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Updated: May 8, 2025
"Meanwhile, to keep from feeling regimented by civilization, you could take your rocket launcher and join the perimeter watchers that range out a thousand miles..." Nance Codiss arrived a week later, with a group of recent Pallastown convalescents.
And who could be taking devil-killers all the time? He hadn't avoided Nance Codiss. He talked with her every day, lunched with her, even held her hand. Otherwise, a restraint had come over him. Because something was all wrong with him, and was getting worse. Just one urge was clear, now, inside him. She knew, of course, that he was loused up; but she didn't say anything. Finally he told her.
But it was nothing new to run into Nancy Codiss, the spindly fifteen-year-old next door. He had a sudden, unbelievably expansive impulse. "Hi, Nance," he said. "I didn't get much supper. Let's go down to Lehman's for a hamburger and maybe a soda." "Why good Frankie!" They didn't talk very much, walking down, waiting for their orders, or eating their hamburgers.
Frank Nelsen and Nance Codiss moved on from display case to display case, each of which showed another kind of pod cut in half. The interiors were all different and all complicated... Membranes with a faint, metallic sheen laminated or separated by narrow air spaces as in a capacitor, for instance... Balls of massed fibre, glinting... Curious, spiral formations of waxy tissue...
Fifty asteroid-hoppers, ten of them accompanied by wives, went with Nelsen as he started out with a loaded caravan toward an empty region halfway between the orbits of Earth and Mars. Everyone in the group was convinced by yearnings of his own. Thinking of Nance Codiss, Nelsen planned to keep within beam range of the Red Planet. He had called Nance quite often.
Every twenty-four hours and thirty-eight minutes the length of the Martian day whenever the blue-green wedge of Syrtis Major appeared in the crescent, he beamed the Survey Station, which was still maintained for the increase of knowledge, and as a safeguard for incautious adventurers who will tackle any dangerous mystery or obstacle. His object was to talk to Nance Codiss.
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!
Regardless of its mysterious intentional function, it could be a bracelet. To him, just then, it was only a trinket that he had picked up. Before he wrapped and addressed the package, he put a note inside: "Hi, Nance Codiss! Thinking about you and all the neighbors. This might reach you by Christmas. Remember me? Frank Nelsen." Postage was two hundred dollars, which seemed a trifle.
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