"I'm in your debt, gracious lady," I said. There was a trace of sarcasm, less than I felt, in my voice.
She heard it, too, and gave me a sharp glance. "I do want to talk to you about something, Bill Drake," she said.
"Sure. The laundry doesn't need attention. Let's talk."
"You've noticed that we're not the jolly little group we started out to be when we first boarded the ship, haven't you?"
"Yes, but it's because we're getting bored. We've been going around the earth in a spiral, like a merry-go-round. We don't seem to be getting anyplace."
"That's not what I mean," she said. "We are getting someplace. The spiral widens a little more each turn. Very soon now—perhaps within hours—we'll break away from the earth. We all realize it. And the farther away from earth we go, the less we'll feel bound by standards of the earth."
I frowned. "I don't see what you're driving at, Gail."
She glanced toward the bulkhead door at the end of the room. It led to the shower room and lavatory. She glided toward it, using the familiar "space walk" we all had learned in order to conform to the very light, artificial gravity. She opened the door, peered in, then closed it and returned. "Just wanted to be sure we really were alone," she said. "What I wanted to talk about was Dr. Spartan. It—it's the way he looks at me."
"We all look at you," I said. "I thought most girls liked it and felt like they were slipping when men stopped looking."
"That's right, when you speak of a normal male look," she said. "But the bearded monster frightens me."