It seemed that the morning would never pass. At lunchtime she ran out of the factory, looked everywhere, waited at the entrance to the dining hall. At last she went in and ate.
The afternoon dragged. She hardly dared hope when she came out. Then she saw him.
He hadn't priority for a car tonight, and as they sat in a corner of the lounge of the dorm she tried to think of some way to tell him. For a time she hoped that he would bring up the subject, but he didn't, and at last she made up her mind.
Then he said, "Sue, you've forgotten so soon that your husband-to-be has a special faculty. You were in so much confusion I couldn't make out what it was at first. But now it's fairly clear. We'll make it tomorrow or next day or any day you wish."
Her cheeks stung so that she was afraid to look up. Finally she said, "Monday. That's three days from now. And Sunday is a short working day. It will give me time to adjust my thoughts to the idea of being your wife."
"Sure. And I understand they give you three days for a honeymoon."
She nodded. "I've been wondering what it will be like to be free for three days."
Sunday came. They spent the meditation hours together. The news on the bulletin board was ignored.
In the evening he seemed preoccupied. "They have begun calling men back," he explained. Then: "But don't think for a moment that I'll let them call me before we're married. Still, I wish I hadn't studied up so on the new weapons. They're putting the new ships in service, and—But I'm not supposed to talk about it."
Early Monday morning she drew her wedding issue of clothes: tan linen blouse and slacks; nylox underthings and pajamas; woven sandals and nylox anklets.