The director swallowed.
"But they're dangerous," he repeated vehemently. "They're wild, I tell you. They're violent, lawless wenches. Why, I'd sooner be ..." he shut his mouth, glancing at Faith in embarrassment.
The middle-aged nurse's eyes were twinkling.
Matt said imperturbably, "In that case, we'll tame 'em!"
Margot Drake appeared at the edge of the charred circle surrounding the Argus promptly at 11:30. Matt was waiting for her at the airlock.
"Hello," she called. "Lower the ladder, please."
The woman's red hair shone like molten gold in the sun, and Matt realized that she had taken considerable pains to rig herself out in as fetching a manner as possible.
She was wearing a forest green jacket that hugged her breasts as if it had been lacquered on. Her short green skirt sheathed her hips before flaring out to expose a goodly length of well-turned legs. The only incongruous note was a high powered rifle that she carried in a competent fashion.
"How many are with you?" Matt called, making no move to lower the ladder.