"Oh. Thanks," Conroy said. "Thanks very much." He smiled to the guard and walked past him into the lounge. So the "brief flare-up" was all over with, eh? Obviously they were keeping it quiet as far as the passengers were concerned. Probably that guard was wondering how Conroy had heard of it in the first place. But one thing seemed good: he hadn't been recognized. He just looked too respectable with all the dirt laundered out of his clothes and with his face shaven, to be one of the missing jetmen from below. That gave him a certain amount of freedom. Only--whatever this quarantine thing was about, that increased the tension. He had hoped to grab the first liner back to Earth; now he'd have to wait until the quarantine ended and that gave the satellite guards a chance to track him down. He couldn't pose as a tourist forever, even aboard such a huge station as this one. They'd find him sooner or later. Meanwhile, he needed a drink. He peered through the swirling dim lights at the bar, trying to see the bartender's face. Conroy was pretty good at guessing whether or not he could cadge a drink. But there was a girl sitting at the bar, sleek and slim in a dress that had probably been sprayed on. Her legs were crossed, baring long, lovely calves. Her face-- Conroy gasped. It was Janet. * * * * * Feeling a thunderous pounding in his ears, he crossed the floor and slid into the chair next to hers. 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.