why he had to flee
or why they sought him, but he knew they must never overtake him, or all
would be lost.

[Illustration]

Somehow he found a way to propel himself through empty space. The
searchers were growing points of light in the far distance. They gave
him a sense of direction. His being, his existence, his universe of
meaning and understanding depended on the success of his flight from the
searchers. Faster, through the wild black depths of space--

He never knew whether he escaped or not. Always he awoke in a tangle of
bedclothes, bathed in sweat, whimpering in fear. For a long time Alice
had been there to touch his hand when he awoke. But Alice was gone now
and he was so weary of the night pursuit. Sometimes he wished it would
end with the searchers--whoever they were--catching up with him and
doing what they intended to do. Then maybe there would be no more
nightmare. Maybe there would be no more Mel Hastings, he thought. And
that wouldn't be so bad, either.

He tossed sleeplessly the rest of the night and got up at dawn feeling
as if he had not been to bed at all. He would take one day more, and
then get back to the News Bureau. He'd take this day to do what couldn't
be put off any longer--the collecting and disposition of Alice's
personal belongings.

* * * * *

He shaved, bathed and dressed, then began emptying the drawers, one by
one. There were many souvenirs, mementos. She was always collecting
these. Her bottom drawer was full of stuff that he'd glimpsed only
occasionally.

In the second layer of junk in the drawer he came across the brochure on
Martian vacations. It must have been one of the dreams of her life, he
thought. She'd wanted it so much that she'd almost come to believe that
it was real. He turned the pages of the smooth, glossy brochure. Its
cover bore the picture of the great Martian Princess and the blazoned
emblem of Connemorra Space Lines. Inside were glistening photos of the
plush interior of the great vacation liner, and pictures of the domed
cities of Mars where Earthmen played more than they worked. Mars had
become the great resort center of Earth.

Mel closed the book and glanced again at the Connemorra name. Only one
man had ever amassed the resources necessary to operate a private space
line. Jim Connemorra had done it; no one knew quite how. But he operated
now out of both hemispheres with a space line that ignored freight and
dealt onl