y, handsome face. In ten years he had
hardly changed at all, while Steve Cantwell, the boy, had become Steve
Cantwell the man. He had been the Colony's official trader with the
Kumajis, and had grown rich--by colony standards--at his business. Now,
Steve realized, all that was behind him, and he could only flee with the
others--either back to the terribly crowded Earth or on in search of a
new colony on some other outworld, if they could get the transportation.
Perhaps that explained his bitterness.

"So you've come back, eh? You sure picked a time, Cantwell."

The refugees were still about a quarter of a mile off, coming up slowly.
They hardly seemed to be moving at all. "Is my aunt all right?" Steve
said. She was the only family he remembered.

Tobias Whiting shook his head slowly. "I hate to be the one to tell you
this. Brace yourself for a shock. Your aunt was one of those who died
from the poisoned water last night."

For a long moment, Steve said nothing. The only emotion he felt was
pity--pity for the hard life his aunt had lived, and the hard death.
Sadness would come later, if there was to be a time for sadness.

* * * * *

The caravan reached them then. The first person Steve saw was a girl.
She wore the shroud-like desert garment and her face--it would be a
pretty face under other circumstances, Steve realized--was etched with
lines of fatigue. Steve did not recognize her. "Who is he, Dad?" the
girl said.

"Young Cantwell. Remember?"

So this was Mary Whiting, Steve thought. Why, she'd been a moppet ten
years ago! How old? Ten years old maybe. The years crowded him suddenly.
She was a woman now....

"Steve Cantwell?" Mary said. "Of course I remember. Hello, Steve. I--I'm
sorry you had to come back at a time like this. I'm sorry about your
aunt. If there's anything I can do...."

Steve shook his head, then shook the hand she offered him. She was a
slim, strong girl with a firm handshake. Her concern for him at a time
like this was little short of amazing, especially since it was
completely genuine.

He appreciated it.

Tobias Whiting said: "Shame of it is, Cantwell, some of us could get
along with the Kumaji. I had a pretty good business here, you know
that." He looked with bitterness at the dusty file of refugees. "But I
never got a credit out of it. Wherever we wind up, my girl and I will be
poor again. We could have been rich."

Steve asked, "What happened to