Hell broke loose in the Argonaut then. Even before the confusion quieted in Shanig's office we could hear the din that went up across the street. From our balcony windows we had a grandstand view of the Argonaut's more timid patrons exploding out of the place and tearing down the street, wobbling and lurching each in his own outlandish fashion from the assortment of Eetee drinks they had taken aboard under Joey's spell. The rougher souls left inside had begun a battle royal that raised a bedlam wilder than a robot rooting section at a rocket-games stadium. "What is it!" Captain Giles yelled, goggling at a barrel-bellied Europan who shot out of the Argonaut with a pack of little baboon-faced Marties harrying its speeding cart from the rear. "What have you done now?" "Shanig has just ruined a forty-thousand-credit investment for me," I told him, "by letting my pair of smileys get together. That peace-be-on-you feeling they've been broadcasting is a thing of the past. They feel just the opposite now, and so will anyone who goes near them." I had to explain it twice before they got it. Mimasan smileys, as I've said before, are weird little brutes. Unmated, their euphoric mating calls attract them to each other and at the same time protects them from native predators. The catch is that when they mate they coalesce, each complementing the insubstantiality of the other to become a single material entity. And then, of course, there's no further need of their wistful, coaxing aura. After that they hate everybody, being newlyweds and not wanting to be disturbed, so of course they radiate an exactly opposite aura that guarantees them the privacy their joint little heart craves. Nothing can come near enough to interrupt them without becoming so rabidly angry that it has to rush off somewhere else looking for something to fight. But you see how it goes. "And from the row going on in the Argonaut," I finished, "I'd say that Joey and Cora are definitely on their honeymoon." "You mean they'll be like that always?" Cheryl asked, wide-eyed. "That no one can go near them without flying into a rage?" "Not always," I said glumly. "Just for five years. After that they divide by fission into a dozen or so baby smileys, and after that the rat-race starts over again. The progeny will be worth plenty, but who's going to stand guard over that amalgamated little demon while it broadcasts hate and damnation in every direction? I won't, and there's not a homo in the System that would take the job for love or--" The answer hit me like a thumb in the eye, bang in the middle of a sentence. "Captain Giles," I said. "I've a suggestion that...." The Captain got it on first bounce. For the first time in history he laughed without benefit of smiley.