sun-soaked, fairy-like landscape capped by fleecy white clouds that hung motionless in a sky of robin's-egg blue.

Claude stabbed an index finger at the patchwork quilt of green and yellow.

"Look Joan.... Our land! You can see it from here!"

"Where, Claude?"

"Out there.... See? Way out. Beyond those lakes!"

"Oh, Claude. How can you be sure?"

"I remember it from the maps—and the pictures.... Our land is just twenty-eight miles from this landing strip, and you cross three ridges of hills to get to it.... See? One ... two ... three!"

"Is that where we're going to live, Pop?"

"Yes, Son. That's where we're going to live. And there isn't a better piece of land anywhere.... I know!"

At the gentle urging of the attendant, they moved off the ramp and melted into the group of passengers drifting toward the ranch-type building at the edge of the area. A sign over the building said: RECEPTION CENTER, and a man was standing in front of it. The man wasn't old by Earth standards, but leathery skin, and steel-grey patches of hair around his temples made him look very ancient alongside the composite youth of the newly-arrived settlers.

The older man waited till the group had formed a tight semi-circle around him. Then he smiled and held up both hands.

"Welcome to Centifor," he said. "My name is Leon Stubbs, and I am the Director of Colonization."

He waited till the undercurrent of muttering had died down, and went on: "I know how anxious you all are to settle on your own land, but because immediate transportation is unavailable, there will be a slight delay. During this time you will be quartered here at the reception center."

Claude Marshall leaned close to his wife's ear. "We're lucky, Joan," he whispered. "We don't have to worry about transportation. We can walk to our land if we have to."

Leon Stubbs said: "If any of you have any questions, feel free to speak up.... That's why I'm here." He stopped, and pointed at a thin-faced youth with one arm 

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