from one of the outer worlds.
He could tell because of the absence of the identifying gleam in her
eyes. On principle he'd stamp her passport with dull and dingy ink.

* * * * *

Wilbur scuffled along beside his father. He hadn't attained his full
growth, but he was as tall though not as heavy as Marcus. "Where are we
going now?" he asked. "Get the name changed?"

[Illustration]

"Don't gawk," said Marcus, restraining his own tendency to gaze around
in bewilderment. Things had changed since his father had been here. "No,
we're not. It's simple, but it may take longer than we think. We have to
act as if Earth is an unfriendly planet."

"Hardly seems like a planet."

"It is. If you scratch deep enough under those buildings, you'll find
soil and rock." Even Marcus didn't know how deep that scratch would have
to be.

"Seems hard to believe it was once like--uh--Mezzerow." Wilbur was
looking at the buildings and pedestrians streaming past and the little
flutter cars that filled the air. "Bet you can't find any place to be
alone in."

"More people are alone within ten miles of us than you have ever seen,"
said Marcus. He stopped in front of a building and consulted a small
notebook. The address agreed, but he looked in vain for a name. There
wasn't a name on any of the buildings. Nevertheless, this ought to be
it. They'd been walking for miles and he had checked all the streets. He
spoke to Wilbur and they went inside.

It was a hotel. The Universe over, there is no mistaking a hotel for
anything else. Continuous arrivals and departures stamp it with peculiar
impermanency. A person might stay twenty years and yet seem as transient
as the man still signing the registry.

A clerk sauntered over to the Mezzerows. He was plump, but the shoulders
of his jacket were obviously much broader than he was. "Looking for
someone?" he inquired.

"I'm looking for the Outer Hotel," said Marcus.

"This is a hotel," the clerk said, raising his shoulders and letting
them fall. One shoulder didn't come down, so he grasped the bottom of
the sleeve and pulled it down.

"What's the name?"

The clerk yawned. "Doesn't have a name--just a number. No hotel has had
a name for the last hundred years. Too many of them."

"My father stayed at the Outer Hotel fifty years ago, before he left to
discover a new planet. It was at this address."

The clerk, wary of his shoulder pads, shrugged sideways. It gave