ear what I'm sending in good
health, safety and fortune. Send no more staggering gifts, please--I
couldn't stand it--but please do write. Tell me how it really is in the
Belt. You simply don't realize how much--"

Nance Codiss' missive rattled along, and the scrawled words got to be
like small, happy bells inside Nelsen's skull. His crooked grin came
out; he unpacked the sweater--creylon wool, very warm, bright red, a bit
crude in workmanship here and there--but imagine a girl bothering, these
days! He donned the garment and decided it fit fine.

Then he tried to write a letter:

"Hi, Nance! I've just put it on--first time--beautiful! It'll stay right
with me. Thanks. Talk about being staggered..."

There he bogged down, some, wondering how much she had changed,
wondering just what he ought to say to her, and who these characters
that he wouldn't remember, might be. Cripes, how old was she, now?
Seventeen? He ended up taking her at her word. He described Pallastown
rather heavy-handedly, and bought some microfilm postcards to go along
with his missive, as soon as he went out to mail it.

But a few hours later, from deep in space, he looked back at the Town,
shining in the distance, and in the blue mood of thinking about Charlie
Reynolds, Mitch Storey, and Two-and-Two, he wondered how much longer it,
or Nance, or anything else, could last. Then he glanced down at the
bright sweater, and chuckled...

Unexpectedly, Ramos remained an active member of KRNH Enterprises for
over a year. But the end had to come. "I told Art I'd let my dough ride,
Frank," he said to Nelsen in the lounge of Post One. "I'll only draw
enough earnings to build me a real, deep-space bubb, nuclear-propelled,
and with certain extra gadgets. A few guys have tried to follow the
unmanned, instrumented rockets, out to the system of Saturn. Nobody got
back, yet. I think I know what they figured wrong. The instruments
showed--well, skip it... I'm going into Town to prepare. It'll take
quite a while, so I'll have some fun, too."

Ramos' eyes twinkled with a secret triumph--before the fact.

"You don't argue a fighting rooster out of fighting," Nelsen laughed.
"Besides, it wouldn't be Destiny--or any fun--to succeed. So accept the
complimentary comparison--if it fits--which maybe it doesn't, you
egotistical bonehead. Good luck--_buena suerte, amigo_. I'll look you up
in Town, if I get a chance..."

Nelsen was always busy to the gills. Progress was so