That was why Steve had gone over the hill. What was it he had said? _I feel the walls of the ship holding me in like the bars of a cell._ Out there was Earth, population approximately eight billion or so. And up here is the _Valhalla_, current population precisely 176. He knew all 176 of them like members of his own family--which they were, in a sense. There was nothing mysterious about anyone, nothing new. And that was what Steve had wanted: something new. So he had jumped ship. Well, Alan thought, development of a hyperdrive would change the whole setup, if--if---- He hardly found the quarantine to his liking either. The starmen had only a brief stay on Earth, with just the shortest opportunity to go down to the Enclave, mingle with starmen from other ships, see a new face, trade news of the starways. It was almost criminal to deprive them of even a few hours of it. Well, a dance was the second best thing. But it was a pretty distant second, he thought, as he pushed himself up out of the pneumochair. He looked across the recreation room. _Speak of the devil_, he thought. There was Roger Bond now, stretched out and resting too under a radiotherm lamp. Alan walked over to him. "Heard the sad news, Rog?" "About the quarantine? Yeah." Roger glanced at his wristchron. "Guess I'd better start getting spruced up for the dance," he said, getting to his feet. He was a short, good-looking, dark-haired boy a year younger than Alan. "Going with anyone special?" Roger shook his head. "Who, special? Who, I ask you? I'm going to take skinny Judy Collier, I guess. There's not much choice, is there?" "No," Alan agreed sadly, "Not much choice at all." Together they left the recreation room. Alan felt a strange sort of hopeless boredom spreading over him, as if he had entered a gray fog. It worried him. "See you tonight," Roger said. "I suppose so," Alan returned dully. He was frowning. _Chapter Three_ The _Valhalla_ touched down on Earth at 1753 on the nose, to nobody's very great surprise. Captain Mark Donnell had not missed schedule once in his forty ship years in space, which covered a span of over a thousand years of Earth's history. Landing procedure was rigidly set. The Crew debarked by family, in order of signing-on; the only exception to the order was Alan. As a member of the Captain's family--the only other member, now--he had to wait till the rest of the ship was cleared. But his turn came eventually. "Solid ground again, Rat!" They stood on the jet-fused dirt field where the _Valhalla_ had landed. The great golden-hulled starship was reared up on its tail, with its huge landing buttresses flaring out at each side to keep it propped up. "Solid for _you_, maybe," Rat said. "But the trip's just as wobbly as ever for me, riding up here on your shoulder." Captain Donnell's shrill whistle sounded, and he cupped his hands to call out, "The copters are here!"