"But ..."

"Never heard of him. Here's the waiter."

Nor had the humanoid Sirian waiter heard of strawberry soda. He had no facial muscles but his back skin crawled and rippled with embarrassed lack of comprehension. Max settled for something called "Old Heidelberg" although it had never been within fifty light-years of Germany. It tasted to Max like cold soap suds, but since Sam had paid for it he nursed it along and pretended to drink it.

Sam bounced up almost at once. "Sit tight, kid. I won't be long." He spoke to the barman, then disappeared toward the back. A young woman came over to Max's table.

"Lonely, spaceman?"

"Uh, not especially."

"But _I_ am. Mind if I sit down?" She sank into the chair that Sam had vacated.

"Suit yourself. But my friend is coming right back."

She didn't answer but turned to the waiter at her elbow. "A brown special, Giggles."

Max made an emphatic gesture of denial. "No!"

"What's that, dear?"

"Look," Max answered, blushing, "I may look green as paint--I am, probably. But I don't buy colored water at house prices. I don't have much money."

She looked hurt. "But you have to order or I can't sit here."

"Well ..." He glanced at the menu. "I could manage a sandwich, I guess."

She turned again to the waiter. "Never mind the special, Giggles. A cheese on rye and plenty of mustard." She turned back to Max. "What's your name, honey?"

"Max."

"Mine's Dolores. Where are you from?"

"The Ozarks. That's Earthside."

"Now isn't that a coincidence! I'm from Winnipeg-- we're neighbors!"

Max decided that it might appear so, from that distance. But as Dolores babbled on it became evident that she knew neither the location of the Ozarks nor that of Winnipeg, had probably never been on Terra in her life. She was finishing the sandwich while telling Max that she just adored spacemen, they were so romantic, when Sam returned.

He looked down at her. "How much did you take him for?"

Dolores said indignantly, "That's no way to talk! Mr. Lipski doesn't permit ..."

"Stow it, kid," Sam went on, not unkindly. "You didn't know that my partner is a guest of Lippy. Get me? No 'specials,' no 'pay-me's'--you're wasting your time. Now how much?"

Max said hastily, "It's okay, Sam. All I bought her was a sandwich."

"Well ... all right. But you're excused, sister. Later, maybe."

She shrugged and stood up. "Thanks, Max."

"Not at all, Dolores. I'll say hello to the folks in Winnipeg."

"Do that."

Sam did not sit down. "Kid, I have to go out for a while."

"Okay."

Max started to rise, Sam motioned him back. "No, no. This I'd better do by myself. Wait here, will you? They won't bother you again--or if they do, ask for Lippy."

"I won't have any trouble."

"I hope not." Sam looked worried. "I don't know why I should fret, but there is something about you that arouses the maternal in me. Your big blue eyes I guess."

"Huh? Oh, go sniff space! Anyway, my eyes are brown."

"I was speaking," Sam said gently, "of the eyes of your dewy pink soul. Don't speak to strangers while I'm gone."

Max used an expression he had picked up from Mr. Gee; Sam grinned and left.

But Sam's injunction did not apply to Mr. Simes. Max saw the assistant astrogator appear in the doorway. His face was redder than usual and his eyes looked vague. He let his body revolve slowly as he surveyed the room. Presently his eyes lit on Max and he grinned unpleasantly.

"Well, well, well!" he said as he advanced toward Max. "If it isn't the Smart Boy."

"Good evening, Mr. Simes." Max stood up.

"So it's 'good evening, Mr. Simes'! But what did you say under your breath?'

"Nothing, sir."

"Humph! I know! But I think the same thing about you, only worse." Max did not answer, Simes went on, "Well, aren't you going to ask me to sit down?"

"Have a seat, sir," Max said without expression.

"Well, what do you know? The Smart Boy wants me to sit with him." He sat, called the waiter, ordered, and turned back to Max. "Smart Boy, do you know why I'm sitting with you?"

"No, sir."

"To put a flea in your ear, that's why. Since you pulled that hanky-panky with the computer, you've been Kelly's hair-faired--fair-haired--boy. Fair-haired boy," he repeated carefully. "That gets you nowhere with me. Get this straight: you go sucking around the Astrogator the way Kelly does and I'll run you out of the control room. Understand me?"

Max felt himself losing his temper. "What do you mean by 'hanky-panky,' Mr. Simes?"

"You know. Probably memorized the last half dozen transitions--now you've got Kelly and the Professor thinking you've memorized the book. A genius in our midst! You know what that is? That's a lot of ..."

Fortunately for Max they were interrupted; he felt a firm hand on his shoulder and Sam's quiet voice said, "Good evening, Mr. Simes."

Simes looked confused, then recognized Sam and brightened. "Well, if it isn't the copper. Sit down, Constable. Have a drink."

"Don't mind if I do." Sam pulled up another chair.

"Do you know Smart Boy here?"

"I've seen him around."

"Keep your eye on him. That's an order. He's very, very clever. Too clever. Ask him a number. Pick a number between one and ten."

"Seven."

Mr. Simes pounded the table. "What did I tell you? He memorized it before you got here. Someday he's going to memorize one and they'll stencil it across his chest. You know what, Constable? I don't trust smart boys. They get ideas."

Reinforced by Sam's calming presence Max kept quiet. Giggles had come to the table as soon as Sam joined them; Max saw Sam write something on the back of a menu and pass it with money to the humanoid. But Mr. Simes was too busy with his monologue to notice. Sam let him ramble on, then suddenly interrupted. "You seem to have a friend here, sir."

"Huh? Where?"

Sam pointed. At the bar Dolores was smiling and gesturing at the assistant navigator to join her. Simes focused his eyes, grinned and said, "Why, so I do! It's my Great Aunt Sadie." He got up abruptly.

Sam brushed his hands together. "That disposes of that. Give you a bad time, kid?"

"Sort of. Thanks, Sam. But I hate to see him dumped on Dolores. She's a nice kid."

"Don't worry about her. She'll roll him for every thin he has on him--and a good job, too." His eyes became hard. "I like an officer who acts like an officer. If he wants to pin one on, he should do it in his own part of town. Oh, well." Sam relaxed. "Been some changes, eh, kid? Things are different from the way they were when we raised ship at Terra."

"I'll say they are!"

"Like it in the Worry gang?"

"It's more fun than I ever had in my life. And I'm learning fast--so Mr. Kelly says. They're a swell bunch--except for _him_." He nodded toward Simes.

"Don't let him worry you. The best soup usually has a fly in it. Just don't let him get anything on you."

"I sure don't intend to."

Sam looked at him, then said softly, "Ready to take the dive?"

"Huh?"

"I'm getting our stake together. We'll be all set."

Max found it hard to answer. He had known that his transfer had not changed anything basic; he was still in as much danger as ever. But he had been so busy with the joy of hard, interesting work, so dead for sleep when he was not working, that the subject had been pushed back in his mind. Now he drew patterns on the table in the sweat from the glasses and thought about it. "I wish," he said slowly, "that there was some way to beat it."

"There is a way, I told you. Your record gets lost."

Max raised his eyes. "What good would that do? Sure, it would get me another trip. But I don't want just another trip; I want to stay with it." He looked down at the table top and carefully sketched an hyperboloid. "I'd better go with you. If I go back to Terra, it's the labor companies for me--even if I stay out of jail."