The fugitive scarcely moved the entire time of the passage. Finally when Earth hung out in the sky like a blue balloon, the ship cut its pulsations and swung around for a tail landing. The atmosphere screamed through the fins of the rocket, and the continents and the countries, and then the rivers and the mountains took shape. The big ship settled down as gently as a snowflake, shuddered a few times and was quiet. * * * * * The passengers hurriedly gathered up their scattered belongings and pushed toward the exit in a great rush to be out and back on Earth. The fugitive was the last to leave. He stayed well away from the others, being fearful that, if he should touch or brush up against someone, his identity might be recognized. When he saw the ramp running from the ship to the ground, he was dismayed. It seemed a flimsy structure, supported only by tubular steel. Five people were walking down it, and he made a mental calculation of their weight--about eight hundred pounds he thought. He weighed five times that. The ramp was obviously never built to support such a load. He hesitated, and then he realized that he had caught the eye of the stewardess waiting on the ground. A little panicky, he stepped out with one foot and he was horrified to feel the steel buckle. He drew back hastily and threw a quick glance at the stewardess. Fortunately at the moment she was looking down one field and waving at someone. The ramp floor was supported by steel tubes at its edges and in its exact center. He tentatively put one foot in the middle over the support and gradually shifted his weight to it. The metal complained creakily, but held, and he slowly trod the exact center line to Earth. The stewardess' back was turned toward him as he walked off across the field toward the customhouse. He found it comforting to have under his feet what felt like at least one yard of cement. He could step briskly and not be fearful of betraying himself. There was one further danger: the customs inspector. He took his place at the end of the line and waited patiently until it led him up to a desk at which a uniformed man sat, busily checking and stamping declarations and traveling papers. The official, however, did not even look up when he handed him his passport and identification. "Human. You don't have to go through immigration," the agent said. "Do you have anything to declare?" "N-no," the traveler said. "I d-didn't bring anything in." "Sign the affidavit," the agent said and pushed a sheet of paper toward him. The traveler picked up a pen from the desk and signed "Jon Hall" in a clear, perfect script. The agent gave it a passing glance and tossed it into a wire basket.