Johnson appeared on the small phone panel, sputtering and redfaced, "Kimberly! Where have you been? I've been trying to get you all afternoon."
That was Johnson's customary approach and Kimberly paid no attention.
"We're canceling the order on those suits," said Johnson. "Those three dozen on the Queen are no good. Every one the boys tried out broke down with them. They stink. We're going over to Realworth's ground joints."
"Take it easy, now, Henry," said Kimberly with frozen deliberation. "You know how production is. There may be some bugs in the suits that we've overlooked, but we've tested them frontwards and backwards. We know they're good and we'll back them up."
"Bugs! There're enough bugs to crawl off with the suits."
"Just tell me what the trouble is."
"The Queen landed at Copernicus Central. The passengers were let off as usual and the crew begun getting into the suits for terminal inspection of the hull and jets. Incidentally, those Iron Maidens stink, too. Why can't you figure out some kind of a dog for the joints so a spaceman won't have to get inside one of those things to put the suit on or off?"
"We're working on it," said Kimberly patiently. "We'll get it in time, but you want spacesuits now. And this is better than having to handle the old iron pants with a crane."
"Not much."
"Well, get on. What happened?"