“Well, conceivably on Beta Three,” Lindgren admitted. “Though the robot didn’t send any data suggesting intelligent life. At most, we might encounter savages armed with spears— who would probably not be hostile to us.”

“I was dunking of hazards like storms, landslips, diseases, God knows what on an entire world that isn’t Earth. Or a disaster before we get there. I’m not convinced modern man knows everything about the universe.”

“We’ve covered this ground too often.”

“Yes. It’s old as space flight; older. That doesn’t make it less real.” Reymont groped for sentences. “What I’m trying to do is— I’m not sure. This situation is not like any other I was ever in. I’m trying to… somehow… keep alive some idea of authority. Beyond simple obedience to the articles and the officers. Authority which has the right to command anything, to command a man to death, if that’s needful for saving the rest—” He stared into her puzzlement. “No,” he sighed, “you don’t understand. You can’t. Your world was always good.”

“Maybe you can explain it to me, if you say it enough different ways.” She spoke softly. “And maybe I can make a few things clear to you. It won’t be easy. You’ve never taken off your armor, Carl. But we’ll try, shall we?” She smiled and slapped the hardness of his thigh. “Right now, though, silly, we’re supposed to be off duty. What about that swim?”

She slipped out of her garments. He watched her approach him. She liked strenuous sports and lying under a sun lamp afterward. It showed in full breasts and hips, slim waist, long supple limbs, a tan against which her blondness stood vivid. “Bozhe moi, you’re beautiful!” he said low in his throat.

She pirouetted. “At your service, kind sir— if you can catch me!” She made four low-gravity leaps to the end of the diving board and plunged cleanly off it. Her descent was dreamlike slow, a chance for aerial ballet. The splash when she struck made lingering lacy patterns.

Reymont entered directly from the poolside. Swimming was hardly different under this acceleration. The thrust of muscles, the cool silken flowing of water, would be the same at the galaxy’s rim, and beyond. Ingrid Lindgren had said once that such truths made her doubt she would ever become really homesick. Man’s house was the whole cosmos.

Tonight she frolicked, ducking, dodging, slipping from his grasp again and again. Their laughter echoed between the walls. When at last he cornered her, she embraced his neck in turn, laid her lips to his ear and whispered: “Well, you did catch me.”

“M-m-m-hm.” Reymont kissed the hollow between shoulder and throat. Through the wetness he smelled live girlflesh. “Grab our clothes and we’ll go.”

He carried her six kilos easily on one arm. When they were alone in the stairwell, he caressed her with his free hand. She kicked her heels and giggled. “Sensualist!”

“We’ll soon be back under a whole gee,” he reminded her, and started bounding down to officer level at a speed that would have broken necks on Earth.