“That’s what I was telling him,” Lee said. “Ray was so startled when we came up to daylight again, he asked how we were able to stay on a regular schedule, and I was explaining how it worked.” She stopped and laughed, a rippling silver sound that Phil recognized quickly as the trained professional one. “_He_ said a place like this would suit him fine, because as soon as he saw the sun, he thought it was morning, and he was all ready to start a day’s work. So _I_ said, ‘Why not?’ and--there you are.” Chris shook his admiringly. “You Mexcity types always flabbergast me. If it was _really_ dawn, and he’d been at an all-night brawl, I’ll bet he’d feel just the same way.” “Company helps,” said the congressman. “Depends whom you’ve been with all night.” McLafferty didn’t see it. Probably even Chris didn’t. But Lee winced under the import of the heavy compliment, and threw the briefest pleading sort of glance at Phil. _Well_, he thought. _Here we go on the white charger again._ He turned to Chris. “Why don’t you take Mr. McLafferty to see the farm?” he suggested. “You know _that’s_ got to be working now--” All the Maintenance sections would be. “He could see that stuff now, and the labs tomorrow.” To the congressman he explained: “Wednesday night’s the one time the labs run on skeleton staff. The big dinner throws everything out of whack when the ship’s in.” With considerable satisfaction, and at pontifical length, he made clear to the impatient visitor that the obviously special-festive character of the earlier banquet was _not_ quite as special as he’d undoubtedly thought, but a weekly, normal, occurrence. “This is Saturday night in the Dome,” he wound up. “About the only thing you’d see in the labs now would be tapes and cameras and people tending them. But Maintenance runs all the time, of course. And I’d think from your viewpoint, that part of the routine--that part of the staff, for that matter--would be most--” He hesitated. “What would you call it? Fruitful? Suggestive? Whatever it is, I’ll bet they’ve got the most of it.” He turned to Lee, glanced up at the chrono above the Mall fountain. “About time for us to get back to work--hey, kid?” She took it smoothly. _And_ gratefully. “I guess so.” The gratitude showed only in her look at him, not in her voice, which held just the _right_ reluctance. “I don’t suppose--?” she said. “I think the way they’re coming along, by next week they’ll be able to handle the one session on their own,” he said. “Or with me. I blow a mean tape, myself; I just don’t look as good as you tapping my foot to the beat.” McLafferty, without actually moving a foot, had somehow edged forward, silently questioning.