"You know I care, mom." The boy avoided her tearful eyes, ran a hand through his hair. "You know I like the place, and I feel awful running out after all the work you and dad and the men have put in, building it up--but I couldn't make a go of it. I don't want to be earth-bound, tied down to a piece of land all my life--" His mother's face was suddenly very, very tired. "Oh, you fool," she said, her voice bitter. "You don't know how you'll long for green grass again--" her face flared red in anger. "You've barely started to shave, and you want to go to Space. Well, it's nonsense! You can't do it, that's final. Tell him, George! Tell him why he can't go--tell him why--" "_Florence!_" She stopped short, eyes wide. "George, I'm sorry--" His voice was sharp, urgent. "I think--maybe Tad and I ought to talk this out--ourselves--" "I'm sorry, George." Florence Barlow rose silently. She began clearing the table, her eyes brimming. Tad's face was troubled. "I wish you wouldn't make a fuss, dad. I suppose it's a surprise to you both--" George smiled sourly. "Hardly. We've been around a while, Tad. We saw Len Cooper go, and a half-dozen like him. We knew you'd get the bug sooner or later. But you've got to understand why we can't allow it." * * * * * The room was silent, except for the faint rustling of the breeze through the curtains. "You don't know what you're walking into, Tad. None of you boys really know. You only see one side of the picture, the excitement and adventure. I know, it's a thrilling picture, but the thrill wears off, and then you have the long dull days of waiting, sitting, always waiting, with nothing to see but the bulkhead and a dozen men cramped into impossible tight quarters without any room to move around. You don't know how you'd get to hate those men, how you'd wish you could be alone for just a little while, how you'd long for privacy. And you don't realize the danger--not the exciting, bravado kind of danger that you read about, but the live, horrible danger of depending for your life on a little sliver of metal. "So many things can go wrong, and any one of them means you're through. Not a brave death, son, nor a heroic death--just a very lonely death, where you freeze and starve, and feel the life choke out of you. There are so many ways to die in Space, such horrible ways, so easily. And there isn't any reward worth the risk. It's all risk, and you have nothing for it. A few days of glory when you're back home, and then you're off again. Once you go, you're gone. You'll never come back. Only the lucky ones come back. You'll be in Space 'til it kills you." "But the colonies, dad. Mars Mountain, Player's Folly, Ironstone--they're all going concerns. They need men, lots of men, with ideas--men who aren't afraid of work--"