"Will he need a food and--clothing ration also?" asked the girl, without looking at Craig. "Yes." The man laughed. "You'll excuse us, Mr. Craig. We realize that you couldn't be expected to be familiar with Terra's fashions. In your present outfit you would certainly be typed as a ... well, you'd be made uncomfortable." Craig reddened in spite of himself. He had bought the suit on Ghandii. "A hick," he supplied. "I wouldn't go that far, but some people might." * * * * * Craig noted the pleasant way the girl filled her trim, rather severe business suit. He amused himself by calculating stress patterns in its plain woven material as she assembled the forms for him. "Here, Mr. Craig. I believe these are complete." "They look pretty complicated." "Not at all. The questions are quite explicit." Craig looked them over quickly. "I guess so. Say, Miss Wendel, I was wondering--I don't know the city at all. Maybe you could go with me to have dinner. It must be almost dinnertime now. You could sort of check me out on some...." "I'm afraid that would be quite impossible. You couldn't gain admittance to any office you need to visit tonight. Therefore, it is impossible for me to be of any assistance to you." "Oh, come now, Miss Wendel. There are women aboard spaceships. I'm not a starved wolf." "Certainly you are not, Mr. Craig. But it is not possible for me...." "You said that already, but you can have dinner with me. Just company." "I'm afraid I don't understand." * * * * * The Galactic hotel strove to preserve an archaic tone of hospitality. It advertised "a night's lodgings" and it possessed a bellboy. The bellboy actually carried Craig's plasticarton and large file of punch cards and forms to his room. Tired from the long, confusing day, Craig was not impressed. He vaguely wondered if the little drama of the hotel carried so far as a small fee to be paid the bellboy, and he hoped he would have the right size of Terran units in his wallet. Outside the door to the room, the bellboy stopped and turned to Craig. "For five I'll tell you where it is," he said in a subdued tone. "Tell me where what is?" "You know, the mike." "Mike?" "All right, mister, three units, then. I wasn't trying to hold you up." "You mean a microphone?" asked Craig, mechanically fishing for his wallet. "Sure, they don't put in screens here. Wanted to, but the boss convinced 'em there aren't any Freedomites ever stay here." "Where is the microphone?" Craig asked as he found a ten unit note. He was too puzzled to wonder what he was expected to do with the information. "It's in the bed illuminator. You can short it out with a razor blade. Or I'll do it for another two." "Never mind," Craig said wearily. He waited while the bellboy inserted a key into the door and opened it for him.