f
minutes--"

"The Big Bird?" said Monk in horror.

Christy smiled. "That's what we call the Space Station. We'll pick up
some supplies and fuel there, and then we'll take off again. But you
won't have to be concerned about the acceleration on the second
blast-off. You can take that easily."

"Are you sure?" said Monk anxiously.

"Positive. There won't be any gravitational pull to overcome this
time. You'll be fine."

"I appreciate this, Christy. I won't forget your help."

"That's okay, Mr. Wheeler. It makes my wife happy."

"Yes." Monk felt well enough now to give the pilot a sardonic smile.
"She's a wonderful girl, Diana. A wonderful girl."

"You're telling me?" said Bill Christy.

* * * * *

The space suit that Fletcher Monk had been assigned before the descent
on Mars was a little tight-fitting for his comfort. He wondered what
life would be like in this eternal bulky costume. But he was comforted
by the picture of the Mars Colony he had received back on Earth; a
labyrinth of airtight interiors, burrowing their way over and into the
planet, served by gigantic oxygen tanks. The network of buildings had
been expanding every year, until now it covered some hundred miles of
the planet's surface. He'd spend most of his time safely indoors, he
promised himself, where he wouldn't need the cumbersome trappings of
space clothing. His life had been an indoor affair anyway, back on
Earth.

The passengers were led into the Quarantine Section, where they would
spend their first three days on Mars.

It was a relief to Monk to shed the heavy space-suit in the air-filled
room. And it was a revelation, for with helmet and boots removed, he
found himself almost floating with each step he took, moving
feather-light over the ground. He was surprised, and a little unnerved
at first, but then he remembered that this feeble gravitation was the
preserver of his health--and he laughed aloud.

"Something funny?" said the man at the front desk. He was a young man,
about thirty, but there was an ageless competence in his features.

Monk smiled. "Just feeling good, that's all." He patted the brown
leather bag in his hand.

"Name?"

"Well, it will be listed as Wheeler...."

The official scanned the list. "Here it is. Ben Wheeler." He looked up
at Monk curiously. "How old are you, Mr. Wheeler?"

"Fifty," said Monk.

"Pretty old for the Colony, aren't you, Mr. Wheeler?"

Monk smirked. "Th