“Sure thing. Wait here a minute, will you?” Chris stepped off more briskly in the direction they had been going, caught up with a group a little way ahead, and spoke quickly to a tall gangling redhead in shorts and a violent patterned shirt. The redhead glanced back at them, nodded, and rejoined his group. Chris came back, smiling, and they turned off the wide main “street,” down a side corridor, heading “out” again now, toward a different part of the dome wall. A little later they turned again, and lost sight of the outside, walking up a ramp that led to another corridor, this one lined with doors. Chris paused in front of the last door along the row, and pushed it open. Lisa took one step inside and gasped. Her first impressions of the room itself were vague. That didn’t matter. She was facing a full wall section of the dome. From floor to ceiling, and perhaps eighteen feet along the side, the clear plastic brought the incredible outside right in with them. She heard Chris laugh, and Johnny said, “Hey, babe, you’re obstructing traffic.” She stepped forward to let them in, but never moved her eyes. The only thing she thought about at all in that brief time of pure perception was to wish that Chris would go away, so she could know if Johnny was sharing her delight. Then Chris went away. “’Scuse me. Check messages ’noffice,” he said. Or something like that. He vanished through a side door, and she took her eyes off the outside long enough to look to Johnny and reach out her hand. He stepped closer, took her hand in his own, and stood next to her, seeing it with her--but just for an instant; then he stepped away. Awareness of his movements around the room intruded gradually on her preoccupation. She turned, and found him studying the titles in a bookshelf; looked around herself, and took in a low couch, table, comfortable looking sling chair. Another table, writing height, in the far side of the room, with a straight chair in front of it. Everything else was built in: shelves, drawers, cupboards. No pictures. She was beginning to approve of Pete Christensen. Anyone who’d hang a picture on a wall in the same room with what she’d just been looking at.... Dinner was the biggest surprise yet, because it was so normal--normal for Earthside luxury, that is. It arrived, scant minutes after Chris had mixed and served cocktails, on a hotel-type wheeled table, which came up in a sort of oversized dumbwaiter. On a plastic cloth, plastic dishes and earthenware containers held what was literally the banquet Chris had promised: appetizer to mints, with all stops in between, and roast beef featured in the middle. _Plus_ a wine she could not identify, but found delightful. “Our own brand,” Chris chuckled. “So was the ‘gin.’ For that matter, damn near everything on the table is. I’m not sure offhand whether the dishes were made here or not, but the ceramic stuff was. And the plastic cloth. _And_ the roast beef.”