"A good hobby for a spaceman," said the sidewalk psychiatrist approvingly.
"It's not a hobby," said Danny. "And I don't want to be a spaceman."
"Not a spaceman?" The sidewalk psychiatrist seemed surprised. "Mars and Venus are settled. Last year a permanent colony was set up on Pluto. And a few months ago a ship set out for the stars. Spacemen have a glorious future."
"I know it," said Danny. "But does everyone have to be a spaceman?"
"No. Electronics is a good field. And then there's math."
"I'm good in both of them," said Danny impatiently. "If I should tell you what I've done—" He stopped. It wouldn't do to tell; that would reveal he wasn't nineteen. "But I don't want to be any of those. Isn't there room somewhere for a musician?"
"You think other things are important. So, Danny?" The machine paused. "You're right. There are stars inside that have to be reached." The sidewalk psychiatrist pondered. "Then be what you want, Danny. Study and listen. Maybe when you've heard everything there is, you'll wish you hadn't. But you will be an authority."
"I don't want to be an authority," yelled Danny. He didn't lower his voice. "I want to be a musician."
The machine seemed to be lost. "You mean you want to play an instrument?"
"That's it. Also, if I'm good enough, to compose music."