He forced a nervous smile. "Nothing but the responsibility. You're going to be a very famous woman, you know. You'll be the mother of the first child born in space. And it's my job to see to it that you're both all right."
She grinned. "Another Dr. Dafoe?"
"Something on that order, I suppose. But it won't be all my glory. Colonel Gates, the O.B. man, was supposed to come up for the delivery in September, so when White Sands contacted us, they said he was coming immediately." He paused, and a genuine smile crossed his face. "Your husband is bringing him up."
"Jim! Coming up here? Wonderful! But I'm afraid the colonel will be too late. This isn't going to last that long."
Banes had to fight hard to keep his face smiling when she said that, but he managed an easy nod. "We'll see. Don't hurry it, though. Let nature take its course. I'm not such a glory hog that I'd not let Gates have part of it—or all of it, for that matter. Relax and take it easy."
He went on talking, trying to keep the conversation light, but his eyes kept wandering to his wristwatch, timing Alice's pain intervals. They were coming too close together to suit him.
There was a faint rap, and the heavy airtight door swung open to admit the Chief Nurse. "There's a message for you in your office, doctor. I'll send a nurse in to be with her."
He nodded, then turned back to Alice. "Stiff uppah lip, and all that sort of rot," he said in a phony British accent.
"Oh, rawther, old chap," she grinned.
Back in his office, Banes picked up the teletype flimsy.