"Lorraine! What in the name of the seven sacred satellites are you doing aboard? Don't you know—?"
"Now, Daddy!" She smiled, and my heart did tricks. You've never been smiled at till you've been out in front of one of those extra-special de luxe Lorraine Larkin jobs. She was sugar and spice and everything nice, and don't some guys have all the luck? "Now, Daddy, remember your blood pressure."
"Blood pressure be damned!" frothed Bowman. "You git right off'n this barge an' go back to Earth where you belong!"
"It's cold out there," said Lorraine. "Remember? And besides, this is where I belong—isn't it, honey?"
She looked at Johnny Larkin, who was suddenly having trouble with his epi-brothers, dermis and glottis. The first was scarlet, the second was charging up and down in his throat like a berserk elevator. He managed to get a few words out.
"You," he gulped, "shouldn't be here!"
"And where else would a girl be," demanded Lorraine coolly, "than at her husband's side? Especially on her honeymoon?" She plumped herself down beside him. "Bring one more plate, Slops. There's company for dinner."
The skipper rose.
"Enough," he declared, "is too much. I wasn't hot on this trip from the start. Now I'm an Eskimo. Sparks, take a message to Long Island Spaceport. Tell 'em—"
"Tell them," interrupted Lorraine Larkin, "that the captain and crew of the Pegasus are on their way to find out what happened to those other poor fellows who tried to land on Caltech VI. And tell them we will find out, because we're the toughest, smartest, space-lickingest gang of etherhounds who ever lifted gravs. And there's nothing between here and Procyon that can scare us. Mmmm! What delicious soup—"