"I'll tell you."
"If you were a jet pilot," Veronica said wistfully, "you would be romantic. You would grab love when you could. You would never know which moment would be last. You would make the most of each one."
"I'm not a jet pilot," Manet said. "There are no jet pilots. There haven't been any for generations."
"Don't be silly," Veronica said. "Who else would stop those vile North Koreans and Red China 'volunteers'?"
"Veronica," he said carefully, "the Korean War is over. It was finished even before the last of the jet pilots."
"Don't be silly," she snapped. "If it were over, I'd know about it, wouldn't I?"
She would, except that somehow she had turned out even less bright, less equipped with Manet's own store of information, than Ronald. Whoever had built the Lifo kit must have had ancient ideas about what constituted appropriate "feminine" characteristics.
"I suppose," he said heavily, "that you would like me to take you back to Earth and introduce you to Daniel Boone?"
"Oh, yes."
"Veronica, your stupidity is hideous."