The Blast gave him a sharp look. "Why do you want to go there, boy?" "Free Galaxy, ain't it?" John muttered. The Blast shrugged, handed him a transfer disk, lifted the gate. John had a momentary surge of satisfaction as he heard the Sons of Musso talking excitedly behind him. It wasn't every day that a kid from York invaded Upper City. Then he was at the shiny new snake and his stomach tightened and he was sweating. He kept walking, got on the fifth car, took a seat in the last row. He was the only passenger, but he'd seen others waiting in the cars he'd passed. Older folks. People who worked in Upper City, doing various menial tasks for the Outsiders. When the Blast walked through on his way to the back-box, John ran to the port and looked out across the one-piece duralume span. The Sons of Musso were still there. Before he could make a decision, the snake eased forward fluidly and then hit high speed. John Stevens was frightened, but he composed his features and returned to his seat. He sat straight and tried to remember what the master had said about maintaining dignity in front of Outsiders, showing them the stuff pure-bloods were made of. But the words fled his mind as he gazed out of the window. Upper City was really something. Wide thoroughfares lacing over and under each other in stop-free throughways. Thousands--no, _millions_ of private bubbles rolling along with gaily-dressed passengers! Low, square, bright-looking buildings. Trees and grass and flowers everywhere. And then, for one glorious moment, they were in Bunche Spaceport, the greatest on Earth! John drank in the huge, upright needles that stood gleaming in the July sun, waiting to blast off for planets where even greater cities and spaceports were established. If only he, John Stevens of York, could get inside one of those ships and go-- Deep bitterness hit him, and all the irritation he'd felt for the past weeks was back. They don't let us do anything! he thought. They keep us poor; in dirt and ignorance! That's what the master had said. And he'd added that the Outsiders were afraid of Aryans. That's why they persecuted them. John was seeing the full majesty of Upper City now, the spacious walks and busy drives and sun-filled buildings. And he couldn't help wondering why his people refused Integration. He suddenly realized that the car had filled with passengers, with Outsiders. He also realized that the twin seat next to his was just about the only one left in the jammed car. He felt his face stiffen, felt the hatred rise in his blood; and then the girl flounced up the aisle and hesitated, looking at him. She sat down. Not more than sixteen, John thought. Just right for him. And she sure was cute. Lovely golden skin-- He stopped the thoughts there.