"Agree to the divorce. We can settle it in Collusion Court. And I'll see to it you get passage back to Venus on the first available starliner. How's that?" "Back to Venus? Back Home?" Her eyes gleamed redly. "That's a promise," I said. This would cost me plenty of prots, but the fame would be worth it. You can see how far gone I was on this case. "Just one thing," I added thoughtfully. "What will become of the rest _after_ the divorce? I mean, can two of each sex get along without a third? It sounds, well, almost unvenerian, if you know what I mean." "The mating wouldn't be a very high-type experience," Jean said loftily, "without an _ith_--but it can take place. It's just the sort of disgusting business you could expect from people like Clare and Vivian. And those _other_ two--_well_--you haven't met them, but really--" "Then you'll do as I ask?" Jean waved her crest at me seductively. "Joe Obanion, you're really very nice." I backed away and swallowed hard as Jean laid a slick, webbed hand on my wrist. "How about it? Agreed?" "You know," Jean said dreamily, "you remind me of a _warth_ I used to know back home. He and I and a really divine _guth_ called Charlie had the most marvelous _ygith_ together. I wonder if he remembers little me--?" "I'm sure he does. How could she forget you?" I asked warily. Jean blinked her slotted eyes at me and her thin lips split into a tusky smile. "You say the nicest things, Joe. Yes, baby, I'll do as you ask. I won't contest the divorce." "Jean," I said with feeling, "you'll never regret this." And the Eyespy clucked disapprovingly. Drop dead, Pancho, I thought. Drop dead twice. I had made it. * * * * * Gleda Warick's house--mansion, really, lay sprawled over most of the Twin Peaks Area. From her Lunar Room you could see the whole of the city stretched out as if for inspection. To the east, the bay and the floating housing developments, wharves and night spots on and under the water. To the west the transocean highways, ribbons of plastic floating on the still Pacific. No one could afford to run ships now and almost all surface commerce was run over the highways in caravans of atomic trucks. To the Orient, to Alaska, to the Pacific islands. A steady string of lights moving at two hundred miles per hour. Rocket trails streaked the sky as starliners splashed into the bay and burbled to the surface, hissing and steaming. Market Street--all seven levels of it--ran from the base of the hills to the bay, a multilevel slidway jammed with people. The view from Gleda's place was magnificent because of the infra-red antismog windows she had installed in the Lunar Room at a cost, incidentally, of 100,000 prots. She had three rooms and a kitchenette. You entered her place and almost had an attack of agoraphobia. It was that big.