"Have a pleasant flight. Colonel," she said.
"Thanks for the promotion," Kinsman replied to her departing back.
The bus chugged into motion and the speakers set into each chairback came alive with the news report of the momentous day:
"And there goes the first busload of visitors to Space Station Alpha. They're on their way!" gabbled a voice that had spent most of its life hawking consumer products. "This 218 marks the beginning of a new era in space! Fifty ordinary people, just like you and me, will be riding to the space station just as easily and comfortably as we ride the daily bus to our homes and offices and shopping malls. Ordinary people, going into orbit, to a great man-made island in the sky . . ."
Ordinary people, thought Kinsman. Am I ordinary? Is anybody?
One of the "average taxpayers" was seated beside him, on the aisle. She stared at him for several minutes as the bus huffed slowly toward the airstrip and the radio voice prat- tled on.
"They didn't tell us there'd be any soldiers on this flight," she said at last.
Kinsman turned from the window to look at her. A youngish housewife: softly curled light brown hair, oval face. Dressed in a brand-new flowered pantsuit.
"I'm not a soldier," he answered, almost in a whisper. "I'm in the Aerospace Force."
"Well, why are they letting you up? This isn't a military satellite." She looked almost resentful.
An educated taxpayer. Glancing around and keeping his voice low, Kinsman replied, "Confidentially, I ... well, I used to be an astronaut. They're letting me see what this new stuff is all about. Sort of like a homecoming for me."
Her minifrown softened. "Oh, I get it. Like inviting the old graduates to the school reunion."
Nodding, "More or less."
"I was wondering why you looked so cool and relaxed. You've been through all this before."
"Well, not exactly anything like this."
"Gosh . . . I've never met an astronaut before. I'm Jinny Woods. I'm from New Paltz, New York."
"Chet Kinsman." He shook her hand lightly. "And if you don't mind, I'd just as soon stay in the background here. I'm just a guest. You're the stars of today's show."
She wriggled with pleasure at his flattery. "You mean 1 shouldn't tell anybody you're an astronaut?"
"I'd rather you didn't. I don't want a fuss made about it."
"Okay . . . It'll be our secret."
Kinsman smiled at her while his mind recalled a line that 219 a friend of his had once uttered: Hell is, I'm booked into Grossinger's for a week and every girl's mother in the place knows I'm an unmarried medical student.
The bus ride was mercifully brief, but Kinsman wound up being placed beside the same woman inside the shuttle. The interior of the orbiter was much like the interior of a standard commercial jet airliner, except that the seats were plusher, the decor plainer, and there were no windows. Each seatback had a small TV screen built into it. The seats themselves were large, roomy, comfortable, and equipped with a double safety harness that crisscrossed over the shoulders and across the chest.
Jinny Woods fumbled with her harness until Kinsman leaned across and helped her with it. She told him about her two children and her husband back in New Paltz, who was a salesman. He nodded and admired the way she breathed.
And then they waited.
"What's wrong? Why aren't we moving?" Jinny whis- pered to Kinsman. She looked as if she were afraid of making a fuss, yet genuinely frightened at the same time.
