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himself in books for hours on end.
    In high school he steered away from sports. "Too much work," he said. "And for what? So you can get to date a cheerleader?"
    Mr. Holman warned his wife, "If he doesn't show any interest in girls at this age, Martha, I seriously think we should . . ."
    "Be patient, Mr. Holman," his wife said. "You just be patient with the boy."
    Jeff easily won a full scholarship to the state university, but asked his father to pay tuition for a friend of his who had barely failed to qualify and couldn't afford college. Mr. Holman, like most bankers, did not like to spend money on people who actually needed it. But between Jeff and his wife—and their use of Church pressure—he became magnanimous. The local TV station was apprised of his open-hearted gesture and did a four-minute feature on the subject as a sidebar to its coverage of the high school graduation.
    The weather fascinated Jeff, and after his first two years at the university, he decided to specialize in meteorology.
    "We know so much about science," he explained eagerly to his father, one weekend when he had driven home for some solid cooking, "yet we still haven't been able to figure out how to make the weather behave the way we want it to."
    "Perhaps God doesn't want us to tinker with the weather?" his mother suggested.
    Jeff smiled at her. "If He doesn't, then He'd better let me know pretty soon. I'm going to study weather modification."
    It was in his senior year that Jeff heard the call to colonize the stars. The campus was abuzz with the excitement: the Church had taken a contract with the world government to tame one of the outer worlds and make it ready for colonization. Students were being allowed to volunteer for the grandest adventure of all time.
    When Jeff went home for Christmas vacation that year, he found his father adamantly opposed to sending students off to strange worlds beyond the solar system.
    "I've let the Elders know how I feel about this," Mr. Holman said firmly. "Cannon fodder! That's what they're after. Those old men want to send kids your age out to the stars—they'll never come back. Mark my words. They'll all get themselves killed out there."
    "But the Church would never deliberately send young Believers into mortal danger," Jeff's mother protested mildly.
    "Oh wouldn't they? There's money involved, Martha. Billions of dollars. Trillions! And the chance to proselytize millions of poor people from all over the world. Do you think the Church is going to pass up such an opportunity just because a few thousand youngsters will get killed?"
    Jeff listened intently, saying nothing.
    "And those old men get an extra bonus out of it, too. They get rid of the next generation of natural leaders. They ensure their own hold on the Church by sending off all the idealistic youngsters to the stars."
    "You're probably right, Dad," Jeff said at last. "But I'm going to volunteer anyway."
    And nothing his parents could say or do would deter him. For easy-going, quiet, studious Jeffrey Holman had learned one basic lesson from his hard-driving father and his steadfast faithful mother: once you've made up your mind to do something, do it.

    By the fourth time Amanda strapped him down in the couch, Jeff was completely at ease. Dr. Carbo hovered over him, one eye on the monitor gauges, as Amanda fitted the helmet onto Jeff's head.
    "Today is going to be different, Jeff," Dr. Carbo said, his round dark face totally serious, unsmiling. "You have made contact with this wolfcat three times now . . ."
    "Crown," Jeff heard himself say. "His name is Crown."
    Carbo glanced at Amanda, then looked back at Jeff, an odd expression on his face. "You've given the animal a name?"
    "That is his name. I didn't give it to him."
    Carbo fell silent.
    "Crown," Amanda said, smiling. "That's a good name."
    Jeff tried to nod but the helmet was too heavy and fitted so snugly he could barely move his head. He hadn't realized that the wolfcat had a name until the