"It's about time you got here!"
Charley Brett glared angrily at his chief pilot, Quent Miles, as he sauntered into the office and flopped into a chair.
"I had a heavy date last night. I overslept," the spaceman replied, yawning loudly.
"We're late for Strong's meeting over at the Academy," Brett snapped. "Get up! We've got to leave right away."
Quent Miles looked at the other man, his black eyes gleaming coldly. "I'll get up when I'm ready," he said slowly.
The two men glared at each other for a moment, and finally Brett lowered his eyes. Miles grinned and yawned again.
"Come on," said Brett in a less demanding tone. "Let's go. No use getting Strong down on us before we even get started."
"Steve Strong doesn't scare me," replied Miles.
"All right! He doesn't scare you. He doesn't scare me, either," said Brett irritably. "Now that we both know that neither of us is scared, let's get going."
Quent smiled again and rose slowly. "You know something, Charley?" he said in a deceptively mild voice. "One of these days you're going to get officious with the wrong spaceman, one that isn't as tolerant as I am, and you're going to be pounded into space dust."