Which might apply here. It may be that a scooter system is too expensive for a space habitat at the present state of engineering art.)

            It was an easy walk to Gwen's compartment: downstairs to seven-tenths gravity, fifty meters "forward" to her number-I rang.

            Her door answered, "This is the recorded voice of Gwen Novak. I've gone to bed and am, I hope, happily asleep. If your visit is truly an emergency, deposit one hundred crowns via your credit code. If I agree that waking me is justified, I will return your money. If I disagree-laugh, chortle, chuckle!- I'll spend it on gin and keep you out anyhow. If your call is not an emergency, please record a message at the sound of my scream."

            This was followed by a high scream which ended abruptly as if a hapless wench had been choked to death.

            Was this an emergency? Was it a hundred-crown emergency? I decided that it was not any sort of emergency, so I recorded:

            "Dear Gwen, this is your fairly-faithful swain Richard speaking. Somehow we got our wires crossed. But we can straighten it out in the morning. Will you call me at my digs when you wake up? Love and kisses, Richard the Lion-Hearted."

            I tried to keep my not-inconsiderable irk out of my voice. I felt badly used but underlying it was a conviction that Gwen would not intentionally mistreat me; it had to be an honest mix-up even though I did not now understand it.

            Then I went home whuff! bing! barn!... barn! bing! whuff!

            I have a deluxe compartment with bedroom separate from the living room. I let myself in, checked for messages in the terminal-none-set it for sleep conditions both for door and terminal, hung up my cane, and went into the bedroom.

            Gwen was asleep in my bed.

            She looked sweetly peaceful. I backed out quietly, moved noiselessly in undressing, went into the 'fresher, closed the door-soundproof; I said it was a deluxe setup. Nevertheless I made as little noise as possible in refreshing myself for bed, as "soundproof" is a hope rather than a certainty. When I was as sanitary and odorless as a male hairless ape can manage short of surgery, I went quietly back into my bedroom and got most cautiously into bed. Gwen stirred, did not wake.

            At some hour when I was awake in the night, I switched off the alarm. But I woke up about my usual time, as my bladder can't be switched off. So I got up, took care of it, refreshed for the day, decided that I wanted to live, slid into a coverall, went silently into the living room, and opened the buttery, considered my larder. A special guest called for a special breakfast.

            I left the connecting door open so that I could keep an eye on Gwen. I think it was the aroma of coffee that woke her.

            When I saw that her eyes were open, I called out, "Good morning, beautiful. Get up and brush your teeth; breakfast is ready."

            "I did brush my teeth, an hour ago. Come back to bed."

            "Nymphomaniac. Orange juice or black cherries or both?"

            "Uh... both. Don't change the subject. Come here and meet your fate like a man."

            "Eat first."

            "Coward. Richard is a sissy, Richard is a sissy!"

            "An utter coward. How many waffles can you eat?"

            "Uh ... decisions! Can't you unfreeze them one at a time?"

            "These are not frozen.