He swept the stack of papers away with an impatient gesture and frowned up at me.
"Over at the colonial office, I suppose," he said. "But it won't do you any good."
I could read in his eyes what he thought of me. Of me and all the other farmers who lived in the outlying districts and raised crops and seldom came to the city. My clothes were old and provincial and out of style, and so was I, to him.
"I'll try it anyway," I said.
He started to say something, then bit it back and looked away from me again. I was keeping him from his work. I was just a rude old man interfering with the operation of the spaceways.
Slowly I let go of the desk and turned to leave. It was hard to walk. My knees were trembling, and my whole body shook. It was all I could do not to cry. It angered me, the quavering in my voice and the weakness in my legs.
I went out into the hall and looked for the directory that would point the way to the colonial office. It wasn't far off.
I walked out onto the edge of the field and past the Earth rocket, its silver nose pointed up at the sky. I couldn't bear to look at it for longer than a minute.
It was only a few hundred yards to the colonial office, but it seemed like miles.