IN THE COOL shadows of the Astro Motel's bar, Major Joseph Tenny did indeed look like a slightly overage linebacker for the Pittsburgh Steelers. Swarthy, barrel-shaped, his scowling face clamped on a smoldering cigar, Tenny in his casual civilian sports shirt and slacks hardly gave the appearance of that rarest of all birds: a good engineer who is also a good military officer.
"Afternoon, Major."
Tenny turned on his stool to see old Cy Calder, the dean of the press service reporters covering Vandenberg and Edwards Air Force bases, where the fledgling Air Force astronaut corps trained and worked.
"Hi!" said Tenny. "Whatcha drinking?"
"I am working," Calder answered with dignity. But he settled his tall, spare frame on the next stool. He reminded Tenny of the ancient bristlecone pine trees out in the high desert: so old that nobody knew their true age, gnarled and weathered, yet still vital and clinging to life. 69
"Double scotch," Tenny called to the bartender. "No ice. And refill mine."
"An officer and a gentleman," murmured Calder. His voice was dry and creaking, like an iron gate on rusted hinges, his face seamed with age.
As the bartender slid the drinks down to them, Tenny said, "You wanna know who got the assignment."
"I told you I'm working."
Tenny grinned. "Keep your mouth shut till tomorrow? Murdock's gonna make the official announcement at his weekly press conference."
"If you can save me the tedium of listening to the chubby Colonel recite once more how the peace-loving Air Force is not militarizing space before he gives us the one piece of information we want to hear, I shall buy the next round, shine your shoes for a month, and arrange to lose an occasional poker pot to you."
"The hell you will!"
Calder shrugged. Tenny took a long pull on his beer.
"No leaks ahead of time? Promise?"
Calder sipped at his drink, then said, "On my word as an ex-officer, former gentleman, and fugitive from Social Secu- rity."
"Okay. But keep it quiet until Murdock's announce- ment. It's gonna be Kinsman."
Calder put his glass down on the bar carefully. "Chester A. Kinsman, the pride of the Air Force? That's hard to believe."
"Murdock okayed it."
"I know this mission is strictly for publicity," Calder said, "but Kinsman? In orbit for three days with Celebrity maga- zine's prettiest female? Does Murdock want publicity or a paternity suit?"
"Come on, Kinsman's okay."
"Really? From the stories I hear about him, he's cut a swath right across the Los Angeles basin and has been working his way up toward the Bay Area."
Tenny countered, "He's young and good-looking. The girls haven't had many unattached astronauts to play with. NASA's gang is a bunch of old farts compared to our kids. And Kinsman's one of the best of them, no fooling." 70
"Wasn't he going around with that folksinger . . . what's her name? Diane Lawrence, wasn't it?"
"Yeah, while she was out here. But lemme tell you about what he did over at Edwards. Him and Frank Colt have built a biplane, an honest-to-god replica of an old Spad fighter. From the wheels up. He's a solid citizen."
"And I hear he's been playing the Red Baron with it. Is it true he buzzed Colonel Murdock's helicopter?"
