uniform cap back exposing a bald head. "You're my
last customer for a while, until the rocket from Sirius comes in. Guess
I might as well relax for a minute." He reached into a drawer of the
desk and pulled out a package of cigarettes, of which he lit one.

"You been in the war, too?" he asked.

Hall nodded. He did not want to talk any more than he had to.

The agent studied his face.

"That's funny," he said after a minute. "I never would have picked you
for one of these so-called adventurers. You're too quiet and peaceful
looking. I would have put you down as a doctor or maybe a writer."

"N-no," Hall said. "I w-was in the war."

"Well, that shows you can't tell by looking at a fellow," the agent said
philosophically. He handed Hall his papers. "There you are. The left
door leads out to the copter field. Good luck on Earth!"

Hall pocketed the stamped documents. "Thanks," he said. "I'm glad to be
here."

He walked down the wide station room to a far exit and pushed the door
open. A few steps farther and he was standing on a cement path dug into
a hillside.

* * *