Nelsen was glad to be alone. The lonesomeness of the Big Vacuum was getting grimed into him. When he saw the return name and address on the package, and the two hundred-ten dollar postage sticker, he thought, Cripes—that poor kid—what did I start? Then the awful wave of nostalgia for Jarviston, Minnesota, hit him, as he fumbled to open the microfilmed letter capsule, and put it in the viewer.
"Hello, Frank—it has to be that, doesn't it, and not Mr. Nelsen, since you've sent me this miraculous bracelet—which I don't dare wear very much, since I don't want to lose an arm to some international—or even interstellar—jewel thief! It makes me feel like the Queen of Something—certainly not Serene, since it implies calmness and repose, which I certainly don't feel—no offense to our Miss Sands, whom I admire enormously. In a very small way I am repaying to you in kind—an item which I made, myself, and which I know that some spacemen use inside their Archers. You see, we are all informed in details. Paul, Otto, Chippie Potter and his dog, and other characters whom you won't remember, send their best greetings. Oh, I've got Stardust fever, too, but I'll yield to my folks' wishes and wait, and learn a profession that will be of some use Out There. May you wear what I'm sending in good health, safety and fortune. Send no more staggering gifts, please—I couldn't stand it—but please do write. Tell me how it really is in the Belt. You simply don't realize how much—"
Nance Codiss' missive rattled along, and the scrawled words got to be like small, happy bells inside Nelsen's skull. His crooked grin came out; he unpacked the sweater—creylon wool, very warm, bright red, a bit crude in workmanship here and there—but imagine a girl bothering, these days! He donned the garment and decided it fit fine.
Then he tried to write a letter:
"Hi, Nance! I've just put it on—first time—beautiful! It'll stay right with me. Thanks. Talk about being staggered..."
There he bogged down, some, wondering how much she had changed, wondering just what he ought to say to her, and who these characters that he wouldn't remember, might be. Cripes, how old was she, now? Seventeen? He ended up taking her at her word. He described Pallastown rather heavy-handedly, and bought some microfilm postcards to go along with his missive, as soon as he went out to mail it.
But a few hours later, from deep in space, he looked back at the Town, shining in the distance, and in the blue mood of thinking about Charlie Reynolds, Mitch Storey, and Two-and-Two, he wondered how much longer it, or Nance, or anything else, could last. Then he glanced down at the bright sweater, and chuckled...
Unexpectedly, Ramos remained an active member of KRNH Enterprises for over a year. But the end had to come. "I told Art I'd let my dough ride, Frank," he said to Nelsen in the lounge of Post One. "I'll only draw enough earnings to build me a real, deep-space bubb, nuclear-propelled, and with certain extra gadgets. A few guys have tried to follow the unmanned, instrumented rockets, out to the system of Saturn. Nobody got back, yet. I think I know what they figured wrong. The instruments showed—well, skip it... I'm going into Town to prepare. It'll take quite a while, so I'll have some fun, too."
Ramos' eyes twinkled with a secret triumph—before the fact.