On Wednesday he spent six hours with Norma, dinner of a particularly succulent Venusian reptile, Martian white wine, Earth trimmings. They danced the archaic Mambo, which Socrates had revived after three hundred years, and which showed every indication of sweeping the System by storm. Surprisingly, Socrates had to admit to himself that he enjoyed the evening, if only because he knew he had kept Norma busy. That meant one more day and one more night in which she had not visited the rings. It brought them one day closer to the time when Farquhart would leave. But the kiss was different. He kissed her goodnight outside her domette and for a moment he forgot all about Farquhart. "I'll be damned," he said. "I liked it." "Umm," she said, and they kissed again. Socrates released her, turned around, and began to walk down the path through the artificial garden toward his own domette. She called after him. "Thanks for a lovely evening, Smitty." "Don't mention it. "You know what?" "What?" "I think I'll ride the rings tomorrow. Well, goodnight." Socrates tried to say goodnight, but only gurgles came out. * * * * * He was at the spacefield early in the morning. Morning on Mimas was, of course, a relative term. It was morning on Mimas when the sun set, because then the great bulk of Saturn came up over the horizon and filled one third of the heavens, lighting the sky almost like the noonday sun on Earth, its great triple ring spanning the void almost from horizon to horizon. The ring--and Norma wanted to ride it today! Socrates trembled a little when he thought of this, but he knew that for a time at least he could go about his business. He had checked Norma's domette and she had not been there; but she had told him that she would not ride the rings without letting him know. That much at least he could be sure of--Norma would be as good as her word. At the Administration Building, the Entwhistles awaited him. "Good morning," Socrates said, trying to sound cheerful. "Morning?" This was Mrs. Entwhistle, big and round and overbearing. "How can it be morning? The sun just set." Socrates explained to her, and then Mr. Entwhistle declared: "You must never argue with a man who knows, my dear. That's his business, and if he says it is morning, why then, it is morning." "Well, who will it be?" Socrates said. "Well--" Mr. Entwhistle began. "Me," said Mrs. Entwhistle. "I want to go first because if it seems too strenuous to me then I won't send Arnold. Is it strenuous, Mr. Smith?" "Uh-uh. You got a medical exam on the inner worlds which okayed you for outworld tourist travel. If you passed that you'll be fine here. Ready any time you are, Mrs. Entwhistle."