Scientists tended to be more objective about morals, or at least more tolerant of the other fellow's, than most; so when a hundred or so people were completely isolated, and ordinary amusements had palled, it followed that there would be a good deal of what some would call sin. "Not Triton," said Gilchrist. "You forget that there's been another cultural shift in the past generation--more emphasis on the stable family. And I imagine the Old Man picked his gang with an eye to such attitudes. Result--the would-be rounders find themselves so small a minority that it has a dampening effect." "_Sí._ I know. But you 'ave never told me your real reason for coming here, Thomas." Gilchrist felt his face grow warm. "Research," he answered shortly. "There are a lot of interesting problems connected with Neptune." Alemán cocked a mildly skeptical eyebrow but said nothing. Gilchrist wondered how much he guessed. That was the trouble with being shy. In your youth, you acquired bookish tastes; only a similarly oriented wife would do for you, so you didn't meet many women and didn't know how to behave with them anyhow. Gilchrist, who was honest with himself, admitted he'd had wistful thoughts about encountering the right girl here, under informal conditions where-- He had. And he was still helpless. Suddenly he grinned. "I'll tell you what," he said. "I also came because I don't like cold weather." "Came to _Neptune_?" "Sure. On Earth, you can stand even a winter day, so you have to. Here, since the local climate would kill you in a second or two, you're always well protected from it." Gilchrist waved at the viewport. "Only I wish they didn't have that bloody window in my lab. Every time I look out, it reminds me that just beyond the wall nitrogen is a solid." "_Yo comprendo_," said Alemán. "The power of suggestion. Even now, at your words, I feel a chill." Gilchrist started with surprise. "You know, somehow I have the same--Just a minute." He went over to a workbench. His inframicrometer had an air thermometer attached to make temperature corrections. "What the devil," he muttered. "It _is_ cooled off. Only 18 degrees in here. It's supposed to be 21." "Some fluctuation, in temperature as in ozone content and humidity," reminded Alemán. "That is required for optimum health." "Not this time of day, it shouldn't be varying." Gilchrist was reminded of his cigaret as it nearly burned his fingers. He stubbed it out and took another and inhaled to light it. "I'm going to raise Jahangir and complain," he said. "This could play merry hell with exact measurements." Alemán trotted after him as he went to the door. It was manually operated, and the intercoms were at particular points instead of every room. You had to forego a number of Earthside comforts here.