Helena gave him a look of reprimand and forgiveness. “I’m hungry,” she mused.
The pilot turned from her controls. “You can get something at the airport,” she offered eagerly. “I’ll show you.”
Helena looked at Ross. “Would you like something?”
But the pilot frowned. “I don’t believe there’s any place for men,” she said disapprovingly. “Perhaps we can get something sent out for him if you like. Although, really, it’s probably against the rules, you know.”
Ross started to say with great dignity, “Thank you, but that won’t be necessary.” But he didn’t quite get it out. The ship came in for its landing. There was an enormous jolt and a squawk of alarm bells and flashing lights. The ship careened crazily, and stopped.
“Oh, darn,” complained the pilot mildly. “It’s always doing that. Come on, dear, let’s get something to eat. We’ll come back for him later.”
And Ross was left alone to stare apprehensively at the unceasingly flashing lights and to listen to the strident alarms for three-quarters of an hour.
His luck was in, though. The ship didn’t explode. And eventually a pallid young man in a greasy apron appeared with a tray of sandwiches and a vacuum jug.
“Up here, boy,” Ross called.
He gaped through the port. “You mean come in?”