He held out a passport with a ticket folded in it. Durham examined them, put them in his pocket, and tipped the attendant, who went away. Durham bought three microbooks and moved on. He could not see anybody watching him, and he told himself it was only nerves that made the skin creep on his back as though eyes were boring into it. The switch had been made all right on his papers. His name was now John Mills Watson and he had a passage to Nanta Dik aboard the freighter _Margaretta K_. He still wanted a drink. He was determined that he would not go and get it, and he headed grimly for a stairwalk that led down to the port cab system. He had almost stepped onto it, and then from the loudspeakers all over the huge rotunda a voice boomed out, saying, "Mr. Lloyd Durham, please come to the Information Desk." Durham flinched as though somebody had struck him. He thought, Hawtree's sent word to recall me. Perhaps it was a trap. * * * * * He approached the desk cautiously, while his name continued to blare forth from the loudspeakers. Somebody was standing there. A woman, with her back to him. He had not seen that back for over a year, not since the night of the accident, but he had not forgotten it. "Hello, Susan," he said. She turned around, and he added bitterly, "He needn't have sent _you_." He was convinced now that she had come to call him back. She seemed surprised. "Who?" "Your father." "Dad? Good heavens, Lloyd, you don't suppose he knows I'm here!" She was tall, as he remembered her, and handsome, and beautifully dressed, and very self-assured. She smiled, one of those brittle things with no humor in it, and then she asked, "How long have you before take-off?" Durham said slowly, "Time enough." "We can't talk here." "No. Come on, I'll buy you a drink." They walked in silence to the crowded, noisy spaceport bar. They found a place and sat down. Durham ordered. Susan Hawtree sat opening and closing her handbag as though the operation was of the most absorbing interest. He asked, "Why did you come here?" "It seemed as though somebody ought to say good-bye." "Who told you I was leaving?" "I have a friend in the travel office. She tells me if anybody I know books passage home." "Convenient." "Yes." The drinks came. There was a clatter of voices, speaking in a thousand tongues, laughing, crying, saying hello and good-bye and till we meet again. Susan turned her glass round and round in her fingers, and Durham watched her. "I'm sorry, Lloyd. Sorry everything could not have turned out better." "Yes. So am I." "I hope you'll have better luck at home." "Thanks." Another silence in which Durham tried hard to figure her angle. He said, "I heard you tried to talk your father into giving me another chance. Thanks for that." She stared at him blankly and shook her head. "You know how Dad feels about you. I've never dared mention your name."