Not right now I reply, what for anyway?
"Miss Lee," says Cray, dragging it out longer than ever, "although I have long realized that your brain functions in a way much superior to logic I had not sense enough yesterday to follow my own instinct and do what you do as soon as you did it; therefore that dessicated meat handler got in first."
I say: "So you weren't picked for pilot? It was only one chance in ten."
"Oh," says Cray, "did you really think so?" He gives me a long look and goes away.
I suppose he noticed that when the colonel came out with his remarks about No women in Gilgamesh I was as surprised as any.
Presently the three of us are issued with protective clothing; we just might have to venture out on the planet's surface and therefore we get white one-piece suits to protect against Cold, heat, moisture, dessication, radioactivity, and mosquitoes, and they are quite becoming, really.
B and I drag out dressing for thirty minutes; then we just sit while Time crawls asymptotically towards the hour.
Then the speaker calls us to go.
We are out of the cabin before it says two words and racing for the hold; so that we are just in time to see a figure out of an Historical movie—padded, jointed, tin bowl for head and blank reflecting glass where the face should be—stepping through the air lock.