ff embarrassedly, there in the warehouse. But
now he returned, clearing his throat for attention.

"Fellas," he said. "Helen and I want you to come out to our apartment,
now, for dinner."

"Shucks, that's swell, Les," Ramos responded, suddenly curious.

"Here, also," Nelsen enthused.

"Sure," Gimp said. But his smile thinned.

In this gravity, going to Lester's place was a floating glide rather
than a walk. Along a covered causeway, into a huge dome, up a wall with
handholds, onto a wispy balcony. Nelsen and Ramos brought liquor and
roses.

Much of what followed was painful and familiar--in a fantastic setting.
Two young people, recently married, struggling with problems that they
hadn't been able to plan for very well.

While his wife was out of earshot, Lester put his hand on the back of a
chair constructed entirely of fine golden wire--later it developed that
he had made it, do-it-yourself fashion, to be economical--and seemed
more intent on holding it down than to rest his hand.

"Gimp... Frank..." he began nervously. "You helped Helen and me to get
married and get set up out here. The Archeological Institute paid our
way to Pallastown. But there were other expenses... Her--my
father-in-law, died by his own hand while still awaiting trial...
Everything he owned is still tied up... Now, well--you know human
biology... I hope you can wait a little longer for us to begin paying
back your loan..."

Nelsen had a vagrant thought about how money now had to stand on its own
commercial value, rather than rely on the ancient witchcraft of a gold
standard. Then he almost suspected that Lester was being devious and
clever. But he knew the guy too well.

"Cripes, Les!" he burst out almost angrily. "How about your services,
just now, as an archeological consultant? If you won't consider that we
might have meant to make you a gift. Pretty soon you'll have us
completely confused!"

"What a topic for an evening of fun," Gimp complained. "Hey, Helen--can
I mix the drinks?"

"Yes--of course, Mr. Hines. I'll get you the things," she said with
apology in her eyes and voice, as if fussy celebrities had descended on
her small, unsettled, and poor household.

"On the Moon you were a swell cook, Helen," Frank reminded her.

She flashed a small smile. "It was different, there. Things weighed
something, and stayed in place. Here--just breathe hard and you have a
kitchen accident. Besides, I had a garden. We'd like one here,