uldn't be
interested, of course." She started to mince away.
"Hey, wait a minute!" Judy's father was the _Valhalla's_ Chief Signal
Officer, and she generally had news from a planet they were landing on
a lot quicker than anyone else. "What's this all about?"
"A new quarantine regulation. They passed it two years ago when a ship
back from Altair landed and the crew turned out to be loaded with some
sort of weird disease. We have to stay isolated even from the other
starmen in the Enclave until we've all had medical checkups."
"Do they require every ship landing to go through this?"
"Yep. Nuisance, isn't it? So the word has come from your father that
since we can't go round visiting until we've been checked, the Crew's
going to have a dance tonight when we touch down."
"A dance?"
"You heard me. He thought it might be a nice idea--just to keep our
spirits up until the quarantine's lifted. That nasty Roger Bond has
invited me," she added, with a raised eyebrow that was supposed to be
sophisticated-looking.
"What's wrong with Roger? I just spent a whole afternoon crating
dinosaur meat with him."
"Oh, he's--well--he just doesn't _do_ anything to me."
I'd like to do something to you, Alan thought. Something lingering, with
boiling oil in it.
"Did you accept?" he asked, just to be polite.
"Of course not! Not _yet_, that is. I just thought I might get some more
interesting offers, that's all," she said archly.
_Oh, I see the game_, Alan thought. _She's looking for an invitation._
He stretched way back and slowly let his eyes droop closed. "I wish you
luck," he said.
She gaped at him. "Oh--you're _horrible_!"
"I know," he admitted coolly. "I'm actually a Neptunian mudworm,
completely devoid of emotions. I'm here in disguise to destroy the
Earth, and if you reveal my secret I'll eat you alive."
She ignored his sally and shook her head. "But why do I always have to
go to dances with Roger Bond?" she asked plaintively. "Oh, well. Never
mind," she said, and turned away.
He watched her as she crossed the recreation room floor and stepped
through the exit sphincter. She was just a silly girl, of course, but
she had pointed up a very real problem of starship life when she asked,
"_Why do I always have to go to dances with Roger Bond?_"
The _Valhalla_ was practically a self-contained universe. The Crew was
permanent; no one ever left, unless it was to jump ship the way Steve
had--and Steve was the o
|