He gaped through the port. “You mean come in?” “Sure. It’s all right.” The young man put down the tray. Something in the way he looked at it prompted Ross to invite him: “Have some with me? More here than I can handle.” “Thanks; I believe I will. I, uh, was supposed to take my break after I brought you this stuff.” He poured steaming brew into the cup that covered the jug, politely pushed it to Ross and swigged from the jug himself. “You’re with the starship?” he asked, around a mouthful of sandwich. “Yes. I—the captain, that is—wants to contact an outfit called Cavallo Machine-Tool. You know where they are?” “Sure. Biggest firm on the south side. Fifteen Street; you can’t miss them. The captain—is she the lady who was with Pilot Breuer?” “Yes.” The youngster’s eyes widened. “You mean you were in space—alone—with a lady?” Ross nodded and chewed. “And she didn’t—uh—there wasn’t—well—any problem?” “No,” said Ross. “You have much trouble with that kind of thing?” The boy winced. “If I’ve asked once I’ve asked a hundred times for a transfer. Oh, those jet pilots! I used to work in a roadside truck stop. I know truckers are supposed to be rough and tough; maybe they are. But you can’t tell me that deep down a trucker isn’t a lady. When you tell them no, that’s that. But a pilot—it just eggs them on. Azor City today, Novj Grad tomorrow—what do they care?” Ross was fascinated and baffled. It seemed to him that they should care and care plenty. Back where he came from, it was the woman who paid and he couldn’t imagine any cultural setup which could alter that biological fact. He asked cautiously: “Have you ever been—in trouble?” The boy stiffened and looked disapproving. Then he said with a sigh: “I might as well tell you. It’s all over the station anyway; they call me ‘Bernie the Pullover.’ Yes. Twice. Pilots both times. I can’t seem to say no——” He took another long pull from the jug and a savage bite from a second sandwich. “I’m sure,” Ross said numbly, “it wasn’t your fault.” “Try telling that to the judge,” Bernie the Pullover said bitterly. “The pilot speaks her piece, the medic puts the blood group tests in evidence, the doctor and crèche director depose that the child was born and is still living. Then the judge says, without even looking up, ‘Paternity judgment to the plaintiff, defendant ordered to pay one thousand credits annual support, let this be a warning to you, young man, next case.’ I shouldn’t have joined you and eaten your sandwiches, but the fact is I was hungry. I had to sell my meal voucher yesterday to meet my payment. Miss three payments and——” He jerked his thumb heavenward. Ross thought and realized that the thumb must indicate the orbiting prison hulk “Minerva.” It _was_ the man who paid here. He demanded: “How did all this happen?” Bernie, having admitted his hunger, had stopped stalling and seized a third sandwich. “All what?” he asked indistinctly.