"I leave them alone, they leave me alone. Especially if I've got you."

"Um," she said, and then she crawled over to me, wrapped her arms around me, pulled me down and buried her head in my neck. "Why not?" she said, so softly that I was not at first sure I had heard her.

When I was sure, the fear hit me. There had always been the chance she would say no. I would have been off the hook. I could feel myself shaking, but I managed to say, "Then we'll file for it in the morning?"

She shook her head. "No," she said, her voice muffled. I could feel her trembling as much as I was. "Get on the phone, Rob. We'll file for it now. Before we change our minds."

The next day I quit my job, packed my belongings into the suitcases I had brought them in, and turned them over for safekeeping to Shicky, who looked wistful. Klara quit the school and fired her maid -- who looked seriously worried -- but didn't bother about packing. She had quite a lot of money left, Klara did. She prepaid the rent on both her rooms and left everything just the way it was.

We had a farewell party, of course. We went through it without my remembering a single person who was there.

And then, all of a sudden, we were squeezing into the lander, climbing down into the capsule while Sam Kahane methodically checked the settings. We locked ourselves into our cocoons. We started the automatic sequencers.

And then there was a lurch, and a falling, floating sensation before the thrusters cut in, and we were on our way.

13

"Good morning, Rob," says Sigfrid, and I stop in the door of the room, suddenly and subliminally worried.

"What's the matter?"

"There's nothing the matter, Rob. Come in."

"You've changed things around," I say accusingly.

"That's right, Robbie. Do you like the way the room looks?"

I study it. The throw pillows are gone from the floor. The nonobjective paintings are off the wall. Now he's got a series of holopictures of space scenes, and mountains and seas. The funniest thing of all is Sigfrid himself: he is speaking to me out of a dummy that's sitting back in a corner of the room, holding a pencil in its hands, looking up at me from behind dark glasses.

"You've turned out very camp," I say. "What's the reason for all this?"

His voice sounds as though he were smiling benevolently, although there is no change in the expression on the face of the dummy. "I just thought you'd enjoy a change, Rob."

I take a few steps into the room and stop again. "You took the mat away!"

"Don't need it, Rob. As you see, there's a new couch. That's very traditional, isn't it?"

He coaxes, "Why don't you just lie down on it? See how it feels."

"Um." But I stretch out on it cautiously. How it feels is strange; and I don't like it, probably because this particular room represents something serious to me and changing it around makes me nervous. "The mat had straps," I complain.