“You’ll get fed and brushed like a prize sire--what a life!” “They say those Mech women are charged like a parogun. You have to say ‘yes’m’ and ‘no’m’ or you’re likely to get your head smoked off.” “Lay off it!” Rick roared, half annoyed by the banter that was supposed to be friendly enough but which had the effect of small, hot needles in his skin. A vacuum of sound swelled outward in the wake of his voice. “Sorry, guys,” he said. “I didn’t mean it to come out that way. I just don’t like it being the last night of my life at RiGrand.” “Sure, we don’t like it, either. Guess there’s better ways of showing it than being damned fools. Let’s go in and have a tall drink.” They crowded around, taking his arms, urging him on. These were the fellows he’d grown up with on the vast farms and ranches of the Lonestar Agro Region. They knew how he felt. Or at least they were trying. Most of them couldn’t really know. They’d never leave. They’d spend the rest of their lives here. For some inconceivable reason the Machine had picked _him_ to leave. To pair with a Mech. What kind of breed was that supposed to produce? A Rillo range sire and a salt grass heifer! He went along into the enormous guest hall of the RiGrand ranch. The families left the drinking table and surged about him, shaking his hand and offering congratulations as if something wonderful had happened to him. It was enough to make a man think they _wanted_ him to leave. But he knew how they felt. It was just a part of growing up, to them. Maybe the trouble with him was that he didn’t want to grow up. Mendon Carter, RiGrand’s Chief Agro, stood up on the drinking table to propose a toast. His mane of white hair was entangled with points of quivering, silver light. “To Rick Theron!” he cried. “May a thousand Agro sons call him father!” It wasn’t a good toast. Not for a man who was going to pair with a Mech. But Mendon Carter was trying, in the best way he knew how, to supply an expression of their love which Rick would have to remember and sustain him in the years ahead. Until the time, at least, when he would finally all but forget that he had ever been an Agro. “To Rick!” the others shouted, even more loudly than they intended, in order to cover their embarrassment at Mendon’s inept toast. But Rick pretended there was no cause for discomfort. He leaped to the table beside Mendon and held his glass high. “To my sons!” he cried. “I’ll send every one of them back to Lonestar!” That eased their tension, and gave them license to be as gay as they liked. They answered back with shouts of laughter and good wishes as Rick jumped down from the table, his eyes intent upon the figure he had been searching for ever since he came in. She was standing against the far wall, her face bright with laughter that pained him. He forced his way through the crowd to Barie’s side. “For a little while I thought you weren’t here,” he said.