"Quarter-Way Party?" Charlie turned with a slightly puzzled look to his companions. "Oh, Quarter-Way Party ... uh ... return our compliments to the captain and tell him we loved it. Not that we were there, of course." "A few more compliments and why not?" "Too busy. These pre-fab housing units," he indicated the papers, "come in a couple thousand pieces like an unholy jig-saw puzzle. We've got to figure how to put them together and not have any left over to store and still not get the devil from the women who'll have to operate 'em." "What's the rush? Still ten months to go." "Well," Westcott looked a little sheepish, "it's got to be kind of fun. We've got to working out all the variations we can so each house will be some different from all the others. Then there are all the farm buildings and offices. We won't even have all the gimmicks worked out in ten months. Local Venus conditions, you know...." "Sort of make-work so the trip'll seem shorter?" Kuhnhardt objected quickly, "As a matter of fact we could use another ten months. We never had time to complete our materials course on earth. We've got a lot of book work to do, too." He gestured toward Westcott's bunk, which was overflowing with manuals and thick volumes. "So parties are out, but we like them because we get fewer people in here looking for prospects for poker." He grinned at Avery. There didn't seem to be any good comeback to this, so Avery just nodded and said, "Fine," and left. He took the elevator next to Westcott's room. * * * * * He stopped the elevator half-way up to headquarters and got out. Better sample a few more responses to the party. No one answered his knock at the first two doors; the third was marked DARKROOM; but at the fourth he heard a sort of mumble and turned the knob. Samuel Wyckoff was sitting on the edge of the bunk. Not a short man, but thin like all the healthy old ones: wispy white hair and faded blue eyes and a tremulous look about the mouth made him seem fragile. He was half-dressed; his thin long hands gripped the edge of the bunk; and he was staring at the floor a foot or two his side of the door. "Going to bed early?" Elbert Avery was politely apologetic. "No." "Changing, then. It doesn't matter. Captain Daneshaw is having me ask around to find out how you people enjoyed the party last night. Did you have a good time?" "A good time?" The man didn't seem to comprehend a simple question. "That's it. Gayety, good time, fun, prizes and all, and sugar and cream in the coffee. Did you like it?" "Didn't go." His gaze never left the floor, though it had moved to one side to avoid Avery's feet. "Any particular reason? Program sound dull? Were you tired?" "I guess so."