Later, in one of the larger conference rooms, twenty-odd of the banquet elite drank coffee and brandy and listened to newly-arrived music tapes. McLafferty’s crew was staying a week, till the next orbit down; but the congressman himself would leave tomorrow. Conscientiously using his time, he made a point of speaking with everyone in the room, taking notes occasionally with an air of apologetic industry. His manner was briskly efficient, but leisurely--yet somehow it took hardly half an hour’s time to cover the group, and permit him to drift over casually to the circle of chairs where Lee and Phil sat together with Chris and Thad Bourgnese. “You know, you fellows really have got something here,” McLafferty’s smile should have been engaging; somehow it was not. “One thing,” he said, with a nod at Lee, and a sweep of the arm around the room, “You certainly have the best-looking lady scientists _I’ve_ ever seen!” Thad grinned. “I can see it now,” he said. “Headline: Congressman Gives Lunar Ladies Blanket Clearance. Or: Selenite Scien_tistes_--hmmm--need a verb with an _S_ and something about Security. Well--” He rose, made a mock-bow to Lisa, who was laughing helplessly. “Beggin’ yer pardon, mum, you bein’ Medic in any case, and not Lab Staff, present comp’ny excepted an’ all that.” It could have been nasty. It wasn’t ... perhaps because Lisa’s laughter _included_ McLafferty? Or just that comment and reaction were both so spontaneous? Phil couldn’t tell for sure. Bourgnese excused himself, and went off in the general direction of the redheaded Donovan girl, leaving the seat next to Lisa for the congressman, who had passed with astonishing speed through startlement, chagrin, mild amusement, and suspicion to sudden hilarious delight. “One thing,” he said, regarding Lee with warm approval, “You folks don’t scare easy.” She blinked. “What are we supposed to be scared of?” “Nothing,” he said. “_Absolutely_ nothing.” And damn if it didn’t sound just like he meant it! _Rio de Janeiro--12_ A.M. _(S.W.A.T.)_ It was the fourth club that night, and he was positive he had said hello to all the same people at each one. He sat at a single table, watching red and black and orange and blue-green female rumps writhe to rhumba beat and wondered how they contrived to stock each joint with The Crowd between the time he left one and arrived at the next. No more pub stops, he told himself firmly. Next time he’d go direct, maybe to _Los Gringos_, yes, that was a good bet--tourist trap kind of place The Crowd wouldn’t be caught dead in. Go _straight_ there, find out. If they were there anyhow, he’d _know_.... He could swear those jazzy bottoms out on the dance floor were _exactly_ the same ones he’d watched all night. He finished his drink, thought about another. Hell with it, make the move _now_, catch ’em off balance. He got up and started to weave his way through the full tables. The band had stopped. People were coming off the floor.