She glanced toward the bulkhead door at the end of the room. It led to
the shower room and lavatory. She glided toward it, using the familiar
"space walk" we all had learned in order to conform to the very light,
artificial gravity. She opened the door, peered in, then closed it and
returned. "Just wanted to be sure we really were alone," she said.
"What I wanted to talk about was Dr. Spartan. It--it's the way he looks
at me."
"We all look at you," I said. "I thought most girls liked it and felt
like they were slipping when men stopped looking."
"That's right, when you speak of a normal male look," she said. "But
the bearded monster frightens me."
"Relax," I said. "He won't get out of hand. That old boy is no fool and
he won't pull any raw deals. The one I'd look out for is Morrie. He
acts like a crazy kid sometimes. You can't always figure him."
"Morrie!" she exclaimed. "Bill Drake, you _are_ jealous! He's just a
kid."
"That's what I said, a crazy kid."
"And I'm two years older than he is." The washer stopped spinning and I
went over and began removing the duds and putting them in the dryer.
She started to get up to help me. She'd been sitting cross-legged
on the floor, as we all did because we had no chairs aboard. "Don't
bother," I told her. "This isn't hard work."
She sat down again. "Do you realize, Bill Drake, that there are no laws
here in space excepting those laid down by Spartan?"
"I can think of a few of Newton's laws that he has no control over."
"I'm not talking about physical laws. Spartan is more powerful than any
nabob who ever lived on earth--he is a greater despot than Caesar, than
the Pharaohs. That's why he's stand-offish with everyone. He has the
power of life and death over us all."
I closed the dryer and set the timer. "Forget it, Gail," I told her,
dropping down beside her. "Spartan's like a military commander. Not
only our lives, but the success of this mission are his responsibility.
He can't very well get chummy with buck privates." I didn't
particularly love the guy, but I thought--then--that I understood him.
"We're not buck privates," she said, with a woman's logic and hatred of
metaphor.
"Okay. We're second looeys. Now, what shall I do? Go to Spartan
and say, 'Listen, you old goat, stop looking lecherously at my
wife-in-name-only'?"
"This is no joking matter, Bill Drake. I may be your wife-in-name-only
but there was a good sound reason for our marriage. You have to keep me
from--uh--well, getting involved. You're a sort of chaperon."