Winstead looked down at his clothing for the first time and flinched.
"But that was yesterday," continued the pilot. "You ought to be feeling like some chow by now, eh? Hey wait—the door is down here, Mr. Winstead!"
In six days, including one of landing maneuvers, they reached Queen Bess III, a very Terran world that was a minor crossroads of space travel.
Here, Winstead bade farewell to the Stellar Queen. His first stop was the communications office. He left a message to be transmitted to Callahan on Topaz IV by "fastest means"—i. e., by the next spaceship headed that way. He said, simply, "Thanks for everything."
He found a good many travelers wandering about the clean, beautifully furnished waiting room of the Agency here. Winstead sank into a softly upholstered armchair, opened his bag, and began to sort out his papers. No sooner did he look up from this task than there appeared before him a pleasantly smiling, gray-haired man. He was about Winstead's height, but chunky and full of bounce.
"My name is John Aubrey," he announced. "I trust I can be of service. Are you stopping here on Bessie?"
"No, I—I'm just passing through," said Winstead. "I assume you are the Agency official here?"
"One of them," Aubrey said. "Ah, your papers? Thank you. We can just step this way into my office if you like."
He threaded his way between chairs, tables, and occasional travelers to one of a row of offices. It was the size of a large closet, but cheerfully decorated. Aubrey gave Winstead a chair and sat himself down behind an extremely modern desk to commit the required formalities upon the traveler's papers. The ultimate destination ticket Winstead had included gave him pause.