The attendant took Greg's manifest without interest. "You're our first landing in two years, Captain--" He glanced at the sheet. "Captain Greg. I see you're in from Mars." "I'm carrying five tons of Redearth." In the old days such a cargo would have cleared three million after transportation costs; a whole new industry had been built on the Martian antibiotical spore. "No market, I'm afraid, Captain." The attendant flipped the manifest aside. "Sell it at auction. I have to raise enough cash to--" "You won't get a buyer." "I've got to get some new equipment for my ship!" "You'd have done better in the colonies. Mars has excellent repair facilities, we understand." "At sky-high prices, sure." "The earth isn't building flight equipment any more. What's the point? The kids don't want it." The attendant shrugged his shoulders. "You aren't the first one, Captain Greg, who's come home for nothing; and you won't be the last. Check with me tomorrow. I'll see what I can work out." "If I can't dispose of my cargo--" "We waive all field charges in cases of destitution. You can dump the Redearth and the kids will stake you to a cargo of iron ore; it's going at triple premium on Venus, we're told." * * * * * Greg turned on his heel and walked stiffly out of the building. One bitter word burned in his mind: destitution. It was like a kick in the teeth. He thought, in a fury of blind anger, I gave them the stars and they make me a charity case--this new generation! Children who could never build a colonial bubble or pioneer a star route. Soft-minded and soft-muscled idiots. The field attendant hadn't even recognized Greg's name. Suddenly the past was alive again, like an angry nightmare. The speeches and the headlines, the bands and the screaming mobs, the politicians, the scientists, the generals. Handclasps and newsreel pictures. "Just one more, sir, for the TV cameras." ... "A Citation by a joint session of the Congress of the United States, to Captain Victor Greg, U. S. Rocket Forces...." GREG MAKES MARS.... L. A. WELCOMES GREG.... FIRST SPACEMAN IN N. Y. PARADE... "And I say to you, my constituents, the name Greg shall be forever writ large in the hearts of a grateful people." ... GREG LANDS FIRST MARTIAN CARGO.... "For the discovery of Redearth, the eternal gratitude of the medical profession...." GREG TAKES NOBEL PRIZE.... "A small token of the gratitude of American industry...." GREG JOINS IMPORT FIRM.... "The undying gratitude of the United Patriotic Mothers of America...." FIRST COLONISTS ON MARS.... COLONIES ON THE MOONS OF JUPITER.... VENUS BUBBLE COMPLETED.... The dream of yesterday, and the dream was gone. The rocket ports were dead. The machines were crumbling into rust. And Captain Victor Greg?--a destitute tramp, waiting for a handout from a generation of brats which had forgotten him.