Corriston was aware that his companion was getting to her feet. The interruption had been unexpected, but much to his surprise he found himself accepting it without rancor. If he lost her for a few moments he could quickly enough find her again; and somehow he felt convinced that the big man was not a torch-carrying admirer. "I'll have to stop off in the ladies' lounge first," she said. She had opened her vanity case and was making a swift inventory of its contents. "Two shades of lipstick, but no powder! Oh, well." She smiled at the big man and then at Corriston, gesturing slightly as she did so. "We've just been discussing the Station," she said. "This gentleman hasn't told me his name--" "Lieutenant David Corriston," Corriston said quickly. "My interest in the Station is tied in with my job. I've just been assigned to it in the very modest capacity of ship's inspection officer, recruit status." The big man stared at Corriston more intently, his eyes kindling with a sudden increase of interest. "Say, I wonder if you could spare me a few minutes. When my friends ask me I'd like to be able to talk intelligently about the terrific headaches the research people must have experienced right from the start. The expenditure of fuel alone...." "See you in the Captain's cabin, Jim," the girl said. She moved out from her chair, her expression slightly constrained. Was it just imagination, or had the big man's immoderate expansiveness grated on her and brought a look of displeasure to her young face? Corriston couldn't be sure, and his brow remained furrowed as he watched her cross the passenger cabin and disappear into the ladies' lounge. "I'm Jim Clakey," the big man said. Corriston reseated himself, a troubled indecision still apparent in his stare. Then gradually he found himself relaxing. He nodded up at the big man. "Sit down, Mr. Clakey," he said. "Ask me anything you want. Security imposes some pretty rigid restrictions, but I'll let you know when you start treading on classified ground." Clakey sat down and crossed his long legs. He was silent for a moment. Then he said: "You know who she is, of course." Corriston shook his head. "I'm afraid I haven't the slightest idea." "She isn't traveling under her real name only because her father is a very sensible and cautious man. You'd be cautious too, perhaps, if you were Stephen Ramsey." Clakey's gaze had traveled to the ladies' lounge, and for an instant he seemed unaware of Corriston's incredulous stare. "You mean I've actually been sitting here talking to Stephen Ramsey's daughter?" "That's right," Clakey said, turning to grin amiably at Corriston. "And now you're talking to her personal bodyguard. I'm not surprised you didn't recognize her, though; very few people do. She doesn't like to have her picture taken. Her dad wouldn't object to that kind of publicity particularly, but she's even more cautious than he is."