Produced by Greg Weeks, Stephen Blundell and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net _A wayfarer's return from a far country to his wife and family may be a shining experience, a kind of second honeymoon. Or it may be so shadowed by Time's relentless tyranny that the changes which have occurred in his absence can lead only to tragedy and despair. This rarely discerning, warmly human story by a brilliant newcomer to the science fantasy field is told with no pulling of punches, and its adroit unfolding will astound you._ the hoofer _by ... Walter M. Miller, Jr._ A space rover has no business with a family. But what can a man in the full vigor of youth do--if his heart cries out for a home? They all knew he was a spacer because of the white goggle marks on his sun-scorched face, and so they tolerated him and helped him. They even made allowances for him when he staggered and fell in the aisle of the bus while pursuing the harassed little housewife from seat to seat and cajoling her to sit and talk with him. Having fallen, he decided to sleep in the aisle. Two men helped him to the back of the bus, dumped him on the rear seat, and tucked his gin bottle safely out of sight. After all, he had not seen Earth for nine months, and judging by the crusted matter about his eyelids, he couldn't have seen it too well now, even if he had been sober. Glare-blindness, gravity-legs, and agoraphobia were excuses for a lot of things, when a man was just back from Big Bottomless. And who could blame a man for acting strangely? Minutes later, he was back up the aisle and swaying giddily over the little housewife. "How!" he said. "Me Chief Broken Wing. You wanta Indian wrestle?" The girl, who sat nervously staring at him, smiled wanly, and shook her head. "Quiet li'l pigeon, aren'tcha?" he burbled affectionately, crashing into the seat beside her. The two men slid out of their seats, and a hand clamped his shoulder. "Come on, Broken Wing, let's go back to bed." "My name's Hogey," he said. "Big Hogey Parker. I was just kidding about being a Indian." "Yeah. Come on, let's go have a drink." They got him on his feet, and led him stumbling back down the aisle. "My ma was half Cherokee, see? That's how come I said it. You wanta hear a war whoop? Real stuff." "Never mind." He cupped his hands to his mouth and favored them with a blood-curdling proof of his ancestry, while the female passengers stirred restlessly and hunched in their seats. The driver stopped the bus and went back to warn him against any further display. The driver flashed a deputy's badge and threatened to turn him over to a constable. "I gotta get home," Big Hogey told him. "I got me a son now, that's why. You know? A little baby pigeon of a son. Haven't seen him yet." "Will you just sit still and be quiet then, eh?" Big Hogey nodded emphatically. "Shorry, officer, I didn't mean to make any trouble."