“Not the whole thing. I caught part of the run this morning. They’re showing ’em again at sixteen hundred.” He glanced at the big wall chrono, pleasurably aware that until his eyes moved, the pink lingering in her cheeks had been, in part at least, a (pleased?) response to the way he was looking at her. (Yes, pleased, he was sure, when he looked back.) There was an hour to kill before the showing. “Got anything cooking you have to stick with?” he asked. “We’d have just about time for some coffee before they start.” She looked around carefully, checking. “I guess nothing special....” Her hesitation was _not_ about leaving the lab; he was sure of it. “I’ll help you check out the cameras,” he said, and headed for the far end, brushing her arm as he passed. The intensity of joint awareness startled--almost stopped--him. He debated suggesting his room for the coffee: but only an hour.... “Why don’t we go up to my place for coffee?” _she_ said. The words broke the bubble of tension surrounding the touch. He grinned. “I’m with you,” he said fervently. “What’s Hendrickson getting at anyhow?” she asked. “I didn’t hear him the other night, but the way it looked in the _Abstracts_, he’s hypothesizing what amounts to _intelligent_ choice when he says ‘controlled.’ Did you hear his talk?” “I missed it too. There’s so damn _much_ all the time, you never know which one to go to. But I got hold of him last night, and he won’t put it that way of course, but it seemed to me that’s how it added up.” They left the building and went outside into the bright glow of “afternoon sunlight,” diffused from the dometop lights during the lunar night. “But that means you also have to accept the idea of--I mean, what does the _deciding_?” “Well, I guess that’s why he won’t use the word, ‘intelligence.’ He keeps saying his theory is purely pragmatic--a description of behavior, he says, not an explanation. So you can’t pin him down.” The most fantastic thing of all, he thought contentedly, more startlingly even than the stuff you worked on up here were the people you worked _with_. She had taken off the white kerchief, and out in the “sunlight,” her hair shone a rich reddish brown and her face glowed with something quite other than the austere intensity in the lab. They entered the dorm building, and she started up the stairs. “Wait a minute!” he said. “Anyone showed you the _right_ way to go upstairs here yet?” She laughed. “You mean ‘giant steps’?” “Yup. Race?” “You’re on.” They both knelt to remove their shoes. “Three flights,” she said, and they set off together, bounding up four, five, six steps at a time under the light gravity of the Moon. _Rockland--2_ A.M. _(E.D.S.T.)_