"I suppose not."
"All right, then. How do I look?"
Barbara smiled thinly, "Dusty, no one on earth would ever accuse you of being anything but a Hollywood actor in that get-up. But a man from halfway across the Galaxy itself might not know about these things. You might be an Admiral of the Swiss Navy. You're impressive-looking. Just don't get pompous."
"Just you remember that I'm Dusty Britton of The Space Patrol and don't giggle when I start dishing it out."
"I won't. After all, I call myself an actress, you know." She looked nervously at the viewpanel.
"Are you all right?" he demanded.
"Yes. I'm nervous but I'll be all right."
Dusty went over to her and put his hands on her shoulders. "Take a deep breath," he commanded. She did. "Now let it out slowly." She did that, too. "Now," he said softly, slipping an arm around her and leading her to the stairway, "You come down below and relax. Pull yourself together, Barb. We'll make it—somehow."
"Got any ideas?"