"If he wasn't the top man in the squad," Tenny said, "he'd have a lot of pals. But he's a better flier than any of you. He's scored higher in the training tests than any of you. 26

Higher than anybody in the other squads, too."

"And he's hell on wheels," Kinsman countered. "I don't think he wants any of us for friends."

Tenny scowled deeply. Then he said, "Yeah. maybe so. But he tossed his cookies. That shows that he's human, at least."

Kinsman said nothing.

Kinsman almost laughed out loud when he first saw Colonel Murdock.

Twenty-four astronaut trainees, all first lieutenants, twenty men, four women, all of them white except one, were sitting nervously in a bare little briefing room at Vandenberg Air Force Base. The air-conditioning was not working well and the room was dank with the smell of anxiety. It was like a classroom, with faded government-green walls and stained acoustical tile ceiling. The chairs in which the lieutenants sat had wooden writing arms on them. There was a podium up front with a microphone goosenecking up, and scrubbed- clean chalkboards and a rolled-up projection screen behind it.

"Ten-HUT!"

All two dozen trainees snapped to their feet as Lieuten- ant Colonel Robert Murdock came into the room, followed by his three majors.

He looks like Porky Pig, Kinsman said to himself.

Murdock was short, round, balding, with bland pink features and soft, pudgy little hands. He was actually a shade taller than Major Tenny, who stood against the chalkboard behind the Colonel. But where Tenny looked like a compact football linebacker or maybe even a petty Mafioso, Murdock reminded Kinsman of an algebra teacher he had suffered under for a year at William Penn Charter School, back in Philadelphia.

Colonel Murdock scanned his two dozen charges, trying to look strong and commanding. But his bald head was already glistening with nervous perspiration and his voice was an octave too high to be awe-inspiring as he said, "Be seated, gentlemen. And ladies."

Kinsman thought back to the algebra teacher. The man had terrified the entire class for the first few weeks of the semester, warning them of how tough he was and how 27 difficult it would be for any of them to pass his course. Then the students discovered that behind the man's threats and demands there was nothing: he was an empty shell. He could be maneuvered easily. The real trouble was that if he discovered he had been maneuvered by a student, he was merciless.

Kinsman struggled to stay awake during the Colonel's welcoming speech. All the usual buzzwords. Teamwork, orientation, challenge, the honor of the Air Force, pride, duty, the nation's first line of defense . . . they droned sleepi- ly in his ears.

"Two final points," said Colonel Murdock. The lieuten- ants stirred in their chairs at the promise of release.

"First—we are operating under severe budgetary and equipment restrictions. NASA gets plenty of bucks and plenty of publicity. We get very little. Almost everything we do is kept secret from the American public, and the Congress is constantly cutting back on funds for our operations. We are locked in a deadly battle to prove to Congress, to the people of this nation, and—yes—even to enemies within the Penta- gon itself, that the Air Force has a valid and important role to play in manned space flight.

"It's up to you to prove that manned operations in space should not be left to the civilians of NASA. When the Congress one day approves the change of our service's name from just plain Air Force to Aerospace Force—which it should be—it's going to be your work and your success that gets them to do it."

Kinsman suppressed a grin. He's never studied rhetoric, that's for sure. Or syntax, either.

"Second point," Murdock went on. "Everything you do from now on will be by the buddy system. You're going to fly in the shuttle as two-man teams. You're going to train as two-man teams. You're going to eat, sleep, and think as two-man teams."

Kinsman shot a glance at Jill Meyers, the only woman in his eight-person squad. The expression on her snub-nosed freckled face was marvelous: an Air Force officer's self- control struggling against a feminist's desire to throw a pie in the Colonel's face.

". . . and we're going to be ruthless with you," Murdock 28 was saying, "You will be judged as teams, not as individuals. If a team fu—eh . . . fouls up, then it's out? Period. You'll be reassigned out of the astronaut corps. Doesn't matter who fouled up, which individual is to blame. Both members of the team will be out on their asses. Is that clear?"

A general mumble of understanding rose from two dozen throats.

"Sir?" Jill Meyers was on her feet. "May I ask a question?"

"Go right ahead. Lieutenant." Murdock smiled toothily at her, as if realizing for the first time that there were women under his command.

"How will these training assignments be made, sir? Will we have any choice in the matter, or will it all be done by the Personnel Office?"