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extended his long arms to touch both walls simultaneously.
    â€œIt’s very fashionable,” I said. “Not to mention public-spirited. We got a space problem in the city. People have to adapt their lifestyles. I’m in the vanguard of a great social movement. That’s what the commercial said, anyhow. What do you want?”
    â€œI live out of town,” he muttered, uncommunicatively. He moved toward me. I didn’t retreat.
    â€œGot a drink?” he said—not aggressively. Almost ruminatively.
    â€œGot a reason why I should give you one?”
    â€œSure,” he drawled. “Makes it all feel better. Cuts the ice. You know. Eases the tension.”
    I slid out the locker and touched a bottle, looking at him. He shrugged slightly, and nodded. I pressed a glass to the catch and then passed it to him. It wasn’t a double and I didn’t bother asking him whether he wanted anything in it.
    He stood there with it in his hand.
    â€œYou?” he asked.
    â€œToo early,” I said, sarcastically.
    He shrugged. “I saw your program tonight,” he said. “That was some ape.”
    I had to think hard to realize what he was talking about. I didn’t know what the crud channels had been putting out that I might have done some fancy handling for. I didn’t remember any apes. Not recently.
    â€œSo?” I said.
    â€œWe knew it was you,” he said. “When the old man was tracing you, they told him. I would’ve come earlier, only we sat through it. I don’t know why.”
    He drained the glass in one gulp.
    I stood and waited. I didn’t want to waste any more breath.
    â€œD’you see the fight?” he asked. Suddenly, there was a new note in his voice. He was getting to the point. I guessed then why he’d taken so long. He was weighing me up, studying me. There was something about me he couldn’t figure. It was mutual.
    â€œYes,” I said.
    â€œToo bad,” he commented. “About Ray. In with a chance until those last minutes. So far, then up in smoke. Pity.”
    â€œI cried myself to sleep,” I told him, laying on the sarcasm hard because it didn’t seem to be getting through.
    He put the glass down on the ledge of the heater.
    â€œYou fought Herrera yourself once,” he said. Again, it wasn’t a question.
    By now, I was ahead of him. I knew who he was and why he’d come. It was a shock. It took some getting used to.
    â€œIt was a long time ago,” I said, flatly. “Before he was a champ.”
    Curman nodded, slowly. “You beat him.”
    â€œThat’s right,” I said. “I beat him. A long, long time ago.”
    â€œYou better get dressed,” he said. “Properly. You have to come with me.”
    â€œLike hell,” I said, not meaning it. Now it was me who wanted time to weigh things up, to try and understand. There was a chasm opening up before me. My life was being ripped in two. Now—many, many years too late. If it’s ever too late.
    â€œVelasco Valerian wants to see you,” he said, gently.
    I studied his face for thirty seconds or so. He wouldn’t blink. Then I picked his glass up and put it in the sterilizer.
    â€œYou know,” I said, letting my mouth run away with my thoughts, “sixteen or seventeen years ago I used to live most of my days expecting that someone might come to that door to tell me that Velasco Valerian wanted to see me. To me, then, it seemed like a thing that had to happen—that ought to happen. A thing with some sense in it. I wanted Valerian to come to me, and I thought he’d have to. But time just went by, and nothing changed in the world. Valerian grew old, and I grew older. And nothing changed. The same ritual repeated itself over and over again. Tonight, it came to an end for—what is it now? Twenty-five? Thirty? And now me. But why? Why, after all these years? It makes no sense. Not any