Philemon finished his glass and shouted for another round.

'There won't be another contest until two months from now. I jusht - just - come here to relax. Plenty of time to get in shape - sape - I mean, shape, for it.'

Orme shook his head. 'I'm flabbergasted. I've been naive. I really believed that everybody behaved as they're expected to. But this... what happens if you get caught?'

The barmaid put down two more glasses. Debhorah suddenly raised her head, looked blearily down, reached for a glass and had her hand pushed away by Philemon. She went back to sleep.

He gulped down half of the glass and said, 'Public humiliashun for all of ush - us. Houshe - damn it! - house arrest. Lotsh of lecturesh. I wouldn' be able to compete for a year, and when I could appear in public, I'd have to wear ass-sh earsh for a month. But it'sh worth it. I think. Look at that drunken Debhorah. She passes out every time. How can we make love?'

'So,' Orme said, 'there's a fly in the balm of Gilead.'

'You know,' Philemon said solemnly, 'I've never seen a fly. Read about them, of courshe, sheen picturesh of them. But I don' really know what a fly ish - is.'

'If you come to Earth you'll find out. I'll introduce you.'

The exhilaration was fading away, disappointment replacing it. He told himself that he shouldn't feel this way. The Martians were not angels, they were human. They couldn't all be expected to live up to the high ethical standards they professed. Nevertheless, living as they did under the very eye of the Messiah, knowing that he was indeed what he claimed, and probably much more, having him as an example, how could they act in this manner? How could they want to do so?

Of course, every barrel had its rotten apples. Though these patrons of the Martian speakeasy were not really rotten. What they were doing would be regarded as only normal on Earth, except for some puritanical citizens. It wasn't that they were bad or vicious. What bothered him was their attitude in comparison with that which he had been observing among the majority of the population.

The music stopped. The wildly hopping and gyrating dancers, some of whom had fallen down, walked, staggered, or crawled off the floor. The players stepped down off the platform at the far end of the bar. For the first time he saw the flutist, who had until then been partially hidden by the other musicians.

He rose so abruptly that the table tipped. Philemon's glass toppled and fell on to the floor. Debhorah slid off also and thumped on to the wood.

Orme goggled for a moment, then cried, 'Gulthilo!'

'I couldn't believe my eyes when you came in,' she said.

She signalled for a drink and sat down. The barmaid brought over a glass of the liquor for her and a refill for Orme. Philemon, looking indignant, rose unsteadily and went to the bar.

'It was pure accident that I stopped here,' Orme said. 'Are you an habitue of this place?'

'No, but I come occasionally. Of course, there are other places.'

'Why?' he said.

'Why are there other places?'

'No. You know what I mean.'

She took his right hand and kissed it.

'Because we like to come to places like this and degrade ourselves. It's fun to get roaring drunk and flirt and sometimes make love. It makes us feel better, for a while anyway. And we... ah, like to get away with an escapade now and then...'

'That's childish.'

'Is it? Well, as Yeshua' has said, "Blessed are the children.” ’

She lifted her glass. 'A toast to the children and confusion to him.'

Orme was scandalised. 'You don't mean that?'

'Look at you, sitting there, drinking krreebrht, enjoying the company of the Sons and Daughters of the Grey. You don't look as if you planned to report us.'

'The Grey?'

She swallowed more, said, 'Ooh!' and fanned her open mouth.

'Burns, doesn't it? Yes, the Sons and Daughters of the Grey. We're not the Sons of the Darkness, you know. We're really not evil. We're just having a good time, though I know plenty who would question that it's good. So, though we may not be behaving exactly like the Sons of Light, we aren't behaving like the Sons of Darkness, either. We're the Grey. The inbetweens. When we're here, anyway. The rest of the time...'

'Butter wouldn't melt in your mouth.'

She laughed and said, 'That must be an Earth expression. Yes, that's right.'

Orme sighed and took another drink.

'Dissidence and discontent in Heaven,' he said.

He felt a draught and turned around. A Krsh male and female had entered and were going to a table at a far corner. They had obviously been drinking on the way.

'The Krsh, too,' he said.

'Why not?' Gulthilo said. 'They're sentient, therefore human. Look, we're not evil, just moderately bad. Our sins are little ones. He'll forgive us. That is, he will if he ever catches us.’

'And if you're caught? You have to go through that horrible humiliation.'

She drank again. 'I think that the difference between us sinners and you of Earth is that we're willing to pay the price. From what I've heard, you aren't very responsible.'

'I haven't heard anybody talk about sin and sinners since I left my parents' house,’ he said. 'It is refreshing, in a way.'

Gulthilo put her hand on his arm. 'Well, what about it? Have you made up your mind yet?'

He thrilled at the touch but moved his hand away. Almost automatically, he raised his glass for another drink, then he put it down. The liquor was drowning his inhibitions. A few more swallows and he'd ask her to go out into the bushes with him. And that would be the same as a proposal of marriage. Or would it? What had she said about making love?

'Listen,' he said fiercely, 'have you just been keeping yourself pure, with me, that is, so I'd marry you? You haven't been having lovers all the time you've been telling me how much you love me and how much you want to marry me?' She laughed and said, 'I told you I was bold and brash. What I'm not going to tell you is whether or not I've had lovers. That has nothing to do with my love for you. Anyway, even if I'd had lovers, I would be faithful to you if we got married. But, again, you've evaded answering me.'

He said nothing. She drank again, laughed again, and said, 'You're jealous!'

'All right, so I am. So what?'

There was a long silence between them. A tall brown-bearded man come to the table.

'The break is almost over, Gulthilo. Ah'hab says he wants to close early. Three more pieces and we quit.'

'Can you get along without me?' Gulthilo said. 'We're talking about getting married.'

The bandleader looked surprised, but he nodded, and left. 'Now,' Gulthilo said, 'maybe we can thrash out the obstacles you think exist.'

'We've already gone over...'

He stopped. Two men were standing across from each other at a nearby table and bellowing insults and threats. The apparent cause of this locking of horns, a busty redhead, was trying to calm the two but without success. Suddenly, one of the men, broad-shouldered, black-bearded, and green-eyed, reached across the table and grabbed the other by the robe. This man, taller but slimmer, blond, and blue-eyed, struck the aggressor in the face. The woman shrieked and fell off her chair. The table was overturned as the two males rolled on the floor.

Orme got out of his chair and backed away. A man hurrying to aid one of the fighters, or to break it up, bumped hard into Orme and sent him sprawling. He rolled over and looked up just in time to see Gulthilo kick the man in the ribs. He went sideways, flying further than he would have in Earth's gravity, and collided with the bartender just as he leaped over the bar.