been kissed.

She stared at him with a strange look, as though he were mad.

Darrel dug for a pencil and wrote desperately. He had to explain that kiss.

But it was hopeless. Of course it would be. Naturally she would think he was crazy for writing notes explaining he had kissed her when he hadn't kissed her yet.

He looked up, and Leyloon was gone. She was disappearing over the crest of the hill.

Darrel swore freely—eloquently!

The morning of the fifth day—or was it evening?—Darrel riveted the last gravity plate into position in the bulkhead. The ship was ready. He could leave any time. There was a valuable cargo in the hold awaiting delivery to Uranus. So why the hell didn't he leave?

Because Leyloon was standing, obviously confused, on the slope of the hill outside.

They stared at each other a long time. Darrel's forehead wrinkled in a worried frown. Today Leyloon knew even less about him than she had yesterday. He must be a complete stranger to her now. This might easily be the first time she had ever seen him. Probably she had been out on a quiet evening stroll—it was Neptune's evening—and had seen the ship, and stopped to look at it.

Standing on the hill, half-silhouetted against the dusky sky, she seemed wonderfully desirable. So small, fragile and alone.

Making up his mind suddenly, he left the ship and approached the girl. Her eyes never left him. Undoubtedly she was dumbfounded at his backward behavior.

He leaned toward her. A stinging slap creased his cheek. It hurt.

"Don't tell me I'm going to kiss her again!" he thought, prepared to defy that possibility.

He kissed her.

Leyloon's eyes were big and full of fear. He hadn't kissed her yet but she must have been frightened by his menacing attitude. He scrutinized her face. It was thrillingly beautiful. But it showed no comprehension. No recognition. No faintest glimmer of affection. She did not know him.

Cursing all the planets and asteroids in the universe, Darrel swung around and threw himself back into the ship.

He 

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