on questions, just grabbed his friends and
disappeared before the crowd came out. I walked around a couple of
corners and back to my tractor bus. This lot was only a clear space
inside the Number Four Airlock. At that time, two or three tractors
came in every day from the mines or other domes. Most of the traffic
was to and from the spaceport.

"Who's that?" asked a low voice from the shadows.

"Tony Lewis," I answered.

The three of them moved into the dim light from the airlock guardpost.

"Thanks for the steer," said the blocky one, "but we can stay till
morning."

He seemed as fresh as if he had just landed. His friends were a trifle
worn around the edges.

"Keep playing that rough," I said, "and you may not make it to
morning."

He just grinned. "We have to," he said, "or the ship can't blast off."

"Oh, you three make the ship go, huh?"

"Just about. This is Hugh Konnel, the third pilot; the gent with the
dignified air is Ron Meadows, the steward. I'm Jim Howlet, and I look
after the fuel system."

I admitted that the ship could hardly do without them. Howlet's
expression suggested that he was searching his memory.

"Lewis ..." he murmured. "I've heard of Tony Lewis somewhere. You a
spacer?"

"Used to be," I told him. "Did some piloting in the Belt."

Young Konnel stopped fingering his eye.

"Oh, I've heard of you," he said. "Even had to read some of your
reports."

* * * * *

After that, one thing led to another, with the result that I offered
to find somewhere else to relax. We walked south from the airlock,
past a careless assortment of buildings. In those days, there was not
much detailed planning of the domes. What was necessary for safety and
for keeping the air thicker and warmer than outside was done right;
the remaining space was grabbed by the first comers.

Streets tended to be narrow. As long as an emergency truck could
squeeze through at moderate speed, that was enough. The buildings grew
higher toward the center of the dome, but I stopped while they were
still two stories.

The outside of Jorgensen's looked like any other flimsy construction
under the dome. We had just passed a row of small warehouses, and the
only difference seemed to be the lighted sign at the front.

"We can stop at the bar inside while we order dinner," I said.

"Sounds good," said Howlet. "I could go for a decent meal. Rations on
an exploring ship run more to calories th