"Can I get you a demamine pill, sir?"
"No, thank you. When does—"
"Oh! At 1900 hours," she gushed.
"The ship splits in half," she added helpfully, and dimpled in that winning way of little girls who will never grow up.
"Remarkable. They tell me some sort of cable will tie us together."
"Yes sir, when we are far enough out in space so there isn't any air friction, Mr. Webley, the pilot, pulls a little lever and the nose flies off. He'll be all alone out there for forty-two days."
"And only a thin cable connects our passenger section to his control section?" He was quite familiar with the details since he had lobbied for the initial appropriation. Her forearm had a nice warm smooth feeling.
"Oh, you understand it perfectly, sir. When we're a mile apart a little rocket in the side makes us spin round and round. Then I can take off these old iron shoes." She followed his gaze to her legs and tittered.
He speculated that similar magnets must be holding down the hem of her nylon skirt.
"And does this spinning about a common axis continue until we near Mars?"