roboticist puffed, Mike let his gaze wander idly over the
other people in the cafeteria. He was wondering how much longer he could
talk to Fitzhugh before Captain Quill began--

And then he saw the redhead.

There is never much point in describing a really beautiful girl. Each
man has his own ideas of what it takes for a girl to be "pretty" or
"fascinating" or "lovely" or almost any other adjective that can be
applied to the noun "girl." But "beautiful" is a cultural concept, at
least as far as females are concerned, and there is no point in
describing a cultural concept. It's one of those things that everybody
knows, and descriptions merely become repetitious and monotonous.

This particular example filled, in every respect, the definition of
"beautiful" according to the culture of the white Americo-European
subclass of the human race as of anno Domini 2087. The elements and
proportions and symmetry fit almost perfectly into the ideal mold. It is
only necessary to fill in some of the minor details which are allowed to
vary without distorting the ideal.

She had red hair and blue eyes and was wearing a green zipsuit.

And she was coming toward the table where Mike and Dr. Fitzhugh were
sitting.

"... such a tremendous number of elements," Dr. Fitzhugh was saying,
"that it was possible--and necessary--to introduce a certain randomity
within the circuit choices themselves-- Ah! Hello, Leda, my dear!"

Mike and Fitzhugh rose from their seats.

"Leda, this is Commander Gabriel, the Engineering Officer of the
_Brainchild_," said Fitzhugh. "Commander, Miss Leda Crannon, our
psychologist."

Mike had been allowing his eyes to wander over the girl, inspecting her
ankles, her hair, and all vital points of interest between. But when he
heard the name "Crannon," his eyes snapped up to meet hers.

He hadn't recognized the girl without her parka and wouldn't have known
her name if the SP ensign hadn't mentioned it. Obviously, she didn't
recognize Mike at all, but there was a troubled look in her blue eyes.

She gave him a puzzled smile. "Haven't we met, Commander?"

Mike grinned. "Hey! That's supposed to be _my_ line, isn't it?"

She flashed him a warm smile, then her eyes widened ever so slightly.
"Your voice! You're the man on the foyer! The one...."

"... the one whom you called copper on," finished Mike agreeably. "But
please don't apologize; you've more than made up for it."

Her smile remained. She evidently l