es, dispersing and reforming elsewhere. I had just
finished checking in the 11-man fruit-gathering detail. I looked up from
my roster in time to see the first motions of the "great disrobing".
Zippers unzipped, snaps popped open, slacks, skirts, blouses and jumpers
fell to the grass, and a dazzling spectacle of space-bleached feminine
epidermis burst into view.

The ladies were very calm about it, but a chorus of yips sounded and
swelled into a circus of cheers from the male working parties.

Before I could fathom it Benson came charging down the ramp followed by
his fruit-stowing detail. He stopped at the foot of the ramp, mouth open
and eyes pinched with annoyance.

[Illustration]

He spotted Jane and Sue. "What is going on out here?" he demanded
loudly.

Our two wives waved at us and strolled over, doing a splendid job of
acting unconcerned. "Just a little sun-bathing," Jane said, shooing a
small insect from a pale shoulder.

Susan refused to meet my eye. She was watching two birds soar overhead.
"It's fantastic," she said. "If you don't look at things too closely,
you'd never know we weren't at a summer camp up in Wisconsin--except for
the fruits. They remind me more of Tahiti. It's marvelous! The
mosquitoes don't even bite."

"They will," I said, "as soon as they get a good taste of human blood.
And baby, you're sure making it easy for them."

Benson was distracted from the conversation by the converging male
colonists, who were whooping and yelling like a horde of school boys. He
backed up the ramp and ordered, "Let's get on with the work. You've seen
your wives in the altogether before."

The men quieted a little, but one yelled, "Yeah, but not lately!"

Another added, "And not _all together_."

In spite of the fact that nude sun-bathing was a commonplace,
twenty-second-century custom on Earth, by tacit consent clothes had been
worn at all times aboard ship. The women had gone along with Benson for
two years on such matters, so this was clearly a feminine protest
against the spirit of the yellow alert.

Young doctors Sorenson and Bailey came trotting up, grinning
appreciatively but wagging their fingers. Without consulting Benson,
Bailey mounted the ramp and shouted, "Blondes and redheads, ten minutes
exposure. Brunettes, fifteen."

A great booing issued from the men, but Bailey held up his hand for
silence. "The medical staff will make no effort to enforce these
exposure maximums, but be advised