Bleak hostility in his face, the man approached. "Cantwell. Yeah, I remember you. Colony wasn't good enough for young Steve Cantwell. Oh, no. Had to go off to Earth to get himself educated. What are you doing here now on that fancy aircraft of yours, coming to crow at our wake?" The bitterness surprised Steve. He recognized the man now as Tobias Whiting, who had been the Colony's most successful man when Steve was a boy. Except for his bitterness and for the bleak self-pity and defeat in his eyes, the years had been good to Tobias Whiting. He was probably in his mid-forties now, twenty years Steve's senior, but he was well-muscled, his flesh was solid, his step bold and strong. He was a big muscular man with a craggy, handsome face. In ten years he had hardly changed at all, while Steve Cantwell, the boy, had become Steve Cantwell the man. He had been the Colony's official trader with the Kumajis, and had grown rich--by colony standards--at his business. Now, Steve realized, all that was behind him, and he could only flee with the others--either back to the terribly crowded Earth or on in search of a new colony on some other outworld, if they could get the transportation. Perhaps that explained his bitterness. "So you've come back, eh? You sure picked a time, Cantwell." The refugees were still about a quarter of a mile off, coming up slowly. They hardly seemed to be moving at all. "Is my aunt all right?" Steve said. She was the only family he remembered. Tobias Whiting shook his head slowly. "I hate to be the one to tell you this. Brace yourself for a shock. Your aunt was one of those who died from the poisoned water last night." For a long moment, Steve said nothing. The only emotion he felt was pity--pity for the hard life his aunt had lived, and the hard death. Sadness would come later, if there was to be a time for sadness. * * * * * The caravan reached them then. The first person Steve saw was a girl. She wore the shroud-like desert garment and her face--it would be a pretty face under other circumstances, Steve realized--was etched with lines of fatigue. Steve did not recognize her. "Who is he, Dad?" the girl said. "Young Cantwell. Remember?" So this was Mary Whiting, Steve thought. Why, she'd been a moppet ten years ago! How old? Ten years old maybe. The years crowded him suddenly. She was a woman now.... "Steve Cantwell?" Mary said. "Of course I remember. Hello, Steve. I--I'm sorry you had to come back at a time like this. I'm sorry about your aunt. If there's anything I can do...." Steve shook his head, then shook the hand she offered him. She was a slim, strong girl with a firm handshake. Her concern for him at a time like this was little short of amazing, especially since it was completely genuine. He appreciated it.