"I—I had to hear someone talk again," Clifton said haltingly. "I went through the file. I studied all the sleepers. I decided on you. I'm sorry if—"
"How long?" she murmured, lips hardly moving.
"Long?" he answered. "What do you mean?" And then he understood. "We're a little more than a year from Earth."
Her moan startled and unnerved him. Her eyes closed and she slumped to the floor.
When she did not move, he went to her, lifted her head. At once her eyelids fluttered and she saw him and then her face darkened and she lashed out with tiny fists, scratching and crying.
"It's not as bad as all that!" he cried, half angry with her now, trying to stop her, clutching her flailing arms. He drew away quickly when she bit him.
"You—you beast!" she wailed. "You spoiled everything. Everything. Everything has been so carefully planned."
"I know, I know," he soothed.
"Oh," she quavered, and she fell to the floor again, sobbing.
Clifton got up, surveyed her weeping figure, a mound of white on the floor. Well, he thought, at least this is a change for me. And he felt rather foolish about what he had done. If only it had been a man; he could reason with a man. He turned in disgust and walked from the medocenter. She would change. After all, nine years is a long time. No woman could cry nine years. He smiled a little. Fiery little thing, isn't she? he told himself as he started his tour of the ship.