He was propelled jubilantly into the palatial dining salon of the wrecked liner. A long polished meturilium table occupied the center of the floor. Automatic weight distributing chairs stood around it. His feet sank into a green fiberon carpet. He had stepped back into the Thirty-fourth Century from the fabulous barbarian past. With a sigh of relief, he started to sit down. A lithe red-head sprang forward and held his chair. They all waited politely for him to be seated before they took their places. He felt silly. He felt like a captive princess. All the confidence engendered by the familiar settings of the space ship went out of him like wind. He, Jonathan Fawkes, was a castaway on an asteroid inhabited by twenty-seven wild women. * * * * * As the meal boisterously progressed, he regained sufficient courage to glance timidly around. Directly across the table sat a striking, grey-eyed girl whose brown hair was coiled severely about her head. She looked to him like a stenographer. He watched horrified as she seized a whole roast fowl, tore it apart with her fingers, gnawed a leg. She caught him staring at her and rolled her eyes at him. He returned his gaze to his plate. Olga said: "Hey, Sultan." He shuddered, but looked up questioningly. She said, "How's the fish?" "Good," he mumbled between a mouthful. "Where did you get it?" "Caught it," said Olga. "The stream's full of 'em. I'll take you fishing tomorrow." She winked at him so brazenly that he choked on a bone. "Heaven forbid," he said. "How about coming with me to gather fruit?" cried the green-eyed blonde; "you great big handsome man." "Or me?" cried another. And the table was in an uproar. The rawboned woman who had summoned them to dinner, pounded the table until the cups and plates danced. Jonathan had gathered that she was called Billy. "Quiet!" She shrieked in her loud strident voice. "Let him be. He can't go anywhere for a few days. He's just been through a wreck. He needs rest." She turned to Jonathan who had shrunk down in his chair. "How about some roast?" she said. "No." He pushed back his plate with a sigh. "If I only had a smoke." Olga gave her unruly black hair a flirt. "Isn't that just like a man?" "I wouldn't know," said the green-eyed blonde. "I've forgotten what they're like." Billy said, "How badly wrecked is your ship?" "It's strewn all over the landscape," he replied sleepily. "Is there any chance of patching it up?" He considered the question. More than anything else, he decided, he wanted to sleep. "What?" he said. "Is there any possibility of repairing your ship?" repeated Billy. "Not outside the space docks." They expelled their breath, but not for an instant did they relax the barrage of their eyes. He shifted position in embarrassment. The movement pulled his muscles like a rack. Furthermore, an overpowering lassitude was threatening to pop him off to sleep before their eyes. "You look exhausted," said Ann.