The self-made leopard looked like licking cream, rambling on to Lisa about food again. “Food gets ridiculously important to us here,” he said. “But the psych boys had that taped ahead of time. Found it in the World War Two, with the sub service, and then they doubled it in spades on the nuclear jobs. I guess they figure all of us for--what do they call it?--oral regressives--anybody who’ll get into this kind of spot at all. Anyhow, that’s one thing I never had to fight for. Johnny can tell you, even at the beginning, before we really had the farm going, we used to get beef and turkey sent up, even when there was no shipping space for lab supplies! Lord, how that used to gripe me!” He stopped a minute, to empty his wine glass. “Coffee?” “Let me do it,” Lee said. _Busy little bee, ain’t you just, baby?_ “Of course that was before we had the Messenger,” Chris was going again. “Every ounce counted, ten times over then.” “Yeah,” Johnny heard himself saying, his voice coming from somewhere outside his volition, but inside himself: “We had pretty good chow on. The. _Colombo._ Too.” That was how it came out. But how was unimportant. From where? _Why?_ He tried to remember when he had last so much as completed a conscious _thought_ about that travesty--let alone said a word about it--Except _No_ or _Go to Hell_! Or like that. He tried to see Lee’s face without her noticing. Tried to find something else to say, while they sat waiting. Tried to think of some way for them to be on the shuttle tomorrow when it took off again. _Eight_ days, he thought. Eight whole long twenty-four-hours-to-the-each old-fashioned Earth-type days. _My God!_ It had been a mistake to come. But he’d known that. _Old Johnny-can’t-turn-down-a-dare_, he thought, with small amusement. That wasn’t quite right, either. It took _three_ dares: Chris; then Lisa; then that damfool McLafferty with his idiot committees. Good ole Solidarity Wendt, all-out for ole buddy Chris. Yeah. There was a little wine still in the bottle. He picked it up. “Lee?” “No thanks,” she said. “I’m on coffee now.” “Chris?” “Just a drop--no, never mind,” Chris said. “I’ve got some brandy someplace around--” But he made no move to get it. “I’ve got to get some work done tonight yet. Always busy as hell around here when the Messenger’s up,” he added, to Lee. “How long does she stay in orbit?” Johnny asked, hoping it sounded idle. “Two days. Starts back Friday morning, but for our purposes, it’s Thursday night. Anything out of here has to get off the ground by ten tomorrow at the latest, to make orbit. Then she’s back by next Wednesday. One thing, at least, you don’t have to worry about late trains when they run on orbit!” _And when did I hear that joke the first time?_ Johnny thought, while Lisa gave her nicest duty-laugh. _This party’s sure getting dead_, he thought. _And guess who killed it? Hell!_ _Eight days. Okay._ _Eight days?_ He finished the wine. * * * * *