supervising establishment of the new star-ship line to Algol Six, spending his leaves in Sun City with Nila?

Nila—he yearned for her, for her gay, mocking humor, her cool beauty, her quick, clever mind. What was he doing here with a bunch of bird-brained tourists who were conscientiously tripping for local color to an old, forgotten world?

This whole part of the galaxy was a stagnant, half-dead area. This side of Vega there weren't a score of suns with worlds of any importance. And the old "Larkoom," a second-rate star-ship that couldn't make more than eighty light-speeds, was plodding determinedly and monotonously on into it.

Curse that psychotherapist anyway! Why had he been crazy enough to listen to the fellow? That smug, pink, blinking Arcturian had smiled as gently as a well-bred pussy-cat as he told Carlin what his trouble was.

"Star-sick?" Carlin had flared. "What do you mean, star-sick? I've made the trip to Algol ten times in the last three months."

The psychotherapist had nodded. "Yes. And that was nine times too many. You've been overdoing it for a long time, Mr. Carlin."

Before Carlin could protest, the other man had referred to the dossier on his desk.

"I have your record here. Born at Aldebaran four thirty years ago. Graduated at twenty-two from Canopus University with the degree of Cosmic Engineer. Worked since then establishing spaceports for star-ship lines between Rigel, Sharak, Tibor, Algol and other stars."

The psychotherapist looked up gravely. "The point is that you've spent fifty per cent of your time in the last eight years in star-ships. The average has been seventy per cent since you took charge of establishing the new Algol line. And that's too much time in space for any man. No wonder you're star-sick."

"Blast it, I'm not star-sick!" Carlin exploded. "What kind of therapist are you? I come here to have you treat a perfectly simple syndrome of reflex-fatigue, and you tell me all this!"

The Arcturian shook his head wisely. "Your case was only simple on the surface, Mr. Carlin. The hypnosis showed up your trouble unmistakably. Want to hear the record?"

Carlin heard it. And it wasn't pretty. Not pretty, to hear his hypnosis-freed subconscious yelling out a frantic hatred of space and star-ships and everything 

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