"How do you do, Dr. Lacy? Everything is ready." Clarrissa MacDougall met him, hand outstretched. Her saucy white cap was worn as jerkily cocked as ever; perhaps even more so, now that it was emblazoned with the cross-surmounted wedge which is the insignia of sector chief nurse. Her flaming hair was as gorgeous, her smile was as radiant, her bearing as confidently--Kinnison has said of her more than once that she is the only person he has ever known who can strut sitting down!--as calmly poised. "I'm very glad to see you, doctor. It's been quite a while--" Her voice died away, for the man was looking at her with an expression defying analysis. For Lacy was thunderstruck. If he had ever known it--and he must have--he had forgotten completely that MacDougall had this ship. This was awful--terrible! "Oh, yes ... yes, of course. How do you do? Mighty glad to see you again. How's everything going?" He pumped her hand vigorously, thinking frantically the while what he would--what he _could_--say next. "Oh, by the way, who is to be in charge of the operating room?" "Why, I am, of course," she replied in surprise. "Who else would be?" "_Anyone_ else," he wanted to say, but did not--then. "Why, that isn't at all necessary. I would suggest--" "You'll suggest nothing of the kind!" She stared at him intently; then, as she realized what his expression really meant--she had never before seen such a look of pitying anguish upon his usually sternly professional face--her own turned white and both hands flew to her throat. "Not Kim, Lacy!" she gasped. Gone now was everything of poise, of insouciance, which had so characterized her a moment before. She who had worked unflinchingly upon all sorts of dismembered, fragmentary, maimed and mangled men was now a pleading, stricken, desperately frightened girl. "Not Kim--please! Oh, merciful God, don't let it be my Kim!" "You _can't_ be there, Mac." He did not need to tell her. She knew; he knew that she knew. "Somebody else--_anybody_ else." "No!" came the hot negative, although the blood drained completely from the chief nurse's face, leaving it as white as the immaculate uniform she wore. Her eyes were black, burning holes. "It's my job, Lacy, in more ways than one. Do you think that I would _ever_ let anyone else work on _him_?" she finished passionately. "You'll have to," he declared. "I didn't want to tell you this, but he's a ghastly mess. Altogether too much so for any woman, to say nothing of one who loves him." This, from a surgeon of Lacy's long and wide experience, was an unthinkable statement. Nevertheless: "All the more reason why I've got to do it. No matter what shape he's in, I'll let no one else work on my Kim." "I say no. That's an order--official!" "Damn such orders!" she flamed. "There's nothing back of it--you know that as well as I do!" "See here, young woman--"