The story had a pattern you could play by ear. Just another man, and another woman, and another boy now in his teens, who'd grown tired of the struggle for survival in a world that begrudged a man the space occupied by his own body.

And when the meal was over, Joan helped Alice Whiting with the dishes, while the men sat around the fire and smoked. It was dark out now—a strange kind of darkness, split only by billions of incredibly bright stars and the nearby glow of the crackling wood fire.

Bruce Whiting's cordiality was contagious too. Claude found himself talking now; describing his wants, his ideas, and his ideals. And when the women returned to the circle, the conversation turned to other subjects. They discussed clothes, their children, and the future of the planet.

Only one subject was carefully avoided.

And that was the one that was foremost in the minds of all of them.

They were still talking when the fire had settled into weary heaps of smouldering embers. Then the two families excused themselves and retired to the canvas lean-to's wondering what the next day would hold in store for them.

The blue sun of Centauri was almost at zenith the next day, when the half-trac arrived with the supplies.

The driver—an amiable man—listened patiently while Bruce and Claude related the mixup, and as had been expected, agreed to transport them back to the base.

The two families rode together in the open back of the vehicle as it jounced over the mildly sloping terrain. And yet the ride was not unpleasant. The immensity of the planet was breathtaking. It was exactly as the colorcasts had pictured it—only better, incredibly better. No TV travelogue could adequately describe the tang of the air, or the scent of the sweet-smelling grass.

God had indeed been generous with this portion of the planet.

It was hard to believe that the opposite side was a rocky wasteland that would probably fight colonization for another thousand years.

Almost before they knew it, they were at the spaceport. Sometime during the night, another ship had arrived. It stood majestically at the far end of the apron, towering over a knot of tiny figures grouped around the rudder stanchions.

The driver swooped past them and 

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