"Don't blame you," said the swarthy spacer. "I'd like to go too. Don't worry--they'll be good and careful landing. The stuff's that much more expensive now that it's been freighted out here." "That is a--a great relief," said Winstead. "It's been very interesting. Good-by and good luck!" "Likewise," said the captain. _If I ever meet Aubrey again!_ thought Winstead. On the surface of the planet, he met with a thriving community that lived in a peculiar milieu blended of well-being and isolation. The spaceport was a center for refueling and repair. It was supported by mines and mills, and by just enough agricultural organization to get by. The standard of living was comfortably high because of the services rendered and charged for; but some of the customs struck Winstead as being almost too informal. "I think you're pulling my leg!" exclaimed the slim blonde at the Agency counter when Winstead was escorted in from the field. "Nobody would travel on the _Leaky Dipper_ without being paid for it. You must have real nerve!" She leaned uninhibitedly across the counter and planted a kiss on his cheek. He could not help noticing that she was not slim everywhere. "I assure you, Miss--er--here are my papers." "Oh, those! Let me see, I have a stamp somewhere in one of my drawers." * * * * * She rummaged through several hiding places under the counter. Winstead thought of the compartments on the _Leaky Dipper_. He leaned wearily on one elbow. "Oh, well, it's time to close up anyway," the girl decided. She swept his papers into a drawer, after a fast glance at them. "We can fix these up tomorrow, Bob." "You are a very quick reader," Winstead said. "It said 'Robert L.,' didn't it? That's all I was looking for--your name. Mine's Carole, just to keep things straight. Now, since no more ships are due and no passengers can leave tonight, let's get out of here." Winstead looked around, but the mechanic who had brought him in from the field had long since disappeared. Other clerks went about their own affairs in the background without showing any interest in him. Carole hoisted herself onto the counter and twisted across in a swirl of skirts. There was no way for Winstead to avoid catching her. He saw that she was not really slim _anywhere_. Grabbing his hand, she set off at a smart pace. He had just time to hook his bag off the counter as they passed it. "You'll be wanting a place to stay," she said. "I'll bet you never slept well on that spaceship." This so neatly paralleled Winstead's own opinion that he rejected a half-formed impulse to drag his feet. They dashed pell-mell through a wide exit from the building to a parking lot. Carole led the way to a monstrous groundcar that looked as if its mother had been frightened by a truck. A moment later, they were boosting up to stellar speed along a more-or-less paved road to the city.