t
up a struggle to get near my man."

Then suddenly, she was not at all brave, anymore.

Suddenly, she had burrowed into his arms. "Oh Lance, had there been no
other way, I'd have clawed right through fence and revetments to get to
you! Men, men! Just because something's _out there_, as you say ... why
is it so important to build ships and go out and look at it?" Her
fingers dug into Lance's shoulders. "Women are saner ... but maybe
that's why men need us." The grip of her fingers shifted, tightened.
"Kiss me, you big baboon."

Lance kissed her. A tender kiss, yet gusty enough that he lifted her
from the ground and her high-heeled shoes kicked in free fall.

The pilot found his girl's breath warm, loving. Yet her cheeks seemed
colder than even the crisp air should account for. And her body was
trembling.

He planted a second kiss, then set her down.

"Hey! This is no way for a Space Service brat to carry on. Why, you're
just about to--"

"To cry, Lance? No, I wasn't. It's just that ... you'll be gone so
long."

He punched her playfully. "Two measly weeks out, two weeks to astrogate
her back home. And once I've got my feet wet at it, it'll be like
shooting ducks in an alley."

Carolyn reached out, brushed a windswept tuft of hair from above the
rock-steady eyes that looked at her.

"I know, Lance. I even realize that just ten years ago, women had to put
up with separations from their sweethearts or husbands that lasted
months. When the old pioneer ships used to limp back and forth to Mars
and Venus. But I'm different, I guess. Weak, maybe. Or just plain
scared--"

This didn't sound like the blithe-spirited girl he'd pursued for a year,
then wooed and subdued. Lance studied her, then said slowly: "You're
scared. About what? My first flight?"

Carolyn's head bobbed timidly.

Lance flashed a reassuring grin. "Everything has to be a brand-new
experience, at some time or other. Me, I prefer to look at hype-flight
from the point of view of the service. A routine thing. Just takes
training. Otherwise," and he shrugged, "it's no more a risk than hauling
groceries upstairs to some weather satellite."

"Is it, Lance? When one or two ships out of every ten never make it back
at all. Just disappear ... somewhere ... while the others--"

"One out of thirty or forty, you mean. So hyperspace is a little
tricky."

"And there's always pilot error to blame, too, I suppose?"

"Now that you mention it."

"Only my m