She was all concern. “Why, what is it, Ross?” she asked solicitously. “You look upset. Just leave everything to me, dear.” * * * * * They got started on the way to Novj Grad—not in their ship (the woman had said there was no spaceport in Novj Grad), and not alone, so that Ross could not confirm his unhappy opinion of Helena’s inner thoughts. But at least they were on their way to Novj Grad in the Azorian equivalent of a chartered aircraft, with Helena chatting happily with the female pilot, and Ross sitting uncomfortably on a narrow, upholstered strip behind. Everything he saw in Azor confirmed his first impressions. The planet was busy and prosperous. Nobody seemed to be doing anything very productive, he thought, but somehow everything seemed to get done. Automatic machinery, he guessed; if women were to have any chance of gaining the upper hand on a planet, most of the hard physical work would have to be fairly well mechanized anyhow. And particularly on this planet. They had been flying for six hours, at a speed he guessed to be not much below that of sound, and fully half of the territory they passed over was bare, black rock. The ship began losing altitude, and the pilot, who had been curled up in a relaxed position, totally ignoring the aircraft, glanced at her instrument panel. “Coming in for a landing,” she warned. “Don’t distract me right now, dear, I’ve got a thousand things to do.” She didn’t seem to be doing any of them, Ross thought disapprovingly; all she did was watch varicolored lights blink on and off. But no doubt the ship landing, too, was as automatic as the piloting. Helena turned and leaned back to Ross. “We’re coming in for a landing,” she relayed. Ross said sourly, “I heard.” Helena gave him a look of reprimand and forgiveness. “I’m hungry,” she mused. The pilot turned from her controls. “You can get something at the airport,” she offered eagerly. “I’ll show you.” Helena looked at Ross. “Would you like something?” But the pilot frowned. “I don’t believe there’s any place for men,” she said disapprovingly. “Perhaps we can get something sent out for him if you like. Although, really, it’s probably against the rules, you know.” Ross started to say with great dignity, “Thank you, but that won’t be necessary.” But he didn’t quite get it out. The ship came in for its landing. There was an enormous jolt and a squawk of alarm bells and flashing lights. The ship careened crazily, and stopped. “Oh, darn,” complained the pilot mildly. “It’s always doing that. Come on, dear, let’s get something to eat. We’ll come back for _him_ later.” And Ross was left alone to stare apprehensively at the unceasingly flashing lights and to listen to the strident alarms for three-quarters of an hour. His luck was in, though. The ship didn’t explode. And eventually a pallid young man in a greasy apron appeared with a tray of sandwiches and a vacuum jug. “Up here, boy,” Ross called.