She hadn't changed. She was looking away, watching the pulsating vibromural on the opposite wall, and he studied her covertly in the backbar mirror. Her skin still had that clear, crystalline appearance; her eyes were bright and vigorous, her lips full, desirable. The dress had been sprayed on; it clung revealingly to the high breasts and slim body that Conroy had once thought would be his.

"Hello, Janet," he said.

A little startled, the girl turned away from the vibromural. "Do I know you? Oh!"—a little gasp—"Dave?"

"That's right. Dave."

She whirled on her chair to face him. "Oh, Dave, it must be years. Years!"

"Three years." There was no ring on her finger, he saw. "How have you been?"

"Fine," she said. "You've heard about Dad's new job, and—"

"How have you been?"

"A little lonely, sometimes," she admitted. "I've been working in Dad's office since I finished school. How about you? Did—did you ever get back into lab work?"

"No," he said hollowly. "I never did."

"What brings you to the Wheel?" she asked.

"I'm a tourist," he improvised. "Saw the sights on Luna, and now I'm on my way back to Earth." He moistened his lips. "How about a drink?"

"Fine!"

"Two martinis, please," he ordered. When the barkeep brought them, he said, "Charge them to Allied Technolabs' account. They'll take care of it."

"Right, sir."

Allied Technolabs had been the contractors that built the Space Station. Conroy hadn't been affiliated with them since the lab explosion—but if Janet noticed, she said nothing.

Conroy caressed the drink, sipped it thirstily.

"Are—you—"

"Still drinking?" he finished. "A little. Not as much. I'm leading a clean life." It was a lie, he thought bitterly. But what else could I say?

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