"Once I had a sweetheart, and now I have none. Once I had a sweetheart, and now I have none. He's gone and leave me, he's gone and leave me, He's gone and leave me to sorrow and mourn."

Her voice stroked his memory and he felt all the old joy, all the old pain, as he pushed his way through the crowd.

Finally he saw her, sitting cross-legged on a sofa, guitar propped on one knee. The same ancient guitar; no amplifiers, no boosters. Her hair was still straight and long and black as space. Her eyes were even darker and deeper. The people were ringed around her, standing, sitting on the floor. They gave her the entire sofa to herself, an altar that only she could use. They watched her and listened, entranced by her voice. But she was somewhere else, living the song, seeing what it told of, until she strummed the final chord.

Then she looked up and looked straight at Kinsman. Not surprised. Not even smiling. Just a look that linked them as if all the years since their brief time together had dissolved into a single yesterday. Before either of them could say or do anything the others broke into applause. Diane smiled and mouthed, "Thank you."

"More, more!"

"Come on, another one."

"'Greensleeves.'"

Diane put the guitar down carefully beside her, uncoiled her slim legs, and stood up. "Later, okay?"

Kinsman grinned to himself. He knew it would be later or nothing.

The crowd muttered reluctant acquiescence and broke 174 the circle around her. Kinsman stepped the final few paces and stood before Diane.

"Good to see you again." He felt suddenly awkward, not knowing what to do. He held his drink with both hands.

"Hello, Chet." She was not quite smiling.

"I'm surprised you remember. It's been so long ..."

Now she did smile. "How could I ever forget you? And I've seen your name in the news every once in a while."

"I've listened to your records everywhere I've gone," he said.

"Even on the Moon?" Her look was almost shy, almost mocking.

"Sure," he lied. "Even on the Moon."

"Here, Diane, I brought you some punch." Kinsman turned to see a fleshy-faced young man with a droopy mustache and tousled brown hair, carrying two plastic cups of punch. He wore a sharply tailored white suit with a vest and a wide floral scarf.

"Thank you, Larry. This is Chet Kinsman. Chet, meet Larry Davis."

"Kinsman?"

Diane explained, "I met Chet in San Francisco a thou- sand years ago, when I was just getting started. Chefs an astronaut."

"Oh, really?"

Somehow the man antagonized Kinsman. "Affirmative," he snapped in his best military manner.

"He's been on the Moon," Diane went on.

"That's where I heard the name," Davis said. "You're one of those Air Force people who want to build a permanent base up there. Weren't you involved in some sort of rescue a couple of years back? One of your people got stranded or something . . ."