on.
There were several other space-suited figures around him, but he didn't
recognize any of them. He hummed softly to himself.

The green light came on, and the door of the air lock slid open. The
small crowd trooped inside, and, after a minute, the door slid shut
again. As the elevator dropped, St. Simon heard the familiar _whoosh_ as
the air came rushing in. By the time it had reached the lower level, the
elevator was up to pressure.

* * * * *

On Earth, there might have been a sign in such an elevator, reading: _DO
NOT REMOVE VACUUM SUITS IN ELEVATOR._ There was no need for it here;
every man there knew how to handle himself in an air lock. If he hadn't,
he wouldn't have been there.

After he had stepped out of the elevator, along with the others, and the
door had closed behind him, St. Simon carefully opened the cracking
valve on his helmet. There was a faint hiss of incoming air, adjusting
the slight pressure differential. He took off his helmet, tucked it
under his arm, and headed for the check-in station.

He was walking down the corridor toward the checker's office when a hand
clapped him on the shoulder. "Bless me if it isn't St. Simon the Silent!
Long time no, if you'll pardon the cliche, see!"

St. Simon turned, grinning. He had recognized the voice. "Hi, Kerry.
Good to see you."

"Good to see me? Forsooth! Od's bodkins! Hast turned liar on top of
everything else, Good Saint? Good to see me, indeed! 'From such a face
and form as mine, the noblest sentiments sound like the black utterances
of a depraved imagination.' No, dear old holy pillar-sitter, no indeed!
It may be a pleasure to hear my mellifluous voice--a pleasure I often
indulge in, myself--but it couldn't possibly be a pleasure to _see_ me!"
And all the while, St. Simon was being pummeled heartily on the
shoulder, while his hand was pumped as though the other man was
expecting to strike oil at any moment.

His assailant was not a handsome man. Years before, a rare, fast-moving
meteor had punched its way through his helmet and taken part of his face
with it. He had managed to get back to his ship and pump air in before
he lost consciousness. He had had to stay conscious, because the only
thing that held the air in his helmet had been his hand pressed over the
quarter-inch hole. Even so, the drop in pressure had done its damage.
The surgeons had done their best to repair the smashed face, but Kerry
Brand's fac