"Yes, of course." Her voice was a cool, controlled contralto.

"I have to guess?"

"It's a game I play. You guess my name and I'll guess yours."

Why are women all crazy? Kinsman asked himself. Why can't they just be straightforward and honest?

"Well, let's see, now." He took a sip of wine. "With that last name and your red hair, I'll bet you get kidded a lot about Scarlett O'Hara. Is that why you're sensitive about your name?"

She smiled at him and nodded. It was a good smile that made her eyes sparkle. "And there was a movie star," she said, "years ago, named Maureen O'Hara. I get that a lot, too."

"But your name isn't that, either. It's something more down to earth."

"Plain as any name can be."

Kinsman laughed. "Well, then, it's either George M. Cohan or Mary."

"It's not George M." Kinsman sang softly, "But it was Mary, Ma-ary . . ." He lifted his plastic cup to her. "Pleased to meet you, Mary

O'Hara."

"Pleased to meet you, Chester A. Kinsman." Now let's see how long it takes you to figure out that I was named after one of the great political disgraces of the

Grand Old Party.

But an angry voice cut across everyone's conversation. "I don't give a shit who they team with me! I left my paper blank."

Frank Colt. Kinsman saw him standing at the pool's edge, silhouetted against the Moon-bright sky. Like most of the others, Colt was wearing off-duty fatigues. But on him they looked like a dress uniform, perfectly fitted, creased to a knife edge.

All other talk stopped. Colt was glaring at one of the trainees from another squad, a stranger to Kinsman, a lanky rawboned kid with light hair, bony face, big fists.

"We already heard about you," the kid was saying in a flat Midwestern twang. "Top scores in the simulator. Best record in the group. Think you're pretty hot stuff, dontcha?"

"I do my job, man. I do the best I can. I'm not here to goof around, like some of you dudes. This isn't a game we're playing. It's life and death."

"Aw, don't be such a pain in the ass' You just think you're better'n anybody else."

"Maybe I do. Maybe I am."

Kinsman glanced over at Major Tenny, sitting on a folding chair a few yards away. Tenny was watching the argument, like everybody else. He was frowning, but he made no move to break it up.

"Yeah?" the other lieutenant answered. "Know what I think? I think they're givin' you all the high scores b'cause you're black and nobody wants a bunch of civil rights lawyers comin' down here pissin' and cryin' b'cause we flunked out our token . , ."

Colt's hand flicked out and grabbed the kid by the jaw, distorting his face into a ridiculous imitation of a fish: mouth pried open, eyes popping.

"Don't say it, man." Colt's voice was murderously controlled. "Call me black, call me dumb, call me anything you want. But if you say 'nigger' to me I'll break your ass."

Tenny was hauling himself out of the chair now. But too late. Colt released the kid's jaw. The lieutenant took a short step forward and swung at Colt, who simply ducked under the wild haymaker and gave a quick push. The lieutenant spun into the pool with a loud splash.