The Old Man

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The Old Man came down the ramp of the spaceship and stood at the edge of the landing field, just looking around. It was good to see Earth again. For a quarter of his lifetime, he’d seen Earth only in snatches, between space trips.

He stood there, one hand on the cold metal of the ship’s catwalk, and looked at the field. It had been a night flight in from Callisto, and the field was brightly lit, sparkling sodium lamps and glittering constellations of guide-beams to illuminate the landing strip for pilots coming down. Bright light was necessary. It was a split-second job, landing a spaceship, calling for devilishly good reflexes. The Old Man looked at his own unshaking hands, and smiled proudly.

Then he picked up his duffel and started to walk across the field.

After about four steps, a gray-clad figure stepped out from behind a dolly and grinned at him.

“Hello there, Carter!”

“Hello there,” the Old Man said amiably. But the blankness on his face told the other that the Old Man did not remember him.

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