"Yes," Cleary said. "He made quite a suggestion, that we send a man out in space to look over the Telstars and find out what went wrong. Even better, he says it might be possible to make a repair at the same time and get the bird working. You can see the advantages of doing that, the way they are orbiting."
"Yes, indeed," Doc Stone said, looking at me with slitted eyes. "Quite a unique adventure for some technician."
"Just what I was thinking," Cleary said. "The problem resolves into: Who do we send? Now Mike, here, says we should take a man from his lab who knows the bird and its assembly and teach him how to get around in a spacesuit—that, he claims, would be quicker than taking one of these space jockeys and making a technician out of him."
"I think he's right."
"So—there we are. Who do we send?"
"There can hardly be any choice," Dr. Stone said, looking at me with eyes like granite.
"Hardly," Cleary agreed. "The head of the lab is the best man, beyond a doubt."
They were talking about me! Try to get out of taking sides, would I? Cleary wanted me back in the middle. Stone wanted me dead. They were both likely to get their way, unless I told them off.
I opened my mouth. Cleary cleared his throat loudly.
"Oh, Dr. Seaman!" Sylvia cut in, breaking her careful silence. "What a thrilling opportunity for you!"