It wasn’t, of course. He would have known by her walk, and when she came close enough, by her face.... But before he saw these things at all, he _knew_ it wasn’t. Lee sat with her back to him. The other woman--_Maria?_--smiled as she passed, and went out. Lee sat where she was, back to him. But-- _Johnny, oh Johnny, my darling, my love!_ It was not in words. The thought of the words, the idea of speaking, was there; and it seemed that he heard: but what was most real about it came through without symbols, and surely without any sounds. It was just-- _Warmth. Lisa-to-Johnny-warmth. Love._ Nothing to question or worry or doubt or solicit or yearn for or want or need or define. Just love-as-is ... love-actuality ... love-known, love-before, love-after ... a place to rest and be warm through inside himself. He had felt it before. He had felt it and it had been false. He had felt it, not Lisa-to-Johnny, but-- _No!_ If he screamed aloud, nobody knew it. _He_ didn’t know. His head ached, either from the resounding scream inside the helmet, or else from the need to scream, kept in his head. _Doug, get out! Get out, damn it! Get out of here! Damn it, you’re dead! Don’t you know you’re dead?_ The figure at the tank rose, and began to turn. Johnny stood helpless, rooted. He would have fled if he could. But the warm flood embraced him, caressed him, held him bound. Frightening, enticing, beckoning, threatening, stiflingly suffocating, vibrantly life-giving. And-- He had run from it before. He could run no more. The figure turned toward him entirely, and stepped forward. It was not Doug. Doug was dead. It was Lee. _Lee, Lisa, Lisa-love, Lisa-loves-John_.... _Her_ walk.... _Her_ love.... _Her_ face, smiling up at him, close and closer still, through the plastic helmet plate, tearfully?, lovingly, _hers_. _Lee!_ He reached out his arms. She came into them--almost. His gauntletted hands gripped the backs of her shoulders, and she looked up, laughing. The rigid fabric of his suit was pressed against hers, and there they stood, each one behind his own life-saving column of air inside the pressured suits, in a mad caricature of embrace. Laughter broke loose inside him and bubbled up. He bent his head; helmets touched; and their laughing mingled and merged and grew whole. It raced into the current of love-warmth, and pulled him with it, turning and twisting and sporting in cascading torrents of lovely-Lisa-laughs-with-love.... How long they stood there in the wondrous half-embrace he did not know: two enclosed islands inside their Moonsuits, making love through glass walls by the side of a strange pool of-- He shuddered. --of bubbling putrescence, of-- _A friend!_ she said sharply. _Friend!?_ He looked at the tank and he shuddered again. Looked back at his Lisa. “Hey, babe,” he said gently, his helmet against hers, “I think we better get you--”