"... or very old, no longer the Ninon I know ... oh, all right. But you know all this already. We've had space flight for years, but only rocket-powered, restricting us to our own system. Now we have a new kind of drive. Theoretically we can travel faster than light--how many times faster we don't know yet. I'll start finding out tomorrow, with the first test flight of the ship in which the new drive is installed. If it works, the universe is ours--we can go anywhere." "Will it work?" Ninon could not keep the avid greediness out of her voice. Robert said, hesitantly, "We think it will. I'll know better by this time tomorrow." "What of you--of me--. What does this mean to us--to people?" Again the young spaceman hesitated. "We ... we don't know, yet. We think that time won't have the same meaning to everyone...." "... When you travel faster than light. Is that it?" "Well ... yes. Something like that." "And I'll be--old--or dead, when you get back? If you get back?" Robert leaned forward and buried his face in the silvery-blonde hair which swept down over Ninon's shoulders. "Don't say it, darling," he murmured. This time Ninon permitted herself a wrinkling smile. If she was right, and she knew she was, it could make no difference now. There would be no wrinkles--there would be only the soft flexible skin, naturally soft and flexible, of real youth. She reached behind her, over the end of the couch, and pushed three buttons. The light, already soft, dimmed slowly to the faintest of glows; a suave, perfumed dusk as precisely calculated as was the exact rate at which she let all resistance ebb from her body. Robert's voice was muffled through her hair. "What were those clicks?" he asked. Ninon's arms stole around his neck. "The lights," she whispered, "and a little automatic warning to tell you when it's time to go...." The boy did not seem to remember about the third click. Ninon was not quite ready to tell him, yet. But she would.... * * * * * Two hours later a golden-voiced bell chimed, softly, musically. The lights slowly brightened to no more than the lambent glow which was all that Ninon permitted. She ran her fingers through the young spaceman's tousled hair and shook him gently. "It's time to go, Robert," she said. Robert fought back from the stubborn grasp of sleep. "So soon?" he mumbled. "And I'm going with you," Ninon said. This brought him fully awake. "I'm sorry, Ninon. You can't!" He sat up and yawned, stretched, the healthy stretch of resilient youth. Then he reached for the jacket he had tossed over on a chair. Ninon watched him with envious eyes, waiting until he was fully alert. "Robert!" she said, and the youth paused at the sharpness of her voice. "How old are you?" "I've told you before, darling--twenty-four." "How old do you think I am?"