He began to feel rather proud of himself. He glanced about the girl's room. It was similar to Vermeer's except that it was not so tidy. Gauzy white undergarments of finest spun microweb lay on the chairs. He recognized a tiny vial of Venusian perfume on the dresser surrounded by a litter of brushes, mirrors, combs. There was a picture of a tall elderly man in a uniform.
"That's papa," exclaimed Jennifer.
"I wish I knew what that suit was used for," said Norman thoughtfully. "I've never seen anything like it before."
"You know," said the girl seating herself on the edge of the bed, "you're not like most Earth men. You're not stodgy and patronizing. You're cute."
He felt ridiculously pleased. He was convinced that he'd never met a more intelligent, a more charming, a more beautiful girl than Jennifer Scott. He said, "I've had to revise all my opinions of Outlanders since I met you."
Jennifer laughed, jumped to her feet. Stooping over, she kissed him lightly. "That's for a very pretty compliment. Now let's get back to the dance before I lose all my maidenly modesty."
IV
Beyond the orbit of Mars a tension gripped the passengers of the Jupiter. The killer of the T.I.S. agent remained at large, and the passengers were beginning to regard each other suspiciously. They were now in the zone where the terror operated. The battle ship had edged in closer. Constant radio contact was maintained between the two vessels.
Norman Saint Clair and Jennifer were on the observation deck in the forepeak. The quartzite dome arched flatly overhead. The chill immensity of space crowded all around them, black infinity pricked with a million blazing suns. It was Norman's first visit to the observation deck. Jennifer had brought him up.