"I'm going to bake tomorrow. In the morning, we're supposed to go for a walk. We'll take a big basket. Do you remember the old canal nobody goes near any more?" There was no answer. Ethan was asleep. Now that she'd decided what to do, she lay down beside him. * * * * * The sentry huddled in his post. It was insulated and supplied with oxygen, very much like a spacesuit. Though big for a spacesuit, it was a small place to spend hours in without relief. But there were compensations: never anything to do--except as now. He went to the mike. "Get back," he shouted. They paid no attention. Swearing, he shouted again, turning up the volume. Even in the thin air, he had enough sound to blast them off their feet. But they kept on going. He poked the snout of his weapon through the porthole and then withdrew it. Who'd given him those orders anyway? He didn't have to obey them. He clamped on his oxygen helmet and slipped into electric mitts and hurried outside. [Illustration] "Where do you think you're going?" he demanded, standing in front of them. "Hello," said Amantha. "Didn't see anyone around." Damn senior citizens--they never used hearing aids. "You've got to turn around and go back," he said. "Why?" He was shivering and didn't see how they could stand it. Thin clothing and obsolete oxygen equipment. Oddly, they could take more than you'd think, though. Used to it, he supposed. "Come on in," he commanded gruffly. He wasn't going to freeze. They followed him into the post. "Didn't you see the signs to keep out?" "But the ships aren't using the field. What harm are we doing?" "Orders," he said. There were still a few pilots checking over their ships, making sure everything was in working condition before they were locked up. In a week, all flight personnel would be gone to the settlements, there to await the next round of voyages when Earth came near. They had it soft, while he, the guard, had to stay in cold discomfort. "We're going to visit a friend of my son," said Amantha. "They were pilots together. Do you object?" He didn't, but there were some who would. The order made sense with respect to little boys who would otherwise swarm over the field, falling off ships or getting stuck in rocket tubes. "What have you got?" he asked, eying Amantha's parcel dubiously. "I baked something." She opened a corner of the package and the smell drifted out. "Made it with Martian fruit. Not much of it around these days." He sniffed and became hungry. That was queer--he'd eaten before coming on duty. "Okay," he said. "You can go. Don't get caught or it's my neck." He stood closer to the old man and woman, and the package, too, and pointed out the window. "Act like you're leaving in case anyone's checking up. When you get near the line of ships, duck behind them and walk along until you find the right one. No one will see you except me."