The wall chronometer, adjusted to the slightly longer Mars' day, read 2300, an hour before midnight. He was alone. It should have been quiet, but several times heavy footsteps had passed down the hall near his tiny room. The sick bay was attached to the women's quarters. Distinctly he heard an outside door open and the clump of safety boots passed his room. Slipping off the high bed he opened his door and looked into the hall. It was a man. Even in the dim light there was no mistaking the broad physique. Duncan whipped a sheet around his nude body and followed a few yards to where the visitor had disappeared through a curtained arch. Before the curtains stopped swaying he saw the outlines of cots within. It was the women's sleeping room! His stomach turned cold. So the legend of the song was based on fact. And his trip out here was justified after all. And what now, after he had uncovered the mess with his own eyes? He approached the curtains uncertainly. A sob from within startled him. It was a man's cry. A girl's voice said something softly reassuring, and all was still again. Duncan lurched through the arch and stood rooted. The denunciation died in his throat. Twenty single bunks were spaced around the walls. Each was occupied, but only three girls were asleep. The rest were sitting on the edge with their feet on the floor. At each girl's feet with his back resting against her legs was a member of the male company. The pale light of Deimos, Mars' second moon, shone through the overhead panes to reveal the secret of the loving hands. Duncan watched seventeen pairs of arms encircling the necks of as many men, hands reaching down under loose jackets to massage aching chests and rising to knead gently on tired shoulder muscles. Fingers strayed tenderly over masculine foreheads and necks with unmistakable caressing motions. The prone figure near him stirred, and a sleepy face looked up at him. "Oh, my gosh, it's Duncan!" she said. It was Martha Rice. She slipped from the blankets and drew him over to her bunk. "Sit down," she invited. Stunned, Duncan lowered himself to the edge of the bed. "No, not there! Down, boy! On the deck," she pointed. "The fellows would get the wrong idea, patient or no patient." Duncan complied, leaning against her warm legs as the others were doing. She sighed, yawned audibly, and began the massaging routine. With the touch of her hands the confusion left Duncan's tortured mind. Propaganda, morality arguments, missions into space and the importance of $10,000 fines disappeared. This was real. A woman's heart reaching out through her hands to comfort her man. It was physical, but it transcended the physical. It justified the rigid segregation rules even as it glorified them and violated them. The need of man for woman was too great for any barrier. And no woman could refuse giving of herself when the need was desperate enough. Three more men came through the curtains.