Bridget thudded into the narrow pilot's seat and wiggled herself into a comfortable position. "Awful crowded," she smiled up at Grant. "I hope you tore your nylons," he groused. "Now, if you'll just explain these gadgets," she said, moving her hand over the panel embedded with digit-rimmed dials. "Hands off, please." "By your reaction, I would say you don't know what some of them are," she counter-fired, and tossed her protruding bunch of curls. Grant took the bait. He leaned into the canopy and with an over-stiffened index finger pointed forcefully at each gauge. For more than a quarter-hour this went on, with Bridget pitching questions--most of which he juggled. She seemed to show more interest in the radar screen, the navigational equipment, and the communications system. About these, she milked Grant's available knowledge until he felt like reaching down and throwing open the reactor valve and fuel switch. "Lieutenant, if you don't mind, my back is paralyzed. Let's go back to the club and I'll answer anything you want." "Just one more," she coaxed. "This crosshair sight with the little black circle in the middle. How does that work again?" Grant straightened up and carefully massaged the small of his back. "It's for precise manual navigation if you need it. You sit up straight and sight through it." "And what do you sight at?" "A star, of course." "Put it in the little black circle?" "An A for you. Then you snap in Automatic Navigational and you're in business. Or you can navigate manually by using Gyroscopic Navigational if you want." "I'm ready to get out now." Bridget lifted her hands where Grant stood on the platform of the boarding device. Back or no back, Grant couldn't resist the opportunity. He pulled her by the hands to where she was leaning out the opened canopy, then he stooped and grabbed her under the arms and swung her up. For a moment her soft hair brushed his ear, and a light scent from her neck suggested he keep her pliant form close to him a little longer than necessary. [Illustration] He planted her next to the steps, and she muttered an uninspired thank you. But halfway down, she halted and turned. "It's much easier asking me out dancing, Grant," she smiled impishly, and clacked across the hangar floor toward the jeep. * * * * * By the next morning arrangements for a small staff and office space had swiftly gone through. Working through lunch, Bridget had the office set up and the staff briefed and researching when Grant returned from dining with the general. "You're just in time," she said, looking up from an already cluttered desk. "I'm ready now to scan through any G-2 you have on atomjet operation in your Mojave files." Grant bristled. "These files are under the general's nose, and I don't think he'd appreciate--" He broke off when he observed Bridget tapping her pencil and frowning at him impatiently.