wind1 still dream about it now and then.”
“I admire your courage,” Arpe said to the 3-V star, begin-
ning to feel faintly courtly. Maybe he had talents he had
neglected; he seemed to be doing rather well so far.
“It isn’t courage,” the woman said, freeing a piece of
bread from the clutches of the Lazy Spider. “It’s desperation.
I hate space flight. I should know, I’ve had to make that
Moon circuit for show dates often enough. But I’m going to
get that lousy coward back if it’s the last thing I do.”
She took a full third out of the bread slice in one precise,
gargantuan nibble.
“I wouldn’t have thought of it if I hadn’t lost my sixth
husband to Peggy Walton. That skirt-chaser; I must have been
out of my mind. But Johnny didn’t bother to divorce me
before he ran off on this Centaurus safari. That was a mis-
take. I’m going to haul him back by his scruff.”
She folded the rest of the bread and snapped it delicately in
two. The thirteen-year-old winced and looked away.
“No, I can’t say that I miss Titan much,” Hammersmith
said, in a meditative tone which nevertheless carried the entire
length of the hold. “I like planets where the sky is clear most
of the time. My hobby is microastronomyas a matter of
fact I have some small reputation in the field, strictly as an
amateur. I understand the stars should be unusually clear and
brilliant in the Centaurus area, but of course there’s nothing
like open space for really serious work.”
“To tell the truth,” Celia went on, although for Arpe’s
money she had told more than enough truth already, “I’m