"They call it 'Junction,'" Carole informed him. "You'd think they could have picked a better name for the only real city on the planet." They buzzed through a narrow band of suburbs, along the edge of an open square and decelerated at a well-lighted avenue that looked like an entertainment section. Winstead noted that most of the men and women strolling past the taverns and theaters were dressed in work clothes. "Just finishing their shifts, like me," Carole explained. She slowed the monster a bit more upon entering a side street. They came to a section of four- and five-storied buildings whose metal curtain walls had the air of business offices. It developed immediately that they were apartment houses. Carole pulled into an opening in a row of parked vehicles similar to hers. Winstead got out quickly, since his hostess seemed about to crawl across his lap to reach the door. He stared at the groundcar meditatively. "Awful heap, isn't it?" said the blonde. "They have to make them that way here, so they can be converted for trucking. The spaceships count on Gelbchen II; everything else--including us--is what can be scraped up to do the job. Well, come on in!" _I really must be very tired_, Winstead thought as he meekly followed the girl into the lobby of the building. * * * * * Inside, two youths in coveralls were lounging on wooden chairs of austere design. One leaped to his feet at the sight of Carole. As he strode toward them, Winstead glanced over his shoulder to make sure of the door. Turning back, he was just in time to find the young man seizing Carole in an enthusiastic embrace. The two melted together in a passionate kiss. Then the young man stepped back, checked his wristwatch and dashed for the door. "Good night, kid," he called to her over his shoulder. Carole waved jauntily. She took Winstead by the elbow. "That was Wilfie," she explained. "We'll be getting married if we can ever get our job shifts straightened out. I hope I didn't make him late, poor boy--it was his only chance to see me until tomorrow." Winstead was hardly aware of having been steered into an elevator. When they reached the second floor, Carole led him a few steps along the hall. She used a simple light-key to open an apartment door. Winstead followed her inside wordlessly. "Let me take your bag," she said. "In here is the bedroom. I'll bet you didn't have that much room on the spaceship." "Well...." "Now let's go in the kitchen and see what we can get you for dinner. I might as well feed you, since I figure to charge you fifty credits for the night." Winstead remained silent by a considerable effort. He wondered what his expression showed. Carole did not seem to notice anything. She prattled on about the folly of trying to find a room in one of the few hotels boasted by the city of Junction. Most of them, she claimed, would be full of carousing spacers. Meanwhile, she rummaged through a frozen food unit.