o good since they picked me as
home-town candidate--and that was a mighty small town and eight months
ago. Bring on your dragons, Clee, and I'll slay 'em far and wide. But I
can't actually _be_ like she is...."

"Thank God for that. Deliver me from _two_ such pretzel-benders aboard
one ship."

"... but I could have been a pretty good actress, I think."

"Correction, please. 'Outstanding' is the word."

"Thank you, kind sir. And women--men, too, of course--do bring up
certain memories, to ... to...."

"To roll 'em around on their tongues and give their taste-buds a treat."

"Exactly. So where I don't have any appropriate actual memories to bring
up, I'll make like an actress. Check?"

"Good girl! Now you're rolling--we're in like Flynn. Well, we've been in
screen long enough, I guess. Fare thee well, little sister Brownie,
until we meet again." He tossed the remains of their refreshments, trays
and all, into the chute, picked up his shirt, and started out.

"Put it _on_, Clee!" she whispered, intensely.

"Why?" He grinned cheerfully. "It'd look still better if I peeled down
to the altogether."

"You're incorrigible," she said, but her answering grin was wide and
perfectly natural. "You know, if I had had a brother something like you
it would have saved me a lot of wear and tear. I'll see you in the
morning before breakfast."

* * *

And she did. They strolled together to breakfast; not holding hands, but
with hip almost touching hip. Relaxed, friendly, on very cordial and
satisfactory terms. Lola punched breakfast orders for them both. Belle
drove a probe, which bounced--Lola's screen was tight, although her
brown eyes were innocent and bland.

But during the meal, in response to a double-edged, wickedly-barbed
remark of Belle's, a memory flashed into being above Lola's shield. It
was the veriest flash, instantly suppressed. Her eyes held clear and
steady; if she blushed at all it did not show.

Belle caught it, of course, and winked triumphantly at Garlock.
She knew, now, what she had wanted to know. And, Prime Operator
though he was, it was all he could do to make no sign; for that
fleetingly-revealed memory was a perfect job. He would not have--_could_
not have--questioned it himself, except for one highly startling fact.
It was of an event that had not happened and never would!

And after breakfast, at some distance from the others, "That is my girl,
Brownie! You're firi