y Lines
building, she'd had it. In fact, in the past few months Don had seen it
in many feminine faces. And all for him.

Dian said, "Instead of cashing in on your prestige, you've been devoting
yourself to something even more necessary to the fight than bringing
down individual Kraden cruisers."

Don looked at her. He could feel a nervous tic beginning in his left
eyebrow. Finally, he reached for the champagne again and filled his
glass. He said, "You really go for this hero stuff, don't you?"

She said nothing, but the star shine was still in her eyes.

He made his voice deliberately sour. "Look, suppose I asked you to come
back to my apartment with me tonight?"

"Yes," she said softly.

"And told you to bring your overnight bag along," he added brutally.

Dian looked into his face. "Why are you twisting yourself, your
inner-self, so hard, Don? Of course I'd come--if that's what you
wanted."

"And then," he said flatly, "suppose I kicked you out in the morning?"

Dian winced, but she kept her eyes even with his, her own moist now.
"You forget," she whispered. "You have been awarded the Galactic Medal
of Honor, the bearer of which can do no wrong."

"Oh, God," Don muttered. He filled his glass, still again, motioned to a
nearby waiter.

"Yes, sir," the waiter said.

Don said, "Look, in about five minutes I'm going to pass out. See that I
get back to my hotel, will you? And that this young lady gets to her
home. And, waiter, just send my bill to the hotel too."

The other bowed. "The owner's instructions, sir, are that Captain
Mathers must never see a bill in this establishment."

Dian said, "_Don!_"

He didn't look at her. He raised his glass to his mouth and shortly
afterward the fog rolled in again.

* * * * *

When it rolled out, the unfamiliar taste of black coffee was in his
mouth. He shook his head for clarity.

He seemed to be in some working class restaurant. Next to him, in a
booth, was a fresh-faced Sub-lieutenant of the--Don squinted at the
collar tabs--yes, of the Space Service. A Scout pilot.

Don stuttered, "What's ... goin' ... on?"

The pilot said apologetically, "Sub-lieutenant Pierpont, sir. You seemed
so far under the weather, I took over."

"Oh, you did, eh?"

"Well, yes, sir. You were, well, reclining in the gutter, sir. In spite
of your, well, appearance, your condition, I recognized you, sir."

"Oh." His stomach was an objecting turmoil