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conversation, Quilter shrugged a duffel bag more comfortably on to his shoulders and said, "Say, you men, come on over to the flight canteen and have a nice warm British synthbeer with me before I go.”
    "We ought to celebrate the fact that you have just left the Exploration Corps," Walthamstone said.
    "Shall we go along, Ginger?”
    "Did they stamp your paybook 'Discharged' and sign you off officially?" Duffield asked.
    "I only signed on a Flight-by-flight basis," Quilter explained. "All perfectly legal, Duffield, you old barrack-room lawyer, you. Don't you ever relax?”
    "You know my motto, Hank. Observe it and you won't go wrong: 'They'll twist you if they can.” “ I knew a bloke a bit ago who forgot to get his 535 cleared by the Quarter-master before he was demobbed , and they had him back. They did, they caught him for another five years. He's serving on Charon now, helping to win the war.”
    "Are you coming for this beer or aren't you?”
    "I'd better come," Walthamstone said. "We may never see you again after this bird in Dodge City gets at you, from what you've told me about her. I'd run a mile from that sort of girl, myself.”
    He moved tentatively out into the fine drizzle; Quilter followed, glancing back over his shoulder at Duffield.
    "Are you coming, Ginger, or aren't you?”
    Duffield looked crafty.
    "I'm not leaving this ship till I get my strike pay, mate," he said.
    Explorer Phipps was home. He had embraced his parents and was hanging his coat in the hall. They stood behind him, managing to look discontented even while they smiled. Shabby, round-shouldered, they gave him the grumbling welcome he knew so well. They spoke in turn, two monologues that never made a dialogue.
    "Come along in the sitting-room, Gussie. It's warmer in there," his mother said. "You'll be cold after leaving the ship. I'll get a cup of tea in a minute.”
    "Had a bit of trouble with the central heating. Shouldn't need it now we're into June, but it has been usually chilly for the time of year. It's such a job to get anyone to come and look at anything. I don't know what's happening to people. They don't seem to want your custom nowadays.”
    "Tell him about the new doctor, Henry. Terribly rude man, absolutely no education or manners at all.
    And dirty finger-nails - fancy expecting to examine anyone with dirty finger-nails.”
    "Of course, it's the war that's to blame. It's brought an entirely different type of man to the surface.
    Brazil shows no sign of weakening, and meanwhile the government -”
    "The poor boy doesn't want to hear about the war directly he gets home, Henry. They've even started rationing some foodstuffs! All we hear is propaganda, propaganda , on the techni. And the quality of things has deteriorated too. I had to buy a new saucepan last week -”
    "Settle yourself down here, Gussie. Of course it's the war that's to blame. I don't know what's to become of us all. The news from Sector 160 is so depressing, isn't it?”
    Phipps said, "Out in the galaxy, nobody takes any interest in the war. I must say it all sounds a bit of a shower to me.”
    "Haven't lost your patriotism, have you, Gussie?" his father asked.
    "What's patriotism but an extension of egotism?" Phipps asked, and was glad to see his father's chest, momentarily puffed, shrink again.
    His mother broke a tense silence by saying, "Anyhow, dear, you'll see a difference in England while you're on leave. How long have you got, by the way?”
    Little as the parental chatter enthralled Phipps, this sudden question discomforted him, as mother and father waited eagerly for his answer. He knew that stifling feeling of old. They wanted nothing of him, only that he was there to be spoken to. They wanted nothing from him but his life.
    "I shall only be staying here for a week. That charming part-Chinese girl that I met last leave, Ah Chi, is in the Far East on a painting holiday. Next Thursday I fly to Macao to stay with her.”
    Familiarity again. He knew his