in board which detailed the ship's
daily progress, and went to bed.

Dr. Alan Chase followed his own routine. Each morning and each evening
he geigered his cabin and found the radiation still below the earth
normal. He was surprised to find that he was holding his own,
physically, instead of becoming progressively weaker, as he had
expected, and he began to feel hopeful that he might quickly regain his
health on the inert atmosphere of Almazin III. He was not strong enough,
however, to take part in the active games of the passengers, and had not
enough energy to try to make friends, except for the people at his
dining table--particularly Tanya.

Of all the lovely women on board, he thought Tanya Taganova the
loveliest. He knew he was not alone in this, for the arresting planes of
her face, the dramatic color of her rustling taffeta gowns, attracted
many followers. He would sit in the lounge at night and watch her
dancing, and then realize, suddenly, that she had disappeared, long
before the evening was over. She was an elusive creature, as
unpredictable as a butterfly.

Wandering listlessly about the ship, one afternoon he stepped through
the open door of the Library. In the almost empty room he saw the auburn
head of Tanya, bent over so as to hide her face and show him only her
glowing hair. She raised her head as he approached.

"Are you looking for a book, Dr. Chase?"

"No, I just wondered what was interesting you so much."

* * * * *

She shifted her seat, to let him see a large sheet of rough drawing
paper covered with a chalk sketch of a desolate gray marsh over which
green waves swirled from the sea, behind them loomed rose-colored
granite hills.

"I'm a scene designer, you know. But at home, somehow, I never have time
to myself. People will never believe I'm serious, and when I want to get
some real work done, I run away on a trip, by myself. Right now I'm
sketching out a set for a new stereodrama we're staging next autumn.
This particular one is for a melancholy suicide on Venus. I've several
more here." She pointed to a scattered heap of drawings.

The soft chime of the library telephone interrupted them. Tanya rose and
moved to the desk.

"Yes? Not now, youngster. I'm working. Yes, maybe tomorrow."

Alan had been examining her drawings. "Is this what you do during the
hours when you disappear?".

"Usually. Sometimes I drop into the playroom to chat with the childr