Johnny smiled wryly. Poor Chris--everything had looked so rosy to him five years ago. They were really ganging up on the guy now. _Yeah--poor Chris! Poor benighted bastard! Damn good thing_ ... but you couldn’t help feeling sorry for the man. He meant well; he was a Hell of a good guy. _Just stupid, that’s all!_ Johnny shrugged, dropped the paper, picked it up and riffled through for other news, feeling luxurious because he didn’t have to leave today after all. The ship was coming to St. Thom. Twenty minutes away, was all. Plenty of time, if he left on the six o’clock jitney tomorrow. “About 8 P.M.” usually wound up to mean about midnight.... TROVI TO DANCE ON MOON _Well, well, we’re getting around, aren’t we?_ It was a good picture of her, one of the batch they had taken out at the edge of the pool last September: Lee in Peter Pan costume, poised on one toe, it seemed, right on the edge of the pool--about to take off, you’d swear it. A new art-form will be born this Saturday night [it said underneath] when Lisa Trovi, world-renowned tri-di dancer, gives a precedent-making performance at the Moon’s World Dome. Miss Trovi has been on the Moon, at the U.S.A.A. Dome, since August 24, practicing for her appearance this Saturday. “It’s a completely new kind of dance,” Miss Trovi says. “I’m just beginning to realize what can be done in light gravity. It’s like changing from swimming in treacle to swimming in water.” The performance, scheduled for 8.30 P.M. (G.S.T.--3.30 P.M. C.S.T.) will be broadcast live if conditions permit. Tri-di tapes will be aired from New York at a later date. _Saturday_.... But _this_ was Saturday. She wasn’t on the wheel. She wasn’t coming. He realized only slowly that he was not surprised. “Stands to reason,” he thought. He showered and went down for breakfast of ham and eggs, pineapple juice, and good native rum at the bar. PART SEVEN _September 5-18, 1977_ _Acapulco--Monday evening, September 5._ “Still no dice?” “Nothing. God knows where the damfool is.” Chris came back from the telephone, sat down in the webbed chair, and stared without seeing at an expanse of mountain, sun, water, and forest that would have demanded the full attention of any man who did not live in daily view of heaven itself. “How bad _was_ it?” Harbridge asked. “Not too. He had sense enough to suggest going back himself, before it got worse. I just wish to hell _I_ hadn’t been such a fool. I should have known--I’ll tell you, the one I feel sorry for is the girl. Lisa. He doesn’t know what he’s--Hell, sure he does!” _I keep forgetting_, he thought, ashamed. _Johnny’s entitled to anything he can get!_ “I don’t know what’s going to happen now,” he said thoughtfully. “If he’s not home, he might not have gotten her wire either. Hell to pay if he finds out from the papers, or--Well, let’s hope he took off on a bat after he _did_ get the message. But I hope she’s heard from him.”