Unquote, the Siamese, rose out of her hygienic playbox and gave him a frozen glare. He recoiled. "My God," he said, "I seem to be offending everyone this morning. Forgive me, puss."
Unquote snarled and collapsed in a boneless pile of beautiful fur. Alan stuck his head into the room and said, "Where do you classify me?"
"Huh? Oh, hallo, Doc. You're important. Anybody from Project Star is important. Whether the same can be said for those officials of our mighty government who have gasped and babbled and turned blue on Portent, I'm not one to declare. How about it, Doc? Will you appear?"
"Talking about what? Fuel? That's all I really know."
"If you can talk for thirteen minutes about it, without violating any regulations or giving away secrets, I want you. Fuel is hot stuff with the space-minded John Q."
"What do you think, Brave? Should we do it?"
Brave said, "Too much time and no fun, that's how it sounds to me."
"Oh, I don't know. I've never been on the air."
"Please," said McEldownie, shuddering like a leafless willow in a high wind. "The phrase is 'on the space.' Air belongs to that outmoded, decadent, but apparently deathless medium called radio. There, I've said it. Have you got any mouth-washing soap?"
"A positive Hilton Boil," said Brave in the kitchen. "A real yokked-up comic. Wait till I've fed him and we'll hurl him out."