e their comfortable habit patterns and their belief in the
unchangeable sameness of men. He was, he reflected wryly, an incurable
romantic.

CHAPTER VIII

"Wake up, Doctor, it's six A.M." A pleasant voice cut through Kennon's
slumber. He opened one eye and looked at the room. For a moment the
strange surroundings bothered him, then memory took over. He stirred
uncomfortably, looking for the owner of the voice.

"You have your morning calls at seven, and there's a full day ahead,"
the voice went on. "I'm sorry, sir, but you should get up." The voice
didn't sound particularly sorry.

It was behind him, Kennon decided. He rolled over with a groan of
protest and looked at his tormentor. A gasp of dismay left his lips,
for standing beside the bed, a half smile on her pointed face, was
Copper--looking fresh and alert and as disturbing as ever.

It wasn't right, Kennon thought bitterly, to be awakened from a sound
sleep by a naked humanoid who looked too human for comfort. "What are
you doing here?" he demanded.

"I'm supposed to be here," Copper said. "I'm your secretary." She
grinned and flexed a few curves of her torso.

Kennon was silent.

"Is there anything wrong?" she asked.

For a moment Kennon was tempted to tell her what was wrong--but he held
his tongue. She probably wouldn't understand. But there was one thing
he'd better settle right now. "Now look here, young lady--" he began.

"I'm not a lady," Copper interrupted before he could continue. "Ladies
are human. I'm a Lani."

"All right," Kennon growled. "Lani or human, who cares? But do you have
to break into a man's bedroom and wake him in the middle of the night?"

"I didn't break in," she said, "and it isn't the middle of the night.
It's morning."

"All right--so it's morning and you didn't break in. Then how in
Halstead's sacred name did you get here?"

"I sleep next door," she said jerking a thumb in the direction of an
open door in the side wall. "I've been there ever since you dismissed me
last night," she explained.

The explanation left Kennon cold. The old cliche about doing as the
Santosians do flicked through his mind. Well, perhaps he would in
time--but not yet. The habits of a lifetime couldn't be overturned
overnight. "Now you have awakened me," he said, "perhaps you'll get out
of here."

"Why?"

"I want to get dressed."

"I'll help you."

"You will not! I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself. I've been
dressing