am again. He dropped stones into the water, and watched the circles
form, with a kind of puzzled groping in his memory. He retreated from
the staggering magnificence of his recent past and clutched at old
simplicities.

On those rare occasions when he shaved, he saw the confused sickness in
his face, reflected by his mirror. Sometimes, for a moment, he felt hot,
and then cold, as if his blood still held a tiny trace of Syrtis Fever.
If there _was_ such a thing? No--don't start to laugh, he warned
himself. Relax. Let the phantoms fade away. Somewhere, that multiple
bigness of Nothing, of life and death, of success and unfairness and
surprise, must have reality--but not here...

Occasionally he listened to news on the radio. But mostly he shut it
off--out. Until boredom at last began to overtake him--because he had
been used to so much more than what was here. Until--specifically--one
morning, when the news came too quickly, and with too much impact. It
was a recording, scratchy, and full of unthinkable distance.

"... Frank, Gimp, Two-and-Two, Paul, Mr. Reynolds, Otto, Les, Joe, Art,
everybody--especially you, Eileen--remember what you promised, when I
get back, Eileen...! Here I am, on Pluto--edge of the star desert! Clear
sailing--all the way. All I see, yet, is twilight, rocks, mountains,
snow which must be frozen atmosphere--and one big star, Sol. But I'll
get the data, and be back..."

Nelsen listened to the end, with panic in his face--as if such
adventures and such living were too gigantic and too rich... He hiccuped
once. Then he held himself very still and concentrated. He had known
that voice Out There and Here, too. Now, as he heard it again--Here, but
from Out There--it became like a joining force to bring them both
together within himself. Though how could it be...?

"Ramos," he said aloud. "Made it... Another good guy, accomplishing what
he wanted... Hey...! Hey, that's swell... Like things should happen."

He didn't hiccup anymore, or laugh. By being very careful, he just
grinned, instead. He arose to his feet, slowly.

"What am I doing here--wasting time?" he seemed to ask the woods.

Without picking up his camping gear at all, he headed for the road,
thumbed a ride to Jarviston, where he arrived before eight o'clock.
Somebody had started ringing the city hall bell. Celebration?

Hendricks' was the most logical place for Nelsen to go, but he passed
it by, following a hunch to his old street. _She