TRELLA feared she was in for trouble even before Motwick's head dropped forward on his arms in a drunken stupor. The two evil-looking men at the table nearby had been watching her surreptitiously, and now they shifted restlessly in their chairs. Trella had not wanted to come to the Golden Satellite. It was a squalid saloon in the rougher section of Jupiter's View, the terrestrial domecolony on Ganymede. Motwick, already drunk, had insisted. A woman could not possibly make her way through these streets alone to the better section of town, especially one clad in a silvery evening dress. Her.
