And now the group had returned with its final report and its recommendations. The report? Xenon was perfect, just perfect. The recommendations? Immediate colonization, but be careful who is sent so that place isn't spoiled by a bunch of land-grabbing exploiters who might not appreciate the place. They had been back nearly a week before Lee Spencer had time to come to my place for the weekend. Due to a combination of my wife's cooking and a sedentary desk job with the Bureau, I was beginning to have a bit of difficulty in bending over far enough to zip on my shoes in the mornings, but Lee was still as lean and fit as he was the day he blasted off for Xenon nearly four years before. He had been given the full returned-hero treatment, complete with press conferences, testimonial dinner, audience with the Coordinator--everything. He hadn't had a waking moment to himself since he landed, so I suppose that might have been one reason that he relaxed so completely in front of the library fire after dinner and talked more than he perhaps should have. Or the generous slug of the old brandy my grandfather left me may have had something to do with it. At any rate, he was in an expansive mood that night after Martha had filled him with one of her always excellent dinners and I had nearly floated him in Grandfather's brandy. We had a lot of "do you remember" man talk to catch up on and after enduring nearly two hours of conversation about people and happenings of which she knew nothing, Martha gave up and headed for the stairs. "You two can talk all night if you want," she announced over her shoulder, "but I'm going to bed. Breakfast on the patio about nine or so, Lee." "I'll be there, Marty. Sleep tight." "Not as tight as you will, I'll bet," she grinned. "There's another jug in the kitchen if you think you may need it." * * * * * We heard her bedroom door hiss as it slid closed and sat for a moment looking into the fire and listening to it whispering secrets to itself. "She's a pretty nice wife, Sam," he told me. "Thanks. I like her, too." "Not at all like Prunella." "Prunella?" I said. "I don't think--" "Well, that's what the boys at the station began calling her a couple of days after she landed. Behind her back, of course." "I still don't know who--" "You know, the niece of that windbag in World Congress that you featherheads in the front office sent out to replace Pop Jensen when he fell out of that tree and had to be sent back to Earth for hospitalization." "Oh, _that_ one. Look, Lee, I didn't have anything to do with her selection. She was appointed by the Old Man himself. Understand there was some kind of pressure on him from the top." "I forgive you, Sam, but I rather doubt if some of the other people of the group will for a while." "How come she didn't stay?" I asked. "Political pressure or not, I can't imagine the supervisors sending out an incompetent replacement."