I finally caught what I was trying to phrase; she looked as if she was poised for flight.
She grinned down at me. "Like it?" she asked, chuckling. Her green eyes crackled with light, and there were little demons in her laugh.
I tried to think of a clever comeback, but I couldn't. I just said, "Yes."
I did like it. And I hated it, at the same time.
The ship was fast, but space is big. I had a week to plan my next moves while we worked our way through the area between Earth and Mars' orbit where the TSN kept the raiders down.
But the week went by, and I didn't think of anything. I'd be working over the control board, and then I'd look up, and she'd be smiling at me. I'd raise an eyebrow, and she'd stick her tongue out. We shared cigarettes. I'd take a drag, hand her the butt, and she'd cuff me when I blew smoke in her face.
"Hey, Goon," she'd say from behind the plotting board, "d'ja hear the one about the lady sociologist who wandered into Bessie's place on Venus?"
I taught her original verses to The Song of the Wandering Spacemen. Then she taught me the verses she knew.
We crossed Mars' orbit. I couldn't think of any way to find out what I'd been killing myself over except to ask.