Mel Cramer read the letter swiftly, smiling first at the whimsical phraseology and then suddenly frowning. He whistled.
"Sounds bad, Walter, sounds bad...."
"Torrance said Sandia Base is on a 24 hour alert."
"God," Mel said desperately. "I wish Marge would leave that place. Why can't she move to the country somewhere?"
"She feels like Lynne, probably.... That if we're here, the least she can do is stay as close as possible...."
"As close as possible," Mel said bitterly. He lit a cigarette. "Walt, have you heard anything about my relief?"
Walter Stanton felt a stab of anger at his friend. Professionally ambitious, Mel had fought for his job as Platform Fighter Pilot; now, with the decline of Space One in the eyes of the military, he probably had his eyes on other fields. Carefully controlling his voice, he said: "No, Mel. Nothing's come in. Why?"
Mel Cramer shrugged. "I don't know.... They said three months, that's all. And it's been nearly fourteen weeks...." He laughed. "Kind of feel like the world's passing me by. Joke, Walter."
Walter Stanton took back the letter and folded it carefully. Then, on second thought, he lit a match and burned it.
"I asked you in for advice, Mel," he said carefully, watching the flickering flame.