depilator supplied in the washroom and rapidly wiped away his beard. Then he scrubbed his face the way it hadn't been scrubbed in months. He came out pink.

Stripping, he dropped his clothes in the Valet Hopper and stepped under the stinging spray of the shower. Robot hands scrubbed him down. Layers of dirt stripped away. An ion-massage set his blood pounding, broke down fatty tissue, left his skin tinglingly clean.

He surveyed his naked body in the mirror. Not bad, he thought. A long way from what it had been, but not bad.

He dressed rapidly. He was still wearing the clothes in which he had been picked up the night before—only now he fastened the collar magnesnap, adjusted the tie, straightened the trousers. When he was finished, he could pass for a tourist stopping off to see the satellite before making the jaunt to Luna.

Despite himself, he grinned. They'll never recognize me in this disguise. They'll be looking for a hobo, not a clean cut young tourist.

Feeling invigorated and dapper, he activated the door and stepped into the corridor.

Strolling in leisure, he walked to the viewing dome and peered out at Earth. A chubby matron stood next to him.

"Lovely, isn't it?" she said.

"It's quite a sight. This your first time?"

"Yes. It's all wonderful up here. I think it's marvelous that the satellite's been built!"

"It certainly is," Dave said, thinking of the radiation-eaten wretches somewhere in the lower levels of the big wheel.

Feeling a little sick to his stomach, he smiled and walked on. A grey-clad guard stood at the entrance to the Tourists' Lounge. Choking back his tenseness, Conroy walked up to him.

"Pardon me, officer—"

"Yes?"

"Could you give me some information? I'd like to know when the next liner leaves for Earth. I find I have to cut short my trip."

The guard frowned. "Liner service to Earth is temporarily discontinued, sir. Didn't you hear the notice?"

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