l move
into their homes aground. Everyone, including himself, was fed up to the
gozzel with spaceship life--its jam-packed crowding; its flat,
reprocessed air; its limited variety of uninteresting food. Conditions
were especially irksome since everybody knew that there was available to
all, whenever Hilton gave the word, a whole city full of all the room
anyone could want, natural fresh air and--so the Omans had told them--an
unlimited choice of everything anyone wanted to eat.

Nevertheless, the decision was not an easy one to make.

Living conditions were admittedly not good on the ship. On the other
hand, with almost no chance at all of solitude--the few people who had
private offices aboard were not the ones he worried about--there was no
danger of sexual trouble. Strictly speaking, he was not responsible for
the morals of his force. He knew that he was being terribly
old-fashioned. Nevertheless, he could not argue himself out of the
conviction that he was morally responsible.

Finally he took the thing up with Sandra, who merely laughed at him.
"How long have you been worrying about _that_, Jarve?"

"Ever since I okayed moving aground the first time. That was one reason
I was so glad to cancel it then."

"You _were_ slightly unclear--a little rattled? But which factor--the
fun and games, which is the moral issue, or the consequences?"

"The consequences," he admitted, with a rueful grin. "I don't give a
whoop how much fun they have; but you know as well as I do just how
prudish public sentiment is. And Project Theta Orionis is squarely in
the middle of the public eye."

* * * * *

"You should have checked with me sooner and saved yourself wear and
tear. There's no danger at all of consequences--except weddings. Lots of
weddings, and fast."

"Weddings and babies wouldn't bother me a bit. Nor interfere with the
job too much, with the Omans as nurses. But why the 'fast', if you
aren't anticipating any shotgun weddings?"

"Female psychology," she replied, with a grin. "Aboard-ship here there's
no home atmosphere whatever; nothing but work, work, work. Put a woman
into a house, though--especially such houses as the Omans have built and
with such servants as they insist on being--and she goes domestic in a
really big way. Just sex isn't good enough any more. She wants the kind
of love that goes with a husband and a home, and nine times out of ten
she gets it. With these BuSci wo