Kinsman shook his head. But it's fun! he thought. Like skiing. Or skydiving. Only better.
Jill floated toward him, pushing along the handgrips set into the equipment racks and desk fronts. Kinsman pulled his feet free of the restraints and met her halfway.
"Here, let me help you out of that suit,"
"I can do it myself."
"Sure. But it's easier with help."
After several minutes Jill was free of the bulky suit and standing in front of the miniaturized biomed lab. Ducking slightly because of the curving overhead, Kinsman glided to the galley. It was about half as wide as a phone booth, not as deep nor as tall.
"Coffee, tea, or milk?"
Jill grinned at him. "Orange juice."
He reached for a concentrate bag. "You're a tough woman to satisfy."
"No, I'm not. I'm easy to get along with. Just one of the guys."
That's a dig, Kinsman recognized. But who's it aimed at? And why?
For the next couple of hours they checked out the station's equipment in detail. Kinsman was re-assembling one of the high-resolution cameras after cleaning it, parts hanging in midair all around him as he worked intently. Jill was nursing a straggly-looking philodendron that had been smug- gled aboard months earlier and was now inching from the biomed bench toward the ceiling light panels.
"How's the green monster?" Kinsman asked.
"It survived without us," said Jill, "but just barely. Maybe we could keep the temperature up a little higher in between missions once we get the power pack operating."
Linda pushed back the curtain from the sleeping area and stepped uncertainly into the main compartment.
Jill noticed her first. "Hi. How're you feeling?"
Kinsman looked up. She was in tight-fitting coveralls, coral red. He turned abruptly, scattering camera parts in every direction.
"Are you all right?" he asked.
Smiling sheepishly, "I think so. I'm kind of embar- rassed . - ." Her voice was high and soft.
"Oh, that's all right," Kinsman said eagerly. "It happens to practically everybody. I got sick myself my first time in orbit."
