“I’ll get it out as fast as possible, sir,” said Vaneski with a smile.
“Fine. I’ll see you later, then.” Mike, like Cleopatra, was not prone to argue. He left maintenance and headed toward the wardroom for a game of Ŭma ni tō. But when he met Leda Crannon going up the stairway, all thoughts of card games flitted from his mind with the careless nonchalance of a summer butterfly.
“Hullo,” he said, pulling himself up a little straighter. He was tired, but not that tired.
Her smile brushed the cobwebs from his mind. But a second look told him that there was worry behind the smile.
“Hi, Mike,” she said softly. “You look beat.”
“I am,” admitted Mike. “To a frazzle. Have I told you that I love you?”
“Once, I think. Maybe twice.” Her eyes seemed to light up somewhere from far back in her head. “But enough of this mad passion,” she said. “I want an invitation to have a drink—a stiff one.”
“I’ll steal Jeffers’ bottle,” Mike offered. “What’s the trouble?”
Her smile faded, and her eyes became grave. “I’m scared, Mike; I want to talk to you.”
“Come along, then,” Mike said.