er man, with nine solid years of tough
Earther life behind him. He would not be able to help but regard Alan as
a kid, a greenhorn; it was natural. They would never be comfortable in
each other's presence, with the old easy familiarity that was so close
to telepathy. That nine-year gulf would see to that.

"Thinking about your brother, aren't you?"

Alan blinked. "How did you know?"

Grinning, Hawkes said, "A gambler has to know how to figure things. And
it's written in permoscript all over your forehead anyway. You're
wondering what the first face-to-face meeting's going to be like. I'll
bet on it."

"I won't cover the bet. You'd win."

"You want to know how it'll be? I can tell you, Alan: you'll feel sick.
Sick and bewildered and ashamed of the guy who used to be your brother.
But that'll pass. You'll look behind the things the nine years did to
him, and you'll see your brother back there. He'll see you, too. It
won't be as bad as you're expecting."

Somehow Alan felt relieved. "You're sure of that?"

Hawkes nodded. "You know, I'm taking such a personal interest in this
business because I've got a brother too. _Had_ a brother."

"Had?"

"Kid about your age. Same problem I had, too: no guild. We were born
into the street sweepers' guild, but neither of us could go for that, so
we checked out and took Free Status. I went into gambling. He hung
around the Enclave. He always wanted to be a spacer."

"What happened to him?"

"He pulled a fast one. Starship was in town and looking for a new
galley-boy. Dave did some glib talking and got aboard. It was a fluke
thing, but he made it."

"Which ship?" Alan asked.

"_Startreader_. Bound out on a hop to Beta Crucis XVIII. 465
light-years." Hawkes smiled faintly. "He left a year, year and a half
ago. The ship won't be back on Earth again for nine hundred thirty years
or so. I don't figure to be around that long." He shook his head. "Let's
get out of here. People waiting for tables."

Out in the street again, Alan noticed that the sun was low in the sky;
it was past 1800, and getting along toward evening. But the streets were
not getting dark. From everywhere a soft glow was beginning to
radiate--from the pavement, the buildings, everywhere. It was a gentle
gleaming brightness that fell from the air; there was no perceptible
change from day-illumination to night-illumination.

But it was getting late. And they would miss him back at the
Enclave--unless Captain D