“You’ve got me on a hell of a spot, boss,” the pilot admitted, ruefully. “You’ve got to have a pilot, no question about that. You already know I’m one. I know automatics, and communicators, and detectors—the works. Ordinarily I’d say you’d have to have me. But this ain’t a regular case. I wasn’t a pilot on the heap that got knocked out of the ether, but a passenger. Maluleme—she’s my . . . say, ain’t there no word for. . . .”
He broke off and spoke rapidly to his wife, who relayed it to Vesta.
“They’re newlyweds,” the Vegian translated. “He was off duty and they were on their honeymoon. . . .”
Vesta’s wonderfully expressive face softened, saddened. She appeared about to cry. “I wish I were old enough to be a newlywed,” she said, plaintively.
“Huh? Aren’t you?” the Blaster demanded. “You look old enough to me.”
“Oh, I’m as big as I ever will be, and I won’t change outside. It’s inside. About half a year yet. But she’s saying—
“We know that pilots on duty, in regular service, can’t have their wives aboard. But this isn’t a regular run, I know, so couldn’t you—just this once—keep Thlaskin on as pilot and let me come too? Please, Mr. Neelcloud—she didn’t know your name, but asked me to put it in—I can work my way. I’ll do any of the jobs nobody else wants to do—I’ll do anything, Mr. Neelcloud!”
The pink girl jumped up and took Cloud’s left hand in both her own. Simultaneously Vesta took his right hand in her left, brought it up to her face, and laid the incredibly downy softness of her cheek against the five-hour bristles of his; sounding the while a soft, low-pitched but unmistakable purr!
“Just this once wouldn’t do any harm, would it, Captain Neelcloud?” Vesta purred. “You zmell zo wonderful, and she zmells nice, too. Pleeze keep her on!”
“QX. You win!” The Blaster pulled himself loose from the two too-demonstrative females and addressed the group at large. “I think I ought to have my head examined, but I’m signing all of you on as crew. But nobody else. I’ll get the book.”