She gave him a puzzled smile. “Haven’t we met, Commander?”
Mike grinned. “Hey! That’s supposed to be my line, isn’t it?”
She flashed him a warm smile, then her eyes widened ever so slightly. “Your voice! You’re the man on the foyer! The one....”
“... the one whom you called copper on,” finished Mike agreeably. “But please don’t apologize; you’ve more than made up for it.”
Her smile remained. She evidently liked what she saw. “How was I to know who you were?”
“It might have been written on my pocket handkerchief,” said Mike the Angel, “but Space Service officers don’t carry pocket handkerchiefs.”
“What?” The puzzled look had returned.
“Ne’ mind,” said Mike. “Sit down, won’t you?”
“Oh, I can’t, thanks. I came to get Fitz; a meeting of the Research Board has been called, and afterward we have to give a lecture or something to the officers of the Brainchild.”
“You mean the Branchell?”