"Such as what?" said the girl, tossing her long blond hair. Brack looked at the girl carnivorously. "A steak." She smiled sympathetically. "We haven't anything of that sort. Sorry." She stared at him with light blue eyes the color of moonstones. "How do you happen to land at this miserable place? Fuel?" "I'm early for my convoy." Brack stared at the girl's face and he could see it was the mask of some hidden, tragic emotion. "You weren't thinking of staying at the Hotel Eros?" she inquired in a voice edged with repugnance. "Well, I do have about twelve hours." The girl was emphatic. "Take my advice, mister. Spend them in your ship." A man's voice crackled over the table phone. "Esther!" She looked startled. "Yes?" she said, leaning over the table to speak into the phone. ('Beautiful!' thought Brack. 'She must have some Earth-blood in her veins.') The man's voice was angry, strident. "Don't gab with the customers!" Esther stood up, a blush of embarrassment on her milky-white cheeks. "Your order, please?" she said to Brack, stiffly. The trucker put his big, brown-colored hand over the phone. "Who's that character?" he asked with distaste. "The boss?" The girl nodded unhappily. "I didn't realize he was listening." "Sounds like a tyrant." Brack uncovered the phone. "What's the closest thing you have to beefsteak?" "Why don't you try some of our roasted pradolan? It's quite good," she added for the boss's benefit. "Specialty of the house." "There's just one thing I want to know," said Brack. "Is it synthetic?" The girl smiled sadly. "I'd do anything for some real food myself. I haven't left Corbie in seven years." "What makes you stick around a place like this? Married?" "No. My father owns the Eros." "You're free, brown and twenty-one," said Brack somewhat inaccurately. "He can't make you stay if you want to leave." Esther waved warningly at the table phone and Brack again covered it with his hand. "Maybe he can't legally, but there's only one passenger ship between here and the planets every year, and they've refused me a ticket twice now." "Sounds pretty rotten to me," said the trucker. "Well, what if you got married to some guy? Then he couldn't--" A heavy-set white man, bald and bullet-headed, strode out of the kitchen and seized the girl roughly by the arm. "Now I told you not to gab with the customers and I meant it!" he snarled. "You get back there in the kitchen where you belong!" She tried to wrench free of his grip. "Take your hands off me!" Slap! He batted her across the cheek with his open hand and she staggered from the blow. "No back talk, young lady! Now, git!" The trucker half rose from his seat, his fists clenched, but it was over too quickly for him to intervene. And after all, he reflected later while eating the pradolan roast, the man was her father. * * * * *