Spatial Delivery

Women on space station assignments shouldn't get pregnant. But there's a first time for everything. Here's the story of such a time——and an historic situation.
One thousand seventy-five miles above the wrinkled surface of Earth, a woman was in pain.
There, high in the emptiness of space, Space Station One swung in its orbit. Once every two hours, the artificial satellite looped completely around the planet, watching what went on below. Outside its bright steel hull was the silence of the interplanetary vacuum; inside, in the hospital ward, Lieutenant Alice Britton clutched at the sheets of her bed in pain, then relaxed as it faded away.
Major Banes looked at her and smiled a little. How do you feel, Lieutenant?
She smiled back; she knew the pain wouldn't return for a few minutes yet. Fine, doctor. It's no worse than I was expecting. How long will it before we can contact White Sands?
The major looked nervously at his wristwatch. Nearly an hour. You'll be all right.
Certainly, she agreed, running a hand through her brown hair, I'll be okay. Just you be on tap when I call.
The major's grin broadened. You don't think I'd miss a historical event like this, do you? You take it easy. We're over Eastern Europe now, but as soon as we get within radio range of New Mexico, I'll beam a call in. He paused, then repeated, You just take it easy. Call the nurse if anything happens. Then he turned and walked out of the room.
Alice Britton closed her eyes. Major Banes was all smiles and cheer now, but he hadn't been that way five months ago. She chuckled softly to herself as she thought of his blistering speech.
Lieutenant Britton, you're either careless or brainless; I don't know which! Your husband may be the finest rocket jockey in the Space Service, but that doesn't give him the right to come blasting up here on a supply rocket just to get you pregnant!
Alice had said: I'm sure the thought never entered his mind, doctor. I know it never entered mine.