Professor Speiser lived in one of the old plastic brick faculty houses. Her horsy face, under a curling net, looked out of the annunciator plate. "Yes? What is it?" "Professor Speiser, I believe you know my daughter, Miss _Freeman_. She asked me to look you up while I was in New York. Have I come much too late?" "Oh, dear. Why, no. I suppose not. Come in, Mr.--Mr. Freeman." In her parlor, she faced him apprehensively. When she spoke she rolled out her sentences like the lecturer she was. "Mr. Freeman--as I suppose you'd prefer me to call you--you asked a moment ago whether you'd come too late. I realize that the question was window-dressing, but my answer is quite serious. You have come too late. I have decided to dissociate myself from--let us say, from your daughter, Miss Freeman." The Commander asked only: "Is that irrevocable?" "Quite. It wouldn't be fair of me to ask you to leave without an explanation. I am perfectly willing to give one. I realize now that my friendship with Miss Freeman and the work I did for her stemmed from, let us say a certain vacancy in my life." He looked at a picture on her desk of a bald, pleasant-faced fellow with a pipe. She followed his eyes and said with a sort of shy pride: "That is Dr. Mordecai, of the University's Faculty of Dentistry. Like myself, a long-time celibate. We plan to marry." The Commander said: "Do you feel that Dr. Mordecai might like to meet my daughter?" "No. I do not. We expect to have very little time for outside activities, between our professional careers and our personal lives. Please don't misunderstand, Mr. Freeman. I am still your daughter's friend. I always shall be. But somehow I no longer find in myself an urgency to express the friendship. It seems like a beautiful dream--and a quite futile one. I have come to realize that one can live a full life without Miss Freeman. Now, it's getting quite late--" He smiled ruefully and rose. "May I wish you every happiness, Professor Speiser?" he said, extending his hand. She beamed with relief. "I was so afraid you'd--" Her face went limp and she stood swaying drunkenly as the needle in the ring popped her skin. The Commander, his face as dead as hers, disconnected his hand and sheathed the needle carefully again. He drew one of his guns, shot her through the heart and walked out of the apartment. Old fool! She should have known better. * * * * * Max Wyman stumbled through the tangle of Riveredge, his head a pot of molten lead and his legs twitching under him as he fled from his shame. Dimly, as if with new eyes, he saw that he was not alone. Riveredge was technically uninhabited. Then what voices called guardedly to him from the shadows: "Buddy--buddy--wait up a minute, buddy--did you score? Did you score?"