It was probably an hour or more, but it seemed like only a few minutes, before Patrick St. Onge reminded Cele that it was time for them both to leave.  The dining pad around Et seemed to become sterile and dull with their departure.  He looked across the table at Rico, wondering how much the secretary had read of Et's inner reactions to Cele, but there was no sign on the other man's features to show he understood that anything more than a polite and pleasant lunch-table meeting had taken place.  Before the R-47, Et would not have wondered if Rico had seen and understood too much about him.  For one thing he would not have cared; for another, he would not have expected to be swept off his feet by any woman.  Now, however, he was changed; and also, he reminded himself, be had never run into anyone like Cele before.  He had not, in fact, imagined that a woman like that could exist in real life.

Almost she had made him forget all about Maea and his original reason for taking the R-47.  He shook the thought of the black hair and cameo face out of his mind with an effort.  He had had some reason to come here....

Oh, yes, it had been to see what the uppermost part of the social body was like, that upper part he had always ignored but now was going to have live with, since he had become a part of it.  It had also been to test the extent of the demands he could make on the funds and services of the Earth Council.  Evidently, he had not stretched things to the limit.  Perhaps he could try pushing a little farther.

"Now," he said to Rico, "I'd like to go to Hong Kong for a little gambling."

"Yes, Mr. Ho," said Rico.

Less than an hour later, they were in another intercontinental - but a smaller craft this time, one bearing the EC emblem on it, an Earth Council courier ship.  There was less empty space to roam, and after a short tour Et found that he did not really feel like roaming.  He was slightly dizzy and there was a small headache behind his eyes which would not go away, together with a general physical feeling of cranky uncomfortableness.

He sat down in one of the seats and closed his eyes.  After a while a small sound near him made him open them again, and he saw Rico in the act of putting down on the service table beside him a glass filled with some yellowish liquid that effervesced slightly.

"Try this, Mr. Ho," Rico said.  "It should make you feel better."

"What makes you think I'm not feeling all right?" demanded Et.

"Merely a guess," said Rico.  "You had a bit to drink at lunch."

"To drink?" Et stared at him.  He had had two cocktails and part of a bottle of some sparkling German wine, which he had divided with St. Onge and Cele Partner; Rico himself evidently did not drink.  "What are you talking about?  I've handled half a liter of rum between six P.M. and midnight and still gotten up at dawn to take my boat across open ocean without trouble."

"Yes, Mr. Ho.  No doubt.  But that was before you had the R-47."

Et glared at the secretary.  But even while he glared he had to admit that what he felt now was at least very like the few rare hangovers he had had.

"All right," he said at last to Rico.  "Even if there's something to what you say, I don't like medicines."

"It's only an analgesic," said Rico.

"I said no."  He closed his eyes again.

There was a faint sound.  When he lifted his eyelids once more, a few minutes later, the glass had been taken away.

He tried to sleep.  But again, as on the intercontinental from Hawaii, the easy slumber he had been used to all his life would not come to him and he barely dozed, fitfully intelligible dreaming of people half seen, of voices half which demanded things from him in urgent tones.  It was almost a relief when Rico spoke to him again.

"We're landing in a minute or two, Mr. Ho."