Hawkes nodded. "You know, I'm taking such a personal interest in this
business because I've got a brother too. _Had_ a brother."
"Had?"
"Kid about your age. Same problem I had, too: no guild. We were born
into the street sweepers' guild, but neither of us could go for that, so
we checked out and took Free Status. I went into gambling. He hung
around the Enclave. He always wanted to be a spacer."
"What happened to him?"
"He pulled a fast one. Starship was in town and looking for a new
galley-boy. Dave did some glib talking and got aboard. It was a fluke
thing, but he made it."
"Which ship?" Alan asked.
"_Startreader_. Bound out on a hop to Beta Crucis XVIII. 465
light-years." Hawkes smiled faintly. "He left a year, year and a half
ago. The ship won't be back on Earth again for nine hundred thirty years
or so. I don't figure to be around that long." He shook his head. "Let's
get out of here. People waiting for tables."
Out in the street again, Alan noticed that the sun was low in the sky;
it was past 1800, and getting along toward evening. But the streets were
not getting dark. From everywhere a soft glow was beginning to
radiate--from the pavement, the buildings, everywhere. It was a gentle
gleaming brightness that fell from the air; there was no perceptible
change from day-illumination to night-illumination.
But it was getting late. And they would miss him back at the
Enclave--unless Captain Donnell had discovered that Alan had gone into
the Earther city, in which case he wouldn't be missed at all. Alan
remembered sharply the way the Captain had calmly blotted the name of
his son Steve from the _Valhalla's_ roster as if Steve had never
existed.
"Are we going to go over to the Atlas now?"