The one thing that bothered him was his hiding-out. He hated that. But he remained under cover until Tinker Elliott returned and then he sought her advice. She made a date to meet him at a nearby refreshment place later that afternoon. * * * * * The major-domo came up with a cheerful smile as Cal sauntered into the chromium-and-crimson establishment. "At your service," greeted the major-domo. "I'm meeting a friend." "A table will be reserved. Meanwhile, will you avail yourself of our service in the bar?" Cal nodded and entered the bar. He climbed up on a tall bar stool and took cigarettes from his pocket. The bartender came over immediately. "Your service?" "Palan and ginger," said Cal. He was still working on the dregs of his first glass when Tinker came up behind him and seated herself on the stool beside. "Hi, Tink," he smiled. "Hello. What are you drinking?" "Palan and ginger." "Me too," she said to the bartender. "Cal, you are a queer duck. Your favorite liquors come from Venus and Mars. You seem to thrive on those foul-tasting lichens from Titan as appetizers. You gorge yourself on Callistan loganberry, and your most-ordered dinner is knolla. Yet you hate space travel." "Sure," he grinned. "I know it. After all, there's nothing that says that I have to go and get it. Four hundred years ago, Tink, there were people who ate all manner of foods that they never saw in the growing stage. And a lot of people lived and died without ever seeing certain of their meat animals." "I know. Gosh. They used to kill animals for meat back then. Imagine!" Cal looked sour-faced, and silence ensued for a moment. Then Tinker's face took on a self-horror. "Hey. That look isn't natural. What's up?" "Order me a big, powerful, hardy, pick-me-up," said Tinker. "And I'll tell you--if you really want to know." "I do and I will," said Cal, wonderingly. He ordered straight palan which Tinker took neat, coughed, and then brightened somewhat. "Now?" asked Cal. "Better order another one for you," said Tinker. "Anyway, we had one of those jobs last night." "What jobs?" "An almost-incurable." "Oh," said Cal with a shiver. He ordered two more straight drinks, in preparation. "Go ahead and tell, Tink. You won't be free of it until you spill it." "It was a last resort case and everybody knew it. Even the patient--that's what made it so tough. It's distasteful enough to consider a duplicate when you're well. But to be lying on the brink and then know that they're going to make a duplicate of you for experimental surgery--I can't begin to tell. The patient took it, though.