er and a little rest. We can go out to Viking
tomorrow."

She glanced at her watch. Like every other watch and clock in the
Belt, it was set for Greenwich Standard Time. What's the point in
having time zones in space?

"I'm not tired," she said brightly. "I got plenty of sleep while we
were on the way. Why don't we go out tonight? They've got a
bounce-dance place called _Bali_'s that--"

I held up a hand. "No. You may not be tired, but I am. Remember, I
went all the way out there by myself, and then came right back.

"I need at least six hours sleep in a nice, comfortable bed before
I'll be able to move again."

The look she gave me made me feel every one of my thirty-five years,
but I didn't intend to let her go roaming around at this stage of the
game.

Instead, I put her aboard one of the little rail cars, and we headed
for the Viking Arms, generally considered the best hotel on Ceres.

Ceres has a pretty respectable gee pull for a planetoid: Three per
cent of Standard. I weigh a good, hefty five pounds on the surface.
That makes it a lot easier to walk around on Ceres than on, say,
Raven's Rest. Even so, you always get the impression that one of the
little rail cars that scoots along the corridors is climbing uphill
all the way, because the acceleration is greater than any measly
thirty centimeters per second squared.

Jack didn't say another word until we reached the Viking, where
Ravenhurst had thoughtfully made reservations for adjoining rooms.
Then, after we'd registered, she said: "We could at least get
something to eat."

"That's not a bad idea. We can get something to line our stomachs,
anyway. Steak?"

She beamed up at me. "Steak. Sounds wonderful after all those mushy
concentrates. Let's go."

* * * * *

The restaurant off the lobby was just like the lobby and the corridors
outside--a big room hollowed out of the metal of the asteroid. The
walls had been painted to prevent rusting, but they still bore the
roughness left by the sun beam that had burnt them out.

We sat down at a table, and a waiter brought over a menu. The place
wouldn't be classed higher than a third-rate cafe on Earth, but on
Ceres it's considered one of the better places. The prices certainly
compare well with those of the best New York or Moscow restaurants,
and the price of meat, which has to be shipped from Earth, is--you
should pardon the gag--astronomical.

That didn't bother me. Ste