“Oh, sure.” She kicked the coveralls across the room and moved in on him. “Baby,” she said caressingly, “if I seem to sort of forget myself in the next couple of minutes, don’t get any ideas. I never let go of my gun. Move over.”
“Sure,” Ross said hollowly. This, he told himself disgustedly, was the damnedest, silliest, ridiculousest....
There was a furious hiccup from the door. “So!” Helena said venomously, pushing the door wide and almost falling to the floor. “So!”
Ross flailed out of the bed, kicking the pistol out of Pilot Breuer’s hand in the process. He cried enthusiastically, “Helena, dear!”
“Don’t you ‘Helena-dear’ me!” she said, moving in and kicking the door shut behind her. “I leave you alone for one little minute, and what happens? And you!”
“Sorry,” Pilot Breuer muttered, climbing into her coveralls. “Wrong room. Must’ve had one anti-grav too many.” She licked her lips apprehensively, zipping her coveralls and sidling toward the door. With one hand on the knob, she said diffidently, “If I could have my gun back——? No, you’re right! I’ll get it tomorrow.” She got through the door just ahead of a lamp.
“Hussy!” spat Helena. “And you, Ross——”
It was the last straw. As Ross lurched toward her he regretted only one thing: that he didn’t have a hairbrush.
Pilot Breuer had been right. Nobody paid any attention to the noise.