"Then go in there with your head up and let 'em know how we're built."
Dusty waved at the field of instruments on the control position. "Open my yap and let 'em know how ignorant we are? We should have a couple of scientists along."
Barbara shook her head. "No," she said slowly. "One of the marks of a real scientist is that he usually considers that he knows a lot less than he does. You're better off. You don't know enough to confuse yourself. Besides, Dusty, you're an actor."
"Um—er—Jeeks! Hang on a mo' will you? I've an idea."
Dusty loped down the stairs to his car and opened the compartment behind the front seat. It was his emergency kit; it held his Dusty Britton uniform, the complete regalia of The Space Patrol complete with Dusty Britton 'Blaster' concealed against the days when Dusty found himself trapped in public and could not appear out of character.
He changed in the car and went back to the control room.
Barbara took one look at him and nodded slowly. "You're a gaudy sight," she said. "But maybe that's what it takes."
Dusty slapped the 'Blaster' at his hip. "I look authentic enough except for this hunk of hardware," he said. "Hell, it isn't even as useful as a dress sword."
"Your revolver? Oh—still on my living room floor."
Dusty unbelted the holster. "I shouldn't have to go armed everywhere, should I?"