"She's not a Communist, for Chrissakes."
"Worse, then. A liberal." But McGrath was grinning.
"See if you can help her."
"I'm a married man, kid," said McGrath.
Kinsman frowned at him. "I'm not asking you to get involved with her. But she's got a marvelous voice, Neal. Maybe somebody in the family can get her a break, some bookings ..."
"Going to reform her, eh? Make her rich and turn her into a capitalist."
"Yeah. Why not?" Kinsman studied McGrath's face. He was smirking. You just don't understand, Neal.
Later that afternoon, thirty thousand feet above the
Sacramento Valley with the sun at their backs, Kinsman felt the cares and fears of the Earth below easing out of his tense body.
"How'd you enjoy Frisco?" the pilot asked. "I didn't see much of it/' Kinsman said into his radio microphone.
"Didn't stay very long."
"Neither did you."
The pilot's voice in his earphones broke into a self- satisfied chuckle. "Long enough, pal. Overnight is plenty long enough if you know what you're doing."
Kinsman nodded inside his helmet.
They climbed higher. Kinsman watched the westering sun throw long shadows across the rugged Sierra peaks.
"Sir?" he asked, after a long thoughtful silence. "Do you honestly think that astronaut training would turn a man into a robot?"
He could see the featureless white curve of the pilot's helmet over the back of the seat. There was nothing human about it.
"Listen, son, all military training is aimed at turning you into a robot. That's what it's all about. You think a normal human being would rush toward guys who're shooting at him?"
"But . . ."
"Just don't let 'em get inside you," the pilot said, his languid drawl becoming more intense, almost passionate. "Hold on to yourself. The main thing is to get up here, away from 'em. Get flying. Up here they cain't really touch you. Up here you're free."
