Don looked at her. He could feel a nervous tic beginning in his left eyebrow. Finally, he reached for the champagne again and filled his glass. He said, "You really go for this hero stuff, don't you?" She said nothing, but the star shine was still in her eyes. He made his voice deliberately sour. "Look, suppose I asked you to come back to my apartment with me tonight?" "Yes," she said softly. "And told you to bring your overnight bag along," he added brutally. Dian looked into his face. "Why are you twisting yourself, your inner-self, so hard, Don? Of course I'd come--if that's what you wanted." "And then," he said flatly, "suppose I kicked you out in the morning?" Dian winced, but she kept her eyes even with his, her own moist now. "You forget," she whispered. "You have been awarded the Galactic Medal of Honor, the bearer of which can do no wrong." "Oh, God," Don muttered. He filled his glass, still again, motioned to a nearby waiter. "Yes, sir," the waiter said. Don said, "Look, in about five minutes I'm going to pass out. See that I get back to my hotel, will you? And that this young lady gets to her home. And, waiter, just send my bill to the hotel too." The other bowed. "The owner's instructions, sir, are that Captain Mathers must never see a bill in this establishment." Dian said, "_Don!_" He didn't look at her. He raised his glass to his mouth and shortly afterward the fog rolled in again. * * * * * When it rolled out, the unfamiliar taste of black coffee was in his mouth. He shook his head for clarity. He seemed to be in some working class restaurant. Next to him, in a booth, was a fresh-faced Sub-lieutenant of the--Don squinted at the collar tabs--yes, of the Space Service. A Scout pilot. Don stuttered, "What's ... goin' ... on?" The pilot said apologetically, "Sub-lieutenant Pierpont, sir. You seemed so far under the weather, I took over." "Oh, you did, eh?" "Well, yes, sir. You were, well, reclining in the gutter, sir. In spite of your, well, appearance, your condition, I recognized you, sir." "Oh." His stomach was an objecting turmoil. The Lieutenant said, "Want to try some more of this coffee now, sir? Or maybe some soup or a sandwich?" Don groaned. "No. No, thanks. Don't think I could hold it down." The pilot grinned. "You must've thrown a classic, sir." "I guess so. What time is it? No, that doesn't make any difference. What's the date?" Pierpont told him. It was hard to believe. The last he could remember he'd been with Di. With Di in some nightclub. He wondered how long ago that had been. He fumbled in his clothes for a smoke and couldn't find one. He didn't want it anyway. He growled at the Lieutenant, "Well, how go the One Man Scouts?" Pierpont grinned back at him. "Glad to be out of them, sir?" "Usually."