"It—it's a romantic invention," he said, "to dress up the biological urge. It's something you feel for another person like hunger only not so tangible."
She nodded to herself. "That's what I thought, but I wasn't sure. Is it very strong, Jupiter?"
"It can be."
"What are the symptoms?"
He scratched his chin. "It hits different people different ways. You—you—Oh, hell," he said, "I don't know. What ever made you ask?"
"I've got it," she said in a stricken voice.
Jupiter sat bolt upright. "You mean you're in love?"
She nodded unhappily, stood up. "I think I want to be by myself." Averting her head, she walked quickly to the door and slipped out of sight down the ladder before Jupiter could recover from the shock.
"Hey!" he cried, springing to his feet; "where are you going?"
There was no answer. Then he heard the door of Briggs' cabin open and close. Suddenly his eyes widened. He dropped down the ladder, tried the door, but it was locked. "Tabak! Tabak!" he called, rapped on the panel. "Open up!"