firing-stud on his blaster, but a man Conroy knew only as Pete sprang forward, wrenched the gun away, and dove into the guard.

Conroy grabbed the fallen gun, scooped it up and fired. His bolt spurted redly into the arm of the remaining guard.

Three more Space-Station men in gray uniforms came in, and Conroy and his little army swept forward to meet them. In the general confusion, Conroy's blaster was swept away—and, alone, unarmed, he slipped past the milling rebels and escaped into the corridor outside.

He found himself facing the giant viewing dome again, the curving arc of plexiplast that bellied out from the side of the satellite and afforded a striking view of the distant Earth. The orbiter was 100,000 miles above the Earth's surface—a sort of halfway-house between Earth and the Moon. From a hundred thousand miles up, the view was breathtaking.

Conroy glanced out at the sweeping circle that was Earth, green and shining in the sky. Just now, Africa and Europe were upturned, and the rippling mass of the Atlantic. A little tingle of wonder shot through Conroy at the sight of his home world, seen from the satellite he had helped to build.

Then he saw guards heading down the broad corridor that ran completely around the outer rim of the satellite, and knew he had to hide.

Quickly, he ducked into a washroom off to the right. As the door slid closed, he deftly jimmied the photonic beam to keep it that way until he was ready to come out.

He glanced at his face in the mirror, seeing as if for the first time the baggy eyes, the heavy growth of beard, the beaten, run-down color of the skin. The memory of a photo crossed his mind: a tridim in natural color, taken three years ago. He and Janet, together, their arms locked around each other, their faces bright, laughing.

Three years ago. Then came the accident; then the lab was destroyed and Lloyd killed. And then the drinking began.

Now, three years later, where was Janet? Someplace far off, remote, untouchable. Her father's party had taken over in the last election and he was now a bigwig in the Space Commission. Probably she was still clean and fresh, bright and young. Maybe she was married.

And me? He looked with revulsion at the bleary mask his face had become.

He went to work with the 

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