An aircab was waiting. He leaned very close to her as she helped him in. He was almost sure that his empathy should tell him something and it did. Her eyes darkened, and she became obviously disturbed by his nearness. He settled back in the cab and waited. The driver turned about, and asked: “Where to?” He pretended not to hear. The driver repeated the question and Randy gave him the address. The information itself didn’t tell him much but his sensitivity filled in the missing details. She had been to the apartment many times, and stayed late. They didn’t talk much on the way. The cab flitted over the city lights with a steady droning. He became uneasy. She too was sensing a strangeness in him. He regretted his decision to have her accompany him, and resolved to send her home as soon as he could reasonably do so. They landed on the roof of a tall apartment building. She paid the driver and told him not to wait. No chance for subtlety there. “I’m quite all right,” he said as she helped him out. “It was just a momentary touch of dizziness.” “I know,” she said. “But you’re not going to get away. I intend to make sure you’re all right.” And that was that. Soleri’s apartment was on the twentieth floor. It was elaborate and large, and furnished with exquisite taste. He approved of Soleri’s taste--in more than one respect. He sat down and looked it over. “Glad to be back?” she asked. He nodded. “Sit and rest. I’ll punch dinner. Anything special?” “Nothing special. Whatever you want.” She touched his arm as she went into the kitchen. He wished she hadn’t. He had enough to contend with without that. Presently she came back. “We’ll have something light and nourishing in a few minutes,” she said. She went to the recording system and began examining the calls that had come in during Soleri’s absence. He had to remind himself that it was an absence. Officially Soleri hadn’t died. He watched her intently. He wished her eyes weren’t brown and wonderful. “Anything important?” he said with an effort. “A message from Andrew Taft. I told him you were hurt but not badly. He wants you to visit him next week.” Andrew Taft was president of TRANSPORTATION. Everyone knew that. But there wasn’t anything in the files to give him a lead as to the duration or extent of their friendship. Perhaps Soleri had known Taft from boyhood. He didn’t want to put his newly acquired personality to such a severe test before he could be more certain of the facts. “Make an excuse for me,” he said. She looked at him inquiringly. “Do you think you should? Eleanor will be there. She heard about the accident and is coming in from Mars.” He might have known there would be some such complication. Soleri was a powerful and attractive man and there had been more than one woman in his life. It was another unexpected pitfall, a further challenge to his wariness. He grimaced. “Eleanor’s a nice girl but she means nothing to me,” he said.