ession the Nuevo Mexico Bar made to its name.
Otherwise, it looked like every other bar has looked in every land and
in every era. Harry poured, put out lemon and salt.

Harry said, "You hear the news this morning?"

"No, I just got in."

"Colin Casey died." Harry shook his head. "Only man in the system that
held the Galactic Medal of Honor. Presidential proclamation, everybody
in the system is to hold five minutes of silence for him at two o'clock,
Sol Time. You know how many times that medal's been awarded, Lootenant?"
Before waiting for an answer, Harry added, "Just thirty-six times."

Don added dryly, "Twenty-eight of them posthumously."

"Yeah." Harry, leaning on the bar before his sole customer, added in
wonder, "But imagine. The Galactic Medal of Honor, the bearer of which
can do no wrong. Imagine. You come to some town, walk into the biggest
jewelry store, pick up a diamond bracelet, and walk out. And what
happens?"

Don growled, "The jewelry store owner would be over-reimbursed by
popular subscription. And probably the mayor of the town would write you
a letter thanking you for honoring his fair city by deigning to notice
one of the products of its shops. Just like that."

"Yeah." Harry shook his head in continued awe. "And, imagine, if you
shoot somebody you don't like, you wouldn't spend even a single night in
the Nick."

Don said, "If you held the Medal of Honor, you wouldn't have to shoot
anybody. Look, Harry, mind if I use the phone?"

"Go right ahead, Lootenant."

Dian Fuller was obviously in the process of packing when the screen
summoned her. She looked into his face and said, surprised, "Why, Don, I
thought you were on patrol."

"Yeah, I was. However, something came up."

She looked at him, a slight frown on her broad, fine forehead. "Again?"

He said impatiently, "Look, I called you to ask for a date. You're
leaving for Callisto tomorrow. It's our last chance to be together.
There's something in particular I wanted to ask you, Di."

She said, a touch irritated, "I'm packing, Don. I simply don't have time
to see you again. I thought we said our goodbyes five days ago."

"This is important, Di."

She tossed the two sweaters she was holding into a chair, or something,
off-screen, and faced him, her hands on her hips.

"No it isn't, Don. Not to me, at least. We've been all over this. Why
keep torturing yourself? You're not ready for marriage, Don. I don't
want to hurt you, but you sim