"Double oblation, wouldn't it be, including parallax shown by our own stellar drift?''

"Yes, yes. That would become important."

"I suppose you will include the Solar Phoenix devolution?"

"Huh?"

"Why, I should think that was obvious. You'll type the stars, won't you? The progression of the hydrogen-helium transformation in each body is certainly a key datum."

"Brother, you're way ahead of me. I was thinking only of a master ballistic solution."

"Why stop with that? When setting up a structural analogue why not make the symbolic mechanism as similar to the process as possible?"

"Sure, sure. You're right. I just wasn't that ambitious. I was willing to sell out for less. Tell me-d'you think the Board would go for it?"

"Why not? It's worthwhile, it's very expensive, it will run on for years, and it doesn't show any prospect of being economically productive. I would say it was tailor-made for subsidy."

"It does me good to hear you say so."

They made a date for the following day.

As soon as he could gracefully do so, Monroe-Alpha excused himself from Thorgsen and went back to where he had last seen the girl. She was no longer there. He spent more than an hour looking for her, and was finally forced to the conclusion that she had left the party, or had hidden herself very cleverly. She was not in the swimming bath, or, if she were, she was capable of remaining under water longer than ten minutes. She was not in any of the accessible rooms-he had risked his life quite unconsciously, so thoroughly had he searched the dark corners.

He intended to tell Hazel of the incident on the way to her home, but he could not find the words. What was there to tell, really? He had seen an attractive girl, and had managed to trip her by his clumsiness. What was there in that? He did not even know her name. And it did not, somehow, seem like just the evening to speak to Hazel of other women. Good old Hazel!

She noticed his preoccupation, noticed that it differed in character from his earlier glumness. "Enjoy yourself, Clifford?"

"I think so. Yes."

"Meet any attractive girls?"

"Why, uh, yes. Several."

"That's nice."

"See here, Hazel-you don't intend to go through with this silly divorce business, do you?"

"I do."

One might think that he lay awake that night, filled with romantic thoughts of the nameless beauty. One would be wrong. He did think of her, but only for long enough to work out a suitable face-rehabilitating day dream, one in which he made killingly witty remarks anent his own awkwardness to which she responded with proper appreciation. It had not even been necessary to bulldoze any of the braves who surrounded her. They, too, had applauded his wit.

Nor did he think long of Hazel. If she saw fit to break the contract, it was her business. Not that there was any sense to it; it did not occur to him that anything could greatly change their relations. But he would stop this twice-a-week dine-and-visit. A woman appreciated a few surprises, he supposed.

All this was simply to clear the circuits for the serious getting-to-sleep thoughts. Thorgsen's proposal. A really pretty problem, that. A nice problem-

Hamilton Felix had a much busier night. So busy, that he had much on his mind at breakfast the next morning. Decisions to make, matters to evaluate. He did not even turn on the news, and, when the annunciator informed him that a visitor waited outside his door, he punched the "welcome" key absent-mindedly, without stopping to consider whether he really wished to see anyone. Some woman, he had noticed, from the mug plate. His thoughts went no further.

She came in and perched herself on the arm of a chair, one leg swinging. "Well," she said, "good morning, Hamilton Felix!"

He looked at her in puzzlement. "Do we know each other?"

"Noooo," she said calmly, "but we will. I thought it was about time I looked you over."

"I know!" He stabbed the air with a forefinger. "You are the woman Mordan picked for me!"

"That's right. Of course."

"Why, damn your impudence! What the devil do you mean by invading my privacy like this?"

"Tut! Tut! Tut! Mamma spank. Is that any way to talk to the future mother of your children?"

"Mother of my fiddlesticks! If I needed anything to convince me that I want to have nothing to do with the scheme, you have given it to me. If I ever do have children, it won't be by you!"

She had on shorts and a boyish corselet. In defiance of usual custom for her sex she wore, belted to her side, a hand weapon, small but deadly. She stood up at his words, resting her hands on her hips. "What's wrong with me?" she said slowly.

"Hunh! What's wrong with you! What isn't wrong with you? I know your type. You're one of these 'independent' women, anxious to claim all the privileges of men but none of the responsibilities. I can just see you, swaggering around town with that damned little spit gun at your side, demanding all the rights of an armed citizen, picking fights in the serene knowledge that no brave will call your bluff. Arrgh! You make me sick."

She remained still, but her face was cold. "You are a shrewd judge of character, aren't you? Now you listen to me for a while. I haven't drawn this gun, except in practice, for years. I don't go around insisting on privileges and I am just as punctiliously polite as the next brave."

"Then why do you wear it?"

"Is there anything wrong with a woman preferring the dignity of an armed citizen? I don't like to be coddled and I don't like to be treated like a minor child. So I waive immunity and claim my right-I go armed. What's wrong with that?"

"Nothing-if that were really the case. Which it isn't. You give the lie to your own words by the fashion in which you broke in on me. A man couldn't get away with it."

"So! So? Let me remind you, you ill-mannered oaf, that you signalled 'welcome' and let me in. You did not have to. Once inside, before I could say yes, no, or maybe, you started to snarl at me."

"But-"

"Never mind! You think you have a grievance. I said I hadn't drawn this gun in years-that doesn't mean I'm not ready to! I'm going to give you a chance, my fine bucko boy, to work out that grievance. Belt on your gun."

"Don't be silly."

"Strap on your gun! Or, so help me, I'll take it away from you and hang it in the Square."

Instead of answering he moved toward her. She gripped her weapon, half drew it. "Stand back! Stand back, or I'll burn you."

He checked himself and looked at her face. "Great Egg!" he said delightedly. "I believe you would. I honestly believe you would."

"Of course I would."

"That," he admitted, "puts a different face on things, doesn't it?" He eased back a step, as if to parley. She relaxed a trifle, and removed her fist from the grip of the weapon.

He lunged forward, low, tackling her around the knees. They rolled on the floor, tussled briefly. When events slowed down a little, it could be seen that he had her right wrist grasped firmly, as firmly, indeed, as her right hand gripped her gun.

He banged her knuckles hard against the polished floor, grabbed the shank of the weapon with his other hand and broke it out of her grasp. Still grasping her wrist, he struggled to his knees and moved away from the spot, half dragging her behind him. He ignored the minor violences that were happening to his person in the process. When he was within reach he chucked her gun in the oubliette and turned his attention back to her.

Heedless of her struggles he picked her up and carried her to a large chair where he seated himself with her on his lap. He pinned her legs between his knees, forced her arms behind her back until he managed to get both her wrists in one of his fists. She bit him in the process.

With her thus effectively immobilized, he settled back, holding her away from him, and looked at her face. "Now we can talk," he said cheerily. He measured her face with his eye, and slapped her once, not too hard but with plenty of sting in it. "That's for biting. Don't do it again."