aid. "I'm going to Minneapolis, too. I'm
afraid of a lot of things. What are you afraid of?"

The small fry's jutting lip trembled. "Earth," he said. "A great big
planet. Hoppers tell me I won't even be able to stand up or breathe."

Nelsen very nearly laughed and went into hiccups, again. Fantastic.
Another viewpoint. Seeing through the other end of the telescope. But
how else would it be for a youngster born in the Belt, while being
sent--in the old colonial pattern--to the place that his parents
regarded as home?

"Those jokers," Nelsen scoffed. "They're pulling your leg! It just isn't
so, Davy. Anyhow, during the trip, the big bubb will be spun fast
enough, so that we will get used to the greater Earth-gravity. Let me
tell you something. I guess it's space and the Belt that _I'm_ afraid
of. I never quite got over it. Silly, huh?"

But as Nelsen watched the kid brighten, he remembered that he, himself,
had been scared of Earth, too. Scared to return, to show weakness, to
lack pride... Well, to hell with that. He had accomplished enough, now,
maybe, to cancel such objections. Now it seemed that he had to get to
Earth before it vanished because of something he had helped start.
Silly, of course...

He and Davy travelled fast and almost in luxury. Within two weeks they
were in orbit around the bulk of the Old World. Then, in the powerful
tender with its nuclear retard rockets, there was the Blast In--the
reverse of that costly agony that had once meant hard won and enormous
freedom, when he was poor in money and rich in mighty yearning. But now
Nelsen yielded in all to the mother clutch of the gravity. The whole
process had been gentled and improved. There were special anti-knock
seats. There was sound- and vibration-insulation. Even Davy's slight
fear was more than half thrill.

At the new Minneapolis port, Nelsen delivered David Lester, Junior into
the care of his grandmother, who seemed much more human than Nelsen once
had thought long ago. Then he excused himself quickly.

Seeking the shelter of anonymity, he bought a rucksack for his few
clothes, and boarded a bus which dropped him at Jarviston, Minnesota, at
two a.m. He thrust his hands into his pockets, partly like a lonesome
tramp, partly like some carefree immortal, and partly like a mixed-up
wraith who didn't quite know who or what he was, or where he belonged.

In his wallet he had about five hundred dollars. How much more he might
have commanded, he