We were miserable by the time we got out and Peggy had a nose bleed. There weren't any elevators; we had to climb down a rope ladder. And it was cold!

It was snowing; the wind was howling around us and shaking the ladder—the smallest kids they had to lower with a line. There was about eight inches of snow on the ground except where the splash of the Jitterbugs jet had melted it. I could hardly see, the wind was whipping the snow into my face so, but a man grabbed me by the shoulder, swung me around, and shouted, "Keep moving! Keep moving! Over that way."

I headed the way he pointed. There was another man at the edge of the blast clearing, singing the same song, and there was a path through the snow, trampled to slush. I could see some other people disappearing in the snow ahead and I took out after them, dogtrotting to keep warm.

It must have been half a mile to the shelter and cold all the way. We weren't dressed for it. I was chilled through and my feet were soaking wet by the time we got inside.

The shelter was a big hangarlike building and it was not much warmer, the door was open so much, but it was out of the weather and it felt good to be inside. It was jammed with people, some of them in ship suits and some of them Ganymedeans—you couldn't miss the colonial men; they were bearded and some of them wore their hair long as well. I decided that was one style I was not going to copy; I'd be smooth shaven, like George.

I went scouting around, trying to find George & Co. I finally did. He had found a bale of something for Molly to sit on and she was holding Peggy on her lap. Peg's nose had stopped bleeding. I was glad to see, but there were dried tears and blood and dirt on her face. She was a sight.

George was looking gloomy, the way he did the first few days without his pipe. I came up and said, "Hi, folks!"

George looked around and smiled and said, "Well, Bill, fancy meeting you here! How is it going?"

"Now that you ask me," I answered, "it looks like a shambles."

He looked gloomy again and said, "Oh, I suppose they will get things straightened out presently."

We didn't get a chance to discuss it. A colonist with snow on his boots and hair on his face stopped near us, put his little fingers to his lips, and whistled. "Pipe down!" he shouted. "I want twelve able-bodied men and boys for the baggage party." He looked around and started pointing. "You—and you—and you—"

George was the ninth "You"; I was the tenth.

Molly started to protest. I think George might have balked if she had not. Instead he said, "No, Molly, I guess it has to be done. Come on, Bill."

So we went back out into the cold.

There was a tractor truck outside and we were loaded in it standing up, then we lumbered back to the rocket site. Dad saw to it that I was sent up into the Jitterbug to get me out of the weather and I was treated to another dose of Captain Hattie's tongue; we couldn't work fast enough to suit her. But we got our baggage lowered finally; it was in the truck by the time I was down out of the ship. The trip back was cold, too.

Molly and Peggy were not where we had left them. The big room was almost empty and we were told to go on into another building through a connecting door. George was upset, I could see, from finding Molly gone.

In the next building there were big signs with arrows: MEN & BOYS-TO THE RIGHT and WOMEN & GIRLS-TO THE LEFT. George promptly turned to the left. He got about ten yards and was stopped by a stem-faced woman dressed like a colonial, in a coverall. "Back theother way," she said firmly. "This is the way to the ladies' dormitory."

"Yes, I know," agreed Dad, "but I want to find my wife."

"You can look for her at supper."

"I want to see her now."

"I haven't any facilities for seeking out any one person at this time. You'll have to wait."

"But—" There were several women crowding past us and going on inside. Dad spotted one from our deck in the Mayflower. "Mrs. Archibald!"

She turned around. "Oh—Mr. Lermer. How do you do?"

"Mrs. Archibald," Dad said intently, "could you find Molly and let her know that I'm waiting here?"

"Why, I'd be glad to try, Mr. Lermer."

"Thanks, Mrs. Archibald, a thousand thanks!"

"Not at all." She went away and we waited, ignoring the stern-faced guard. Presently Molly showed up without Peggy. You would have thought Dad hadn't seen her for a month.

"I didn't know what to do, dear," she said. "They said we had to come and it seemed better to get Peggy settled down. I knew you would find us."

"Where is Peggy now?"

"I put her to bed."

We went back to the main hall. There was a desk there with a man behind it; over his head was a sign: IMMIGRATION SERVICE-INFORMATION. There was quite a line up at it; we took our place in the queue.

"How is Peggy?" Dad asked.

"I'm afraid she is catching a cold."

"I hope-" Dad said. "Ah, I HOPE-Atchoo!"

"And so are you," Molly said accusingly.

"I don't catch cold," Dad said, wiping his eyes. "That was just a reflex."

"Hmm—" said Molly.

The line up took us past a low balcony. Two boys, my age or older, were leaning on the rail and looking us over. They were colonials and one was trying to grow a beard, but it was pretty crummy.

One turned to the other and said, "Rafe, will you look at what they are sending us these days?"

The other said, "It's sad."

The first one pointed a thumb at me and went on, "Take that one, now—the artistic type, no doubt."

The second one stared at me thoughtfully. "Is it alive?" he asked.

"Does it matter?" the first one answered.

I turned my back on them, whereupon they both laughed. I hate self-panickers.

10. The Promised Land

Mr. Saunders was ahead of us in line. He was crabbing about the weather. He said it was an outrage to expose people the way we had been. He had been with us on the working party, but he had not worked much.

The man at the desk shrugged. "The Colonial Commission set your arrival date; we had nothing to say about it. You can't expect us to postpone winter to suit your convenience."

"Somebody's going to hear about this!"

"By all means." The man at the desk handed him a form, "Next, please!" He looked at Dad and said, "What may I do for you, citizen?"

Dad explained quietly that he wanted to have his family with him. The man shook his head. "Sorry. Next case, please."

Dad didn't give up his place. "You can't separate a man and wife. We aren't slaves, nor criminals, nor animals. The Immigration Service surely has some responsibilities toward us."

The man looked bored. "This is the largest shipload we've ever had to handle. We've made the best arrangements we could. This is a frontier town, not the Astor."

"All I'm asking for is a minimum family space, as described in the Commission's literature about Ganymede."

"Citizen, those descriptions are written back on Earth. Be patient and you will be taken care of."

"Tomorrow?"

"No, not tomorrow. A few days—or a few weeks."

Dad exploded. "Weeks, indeed! Confound it, I'll build an igloo out on the field before I'll put up with this."

"That's your privilege." The man handed Dad a sheet of paper. "If you wish to lodge a complaint, write it out on this."

Dad took it and I glanced at it. It was a printed form—and it was addressed to the Colonial Commission back on Earth! The man went on, "Turn it in to me any time this phase and it will be ultramicro-filmed in time to go back with the mail in the Mayflower."

Dad looked at it, snorted, crumpled it up, and stomped away. Molly followed him and said, "George! Georgel Don't be upset. We'll live through it."