“The proton synchrotron?” She was finishing her coffee and her eyes were beginning to slide round the room, as though estimating the moment for getting them all to their feet again. “That’s Terrestrial property and it’s not open to tourists.”

“You mean that it’s off-limits to Lunarites.”

“Oh, no. Nothing of the sort. Most of its staff are Lunarites. It’s just that it’s the Terrestrial government that sets the rules. No tourists.”

“I’d love to see it,” he said.

She said, “I’m sure you would.... You’ve brought me luck; not one item of food, not one blessed man or woman has hit the floor.”

She got to her feet and said, “Ladies and gentlemen, we’ll be leaving in about ten minutes. Please leave the plates where they are. There are rest rooms for those who wish to use them and then we will visit the food-processing plants where meals such as you have just eaten are made possible.”

Selene’s quarters were small, of course, and compact; but they were intricate. The windows were panoramic; star scenes that changed slowly and very randomly, never having any relationship to any real constellation. Each of the three windows could be made to undergo telescopic magnification, when Selene so desired.

Barren Neville hated that part of it. He would tend to turn it off rather savagely and say, “How can you stand it? You’re the only one I know who has the bad taste to do such a thing. It’s not as though these nebulae and star clusters exist, even.”

And Selene would shrug, coolly, and say, “What’s existence? How do you know the ones out there exist? Besides it gives me a sensation of freedom and motion. May I have that in my own quarters if I choose?”

Then Neville would mumble something and make a halfhearted attempt to restore the controls to where he had found them and Selene would say, “Let it go!”

The furniture was in smooth curves, and the walls were abstractly decorated in low-key, unobtrusive colors. Nowhere was there any representation of anything that might be considered a living thing.

“Living things are Earth,” Selene would say, “not the Moon.”

Now, when she entered, she found, as so often, Neville there; Barron Neville, resting on the flimsy couch with one sandal on. The other lay beside him where it had dropped, and there was a line of red marks on his abdomen, just over his umbilicus, where he had been meditatively scratching.

She said, “Get us some coffee, won’t you, Barron?” and slipped out of her own clothes in a long, graceful wiggle accompanied by a sigh of relief, letting them drop to the ground and then kicking them into the corner with one toe.

“What a relief to get out of them,” she said. “It’s the worst part of the job, having to dress like an Earthie.”

Neville was in the kitchen corner. He paid no attention; he had heard it before. He said, “What’s wrong with your water supply? It’s way down.”

“Is it?” she asked. “Well, I’ve been overusing, I suppose. Just be patient.”

“Any trouble, today?”

Selene shrugged. “No. Very run of the mill. Just the usual bit about watching them teetering along and pretending they don’t hate the food, and knowing they’re wondering if they’ll be asked to take off their clothes, I shouldn’t be surprised.... Disgusting possibility.”

“Are you taking up prudery?” He brought the two small cups of coffee to the table.

“In this case prudery is required. They’re wrinkled, sagging, paunchy, and full of germs. I don’t care what the quarantine regulations are like; they’re full of germs.... What’s new on your side?”

Barron shook his head. He was heavily-built for a Lunarite, and there was an almost-sullen narrowing of his eyes that had become a built-in feature. Except for that his features were even, and remarkably handsome, Selene thought.

He said, “Nothing startling. We’re still waiting out the change in Commissioner. We’ll have to see what this Gott-stein is like.”

“Can he make difficulties?”

“None more than are being made. After all, what can they do? They can’t infiltrate. You can’t disguise an Earthie as a Lunarite.” But he looked uneasy just the same.

Selene sipped at her coffee and looked at him shrewdly. “Some Lunarites might be Earthies inside.”

“Yes, and I’d like to know which. Sometimes I don’t think I can trust— Oh, well. I’m wasting incredible amounts of time with my synchrotron project and getting nowhere. I’m having no luck with priorities.”

“They probably don’t trust you, and I don’t blame them. If only you didn’t slink around so conspiratorially.”

“I do no such thing. It would give me great pleasure to walk out of the synchrotron room and never return, but then they would become suspicious. ... If you’ve been raising hell with your water supply, Selene, I suppose we can’t have a second cup.”

“No, we can’t. But if it conies to that, you’ve been helping me waste water. You’ve had two showers here in the last week.”

“I’ll give you a water credit. I didn’t know you were counting.”

“I’m not counting—my water level is.”

She finished her own cup of coffee and stared at its emptiness thoughtfully. She said, “They always make faces over it. The tourists do. And I can never figure out why, either. It tastes fine to me. Did you ever taste Earth-coffee, Barron?”

“No,” he said, briefly.

“I did. Once. Some tourist had smuggled in packets of what he called instant coffee. He offered me some in exchange for you-know-what. Seemed to think it was an even trade.”

“And you had some?”

“I was curious. It was bitter and metallic. I hated it. Then I told him that miscegenation was against Lunarite custom and he turned rather bitter and metallic himself.”

“You never told me this. He didn’t try anything, did he?”

“It’s not particularly your business, is it? And, no, he didn’t try anything. If he had tried, at the wrong gravity for him, I’d have bounced him from here to corridor 1.”

Then she went on. “Oh, yes. I picked up another Earthie today. Insisted on sitting with me.”

“And what did he offer you in exchange for the screwing you so delicately call you-know-what?”

“Just sat there.”

“And stared at your breasts?”

“They’re there to be stared at, but actually he didn’t. He stared at my nameplate.... Besides, what’s it to you what he fantasied? Fantasies are free and I don’t have to fulfill them. What do you think I’m fantasying? Bed with an Earthman? With all the action you would expect of someone trying to handle a gravitational field he isn’t used to? I wouldn’t say it hasn’t been done, but not by me, and not that I’ve ever heard any good of it. Is that settled? Can I get back to the Earthie? Who’s nearly fifty? And who obviously wasn’t terrifically handsome even when he was twenty?... Interesting appearance, though; I’ll grant him that.”

“All right. I can do without a thumbnail sketch. What about him?”

“He asked about the proton synchrotron!”

Neville rose to his feet, swaying a little as was almost inevitable after quick movement at low gravity. “What did he ask about the synchrotron?”

“Nothing. Why are you so excited? You asked me to tell you anything that was out of the way with any tourist at any time and this seemed out of the way. No one ever asked me about the synchrotron before.”

“All right.” He paused a little, then in a normal voice, said, “Why was he interested in the synchrotron?”

Selene said, “I haven’t the faintest idea. He just asked if he could see it. It could be that he’s a tourist with an interest in science. For all I know, it was just a ploy to get me interested in him.”

“And I suppose you are. What’s his name?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t ask him.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m not interested in him. Which way do you want it to be? Besides, his asking shows he’s a tourist. If he were a physicist, he wouldn’t have to ask. He’s be there.”