"Now that you've stopped pingponging," Gladys said, "you might tell me how we're going to get out of this fix. And I don't mind behaving like an electron but you might make like a positron and come a little closer; it's getting cold in here! By the way, where's Helene?" I don't know why, but I told her. And maybe I did put on an aggrieved husband act a bit, but who could blame me? "Oh, Bill, I'm sorry," she said throatily. "You're so attractive, so fine. To think you've been snared by someone who doesn't appreciate your worth, your handsomeness, your manly strength. Oh, why couldn't you just have given poor little me a glance? After all, we've been together in the Project Lab every day. I _know_ you, Bill, and I'm _so_ sorry!" And she moved on, lovely, graceful in her gentle orbit, and my heart swelled with recognition of her compassion. I started to make a self-effacing remark, stammered, and finally changed my mind and asked, "But how did you happen to come here?" She sighed. "Business, I'm sorry to state. Jim O'Brien wants you at the lab. Thinks he's on the track of anti-grav--and here you have it already! Gee, Bill, it _is_ getting cold in here!" I hadn't noticed. Just then the thermostat did notice, and the air-conditioning unit cut in. Warm air started to blow from the baseboard outlets. "Bill--" "Yeah," I answered, trajecting past the chitchat bench and wondering if by stretching real hard I could reach it on the next trip round and drag myself to it. Then, if it didn't come unplugged I could ground (now _that_ was a silly thought!)--I could _stop_ myself and maybe work out of the living room along the edge of the tacked-down carpet. "Bill, if Helene doesn't come back, do you think, maybe--" I thought, maybe. * * * * * Hey, was I imagining things or was my orbit changing? And was Gladys smiling more warmly? Oh, oh! The air-vents were doing it, the air currents from them pressing me into a more curving trajectory which would probably graze Gladys' orbit. I was passing the chitchat bench. I flailed out for it, missed, and my movement seemed to twist my trajectory even more. I looked at Gladys and she was smiling warmly, welcomingly. I thought of Helene and felt like a louse. An airborne louse. Without wings, like a louse should be. You need wings to fly. If I'd had them I think I'd have flown. Elsewhere. Sure, you can let your conscience be your guide but what can you do when you're helplessly warped into a collision orbit with one of the loveliest women in the world, a welcoming planet in a closed system of your own peculiar manufacture? The visio started buzzing then and I wondered agonizingly if it were Helene. On the other hand, it might be Jim O'Brien wondering why Gladys hadn't come back. With no answer, he might come over, but I doubted it. Jim's a bachelor and somewhat of a hermit.