The first-class viewing-room was also known to be a trysting-place. There, under cover of darkness, ladies might meet and make love to cooks, lords to scullery-maids. An enterprising rogue with a nolight camera might make a fortune taking a quick shot of such a room and black-mailing his noble victims. But scanners at the door prevented such devices from entering. Herndon stood staring at the fiery gold and green of the closest stars a while, his back to the door, until he heard a feminine voice whisper to him. "Barr Herndon?" He turned. In the darkness it was difficult to tell who spoke; he saw a girl about the height of the Lady Moaris, but in the dimness of the illumination of the plate he could see it was not the Lady. This girl's hair was dull red; the Lady's was golden. And he could see the pale whiteness of this girl's breasts; the Lady's garment, while revealing, had been somewhat more modest. This was a lady of the court, then, perhaps enamoured of Herndon, perhaps sent by the Lady Moaris as a test or as a messenger. Herndon said, "I am he. What do you want?" "I bring a message from--a noble lady," came the answering whisper. Smiling in the darkness Herndon said, "What does your mistress have to say to me?" "It cannot be spoken. Hold me in a close embrace as if we were lovers, and I will give you what you need." Shrugging, Herndon clasped the go-between in his arms with feigned passion. Their lips met; their bodies pressed tight. Herndon felt the girl's hand searching for his, and slipping something cool, metallic into it. Her lips left his, travelled to his ear, and murmured: "This is her key. Be there in half an hour." They broke apart. Herndon nodded farewell to her and returned his attention to the glories of the viewplate. He did not glance at the object in his hand, but merely stored it in his pocket. He counted out fifteen minutes in his mind, then left the viewing-room and emerged on the main deck. The ball was still in progress, but he learned from a guard on duty that the Lord and Lady Moaris had already left for sleep, and that the festivities were soon to end. Herndon slipped into a washroom and examined the key--for key it was. It was a radionic opener, and imprinted on it were the numbers 1160. His throat felt suddenly dry. The Lady Moaris was inviting him to her room for the night--or was this a trap, and would Moaris and his court be waiting for him, to gun him down and provide themselves with some amusement? It was not beyond these nobles to arrange such a thing. But still--he remembered the clearness of her eyes, and the beauty of her face. He could not believe she would be party to such a scheme. He waited out the remaining fifteen minutes. Then, moving cautiously along the plush corridors, he found his way to Room 1160.