Graveyard of Dreams | Page 4

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.
"Conn, what did you find out?" he asked breathlessly. "Do you know where it is?"
Conn hesitated, looking about desperately; this was no time to start talking to Kurt Fawzi
about it. His father was turning toward him from one side, and from the other Tom
Brangwyn and Colonel Zareff were approaching more slowly, the older man leaning on a
silver-headed cane.
"Don't bother him about it now, Kurt," Rodney Maxwell scolded the mayor. "He's just
gotten off the ship; he hasn't had time to say hello to everybody yet."
"But, Rod, I've been waiting to hear what he's found out ever since he went away," Fawzi
protested in a hurt tone.
Brangwyn and Colonel Zareff joined them. They were close friends, probably because
neither of them was a native of Poictesme.
The town marshal had always been reticent about his origins, but Conn guessed it was
Hathor. Brangwyn's heavy-muscled body, and his ease and grace in handling it, marked
him as a man of a high-gravity planet. Besides, Hathor had a permanent cloud-envelope,
and Tom Brangwyn's skin had turned boiled-lobster red under the dim orange sunlight of
Alpha Gartner.
Old Klem Zareff never hesitated to tell anybody where he came from--he was from
Ashmodai, one of the System States planets, and he had commanded a division that had
been blasted down to about regimental strength, in the Alliance army.
"Hello, boy," he croaked, extending a trembling hand. "Glad you're home. We all missed
you."
"We sure did, Conn," the town marshal agreed, clasping Conn's hand as soon as the old
man had released it. "Find out anything definite?"

Kurt Fawzi looked at his watch. "Conn, we've planned a little celebration for you. We
only had since day before yesterday, when the spaceship came into radio range, but we're
having a dinner party for you at Senta's this evening."
"You couldn't have done anything I'd have liked better, Mr. Fawzi. I'd have to have a
meal at Senta's before really feeling that I'd come home."
"Well, here's what I have in mind. It'll be three hours till dinner's ready. Suppose we all
go up to my office in the meantime. It'll give the ladies a chance to go home and fix up
for the party, and we can have a drink and a talk."
"You want to do that, Conn?" his father asked, a trifle doubtfully. "If you'd rather go
home first..."
Something in his father's voice and manner disturbed him vaguely; however, he nodded
agreement. After a couple of drinks, he'd be better able