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He walked along the starboard promenade to the gangway, which the first mate and a couple of airmen were getting open.

* * * * *

Most of the population of top-level Litchfield was in the crowd on the dock. He recognized old Colonel Zareff, with his white hair and plum-brown skin, and Tom Brangwyn, the town marshal, red-faced and bulking above the others. It took a few seconds for him to pick out his father and mother, and his sister Flora, and then to realize that the handsome young man beside Flora was his brother Charley. Charley had been thirteen when Conn had gone away. And there was Kurt Fawzi, the mayor of Litchfield, and there was Lynne, beside him, her red-lipped face tilted upward with a cloud of bright hair behind it.

He waved to her, and she waved back, jumping in excitement, and then everybody was waving, and they were pushing his family to the front and making way for them.

The ship touched down lightly and gave a lurch as she went off contragravity, and they got the gangway open and the steps swung out, and he started down toward the people who had gathered to greet him.

His father was wearing the same black best-suit he had worn when they had parted five years ago. It had been new then; now it was shabby and had acquired a permanent wrinkle across the right hip, over the pistol-butt. Charley was carrying a gun, too; the belt and holster looked as though he had made them himself. His mother’s dress was new and so was Flora’s–probably made for the occasion. He couldn’t be sure just which of the Terran Federation services had provided the material, but Charley’s shirt was Medical Service sterilon.

Ashamed that he was noticing and thinking of such things at a time like this, he clasped his father’s hand and kissed his mother and Flora. Everybody was talking at once, saying things that he heard only as happy sounds. His brother’s words were the first that penetrated as words.

“You didn’t know me,” Charley was accusing. “Don’t deny it; I saw you standing there wondering if I was Flora’s new boy friend or what.”

“Well, how in Niflheim’d you expect me to? You’ve grown up since the last time I saw you. You’re looking great, kid!” He caught the gleam of Lynne’s golden hair beyond Charley’s shoulder and pushed him gently aside. “Lynne!”

“Conn, you look just wonderful!” Her arms were around his neck and she was kissing him. “Am I still your girl, Conn?”

He crushed her against him and returned her kisses, assuring her that she was. He wasn’t going to let it make a bit of difference how her father took the news–if she didn’t.

She babbled on: “You didn’t get mixed up with any of those girls on Terra, did you? If you did, don’t tell me about it. All I care about is that you’re back. Oh, Conn, you don’t know how much I missed you … Mother, Dad, doesn’t he look just splendid?”

Kurt Fawzi, a little thinner, his face more wrinkled, his hair grayer, shook his hand.

“I’m just as glad to see you as anybody, Conn,” he said, “even if I’m not being as demonstrative about it as Lynne. Judge, what do you think of our returned wanderer? Franz, shake hands with him, but save the interview for the News for later. Professor, here’s one student Litchfield Academy won’t need to be ashamed of.”

He shook hands with them–old Judge Ledue; Franz Veltrin, the newsman; Professor Kellton; a dozen others, some of whom he had not thought of in five years. They were all cordial and happy–how much, he wondered, because he was their neighbor, Conn Maxwell, Rodney Maxwell’s son, home from Terra, and how much because of what they hoped he would tell them? Kurt Fawzi, edging him out of the crowd, was the first to voice that.