The remark startled him. He had used it occasionally to rationalize his position, had been convinced of its undeniable truth--yet suddenly he realized that he himself was its living denial. People _could_ change, just as he had changed, just as Dorothy could change. It had been partly his fault when he first gave in to something he didn't want to do, and then to something else, and something else after that. He had helped dig the rut in which he had found himself, taking it for granted just as Dorothy had taken it for granted. Her hair was soft in the same moonlight that had shone eight years before, and Sam Meecham felt a desire that had been too long unfulfilled. "Dorothy, I--" He hesitated. The decision came hard to him, for much of his life had been devoted to giving in to the decisions of others. This was the moment he had been waiting for, and now at the last moment he was uncertain. He said suddenly, "Can you pack a few things?" "Sam--" Her voice in the darkness was eager. Her hands touched his. Soft hands. "You'd better hurry," he told her. Sam watched her go to the house, and doubts began to gnaw at him. Was he going to destroy his plans now at a whim? He felt an impulse to get into the rocket and leave without her--yet he thought of the cold emptiness of space and himself drifting through alien worlds, alone, lonely. Perhaps it was wrong but he couldn't condemn her for something that was partly his fault. He was trying to become the person he once might have been, and it was only fair that she should have the same chance. Dorothy came hurrying back, a suitcase in her hand, and there was an eagerness about her that pleased him. He helped her put the suitcase on board. "Dorothy--" Her voice was soft and low. "Yes, Sam?" Starlight danced in her eyes. He pulled her gently to him. He kissed her, and that night eight years ago came back, and in his arms was the young eager bride he had known, the one he loved. Minutes later they rose on wings of fire, in a slow upward spiral that quickened painlessly. Sam had not questioned the hyperdrive. It had worked in the factory and it would work here. He watched the needle cross the dial in a swift, steady movement. Dorothy placed her hand in his. "Where are we going, darling?" Sam Meecham smiled at her, confident that he had made the most important decision in his life. He pointed through the forward window. Ahead of them lay the stars. Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from _Fantastic Universe_ January 1954. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed. Minor spelling and typographical errors have been corrected without note. End of Project Gutenberg's The Odyssey of Sam Meecham, by Charles E. Fritch