Children of the Old Star by David Lee Summers

for me to move on,” he said at last.
    "As you wish,” said the minister gently. “But you will be in danger if you leave. The people of Tejo and New Granada would arrest you if you went there."
    "I'm thinking of going to Earth,” said Clyde.
    "Then,” said Burroughs steadily, “may God protect you, for the Earth is a far more dangerous place than either of the two major continents of this planet."
    Clyde nodded somberly. The Reverend pulled a small book from his jacket pocket and handed it to the former colonel. “What's this?"
    "A gift for you,” said the Reverend. Clyde looked down at the Revised Dead Sea Version of the Bible the Reverend had handed him. “A gift to help you remember His teachings.” The Reverend smiled, stood and shook Clyde's hand, warmly. “God go with you, brother."
    "And with you, Reverend,” said Clyde. He stood, holding the book close to his heart, watching the stern, yet vital man depart. Once gone, Clyde sat down, took a sip of coffee and turned to the first chapter of Ezekiel.
* * * *
    Clyde McClintlock found no resistance on the trip to Little Sonora or the subsequent trip to Earth. He was somewhat surprised that he had full access to his bank accounts back at Tejo City. While in Little Sonora, he transferred all his money to accounts on Earth, just to be certain it would be safe. Still, the lack of resistance seemed odd. It was almost as if the people of Sufiro wanted him off their world. It saddened him to leave behind the one place in the galaxy he truly thought of as home for what, he knew, would be the last time.
    Arriving on Earth, he found the planet as crowded and polluted as he remembered. Landing at the spaceport in Boston, he immediately caught a commuter hover to Hyannis Port. From there he caught another hover out to Nantucket Island. He regretted going out by hover, though. The turbulence over the water buffeted the frail craft. Several times he was sure it would be pitched into the sea, despite its anti-graviton controls.
    At the hover port, Clyde asked the man behind the counter whether he knew where the Ellis home was. “One moment,” said the man. The man touched his forehead activating a chip implant and scanning the records of island housing. After a moment, the man faced Clyde and gave him directions.
    Clyde stepped lightly out of the hover port and felt the soft sea breeze tickle his hair as he looked up into a cloudy gray sky. A plastic road wound its way into the Village of Nantucket. Taking a step, Clyde almost fell flat on his face. He had not been to Earth for several years and was not used to the gravity that was lower than Sufiro's. His stomach felt fluttery. Still, with a heart as light as his stomach, he picked up his leather suitcase and walked the two miles into the village.
    Once he arrived in the village itself, Clyde found himself fascinated by the plain structures that surrounded him. In many ways they reminded him of the humble houses of Roanoke, only these houses were almost simpler. The houses of Roanoke had been painted a variety of colors. The houses of Nantucket were covered in plain gray shingles with white trim. Like Roanoke, Christians seeking freedom to worship as they saw fit had built Nantucket. Clyde was relieved when he turned off the crowded main street onto the silent row of gray sentinels where Ellis’ house was. Stepping up the street, it only took Clyde a few minutes to find the ancestral home of John Mark Ellis.
    Clyde stood in front of the imposing two-story house. The building could have easily held ten apartments the size he grew up in back in Iowa. It boggled his mind that such primitive materials as wooden shingles could have stood up to over a thousand years of rough island weather. He wondered how many times each shingle on the house had been replaced. Reverently, Clyde McClintlock reached up to a brass knocker in the center of the vast white door. His first knock was so tentative he could barely hear it. Gathering