He just scribbled on, ramblingly, as usual. Yep, in a new Archer Seven, you could undo a few clamps, pull a foot up out of a boot, and actually change your socks... Inconsequential nonsense like that. He ended by telling her not to worry about any knicknacks he might send--that they came easy, out here. He microposted the letter, and mailed a square of soft glass-silk of many colors. Then he pronounced a few cuss words, laughed at himself for getting so serious, shrugged, and with the casualness of hopper with his pockets loaded, moved toward the rec area, which was some distance off. It was night over this part of rapidly growing Pallastown. Moving along a lighted causeway, he saw the man with the shovel teeth. Glory, had _he_ managed to survive so long? His mere presence, here, seemed like a signal of the end of peace. Nelsen and Ramos used to practice close-contact tactics at zero-G, in space. So Nelsen didn't even wait for the man to notice him. He leaped, and sped like an arrow, thudding into the guy's stomach with both of his boot heels. Shovel Teeth was hurled fifty yards backward, Nelsen hurtling with him all the way. Unless Nelsen wanted to kill him, there wasn't any more to do. Partial revenge. He wasn't worried about anybody except the guy's Jolly Lad henchmen. There was nobody close by. Now he did a quick fade, sure that nobody had seen who he was, during the entire episode. No use to call the cops--there were too many uncertainties about the setup in wild, polyglot Pallastown. Nelsen moved on to the rec area. He didn't go into a garishly splendid place, named _The Second Stop_. Thus, he didn't see its owner, whose identity he had already heard about, of course. Not that he wouldn't have liked to. But there wasn't any time to get involved in a long chat with a woman... Nor did he see the tall, skinny, horse-faced comic, known only as Igor, go through slapstick acrobatics that once would have been impossible... By a round-about route he proceeded to the catapults, where Gimp Hines was waiting for him. They had been conversing just a short while ago. "Did you drop in on Eileen?" Gimp asked right away. "No. There'll be other occasions," Nelsen laughed. "Someday, if we live, she'll own all the joints in the solar system." "Uh-huh--I'd bet on it... By the way, there's a grapevine yarn around. Somebody kicked Fanshaw--the Jolly Lad big-shot--in the belly. You, perhaps?" "Don't listen to gossip," Nelsen said primly. "Are you serious about going to Mercury?" "Of course. There are people to take over my office duties. I'll be on my way in a couple of weeks. I think you'd like to come along, Frank." Nelsen felt an urge that was like a crying for freedom. "Sure I would. But I'm bound to the wheel. Cripes, though--watch yourself, fella. Don't _you_ get into a mess!" "Hell--you're the mess specialist, Frank. Fanshaw isn't here for fun. And there's been that new trouble at home..."