"Are you sore at me?"
Still not looking at her, "No. Why should I be sore at you?"
"Welt, maybe not angry, but . . ."
"Feeling put down?"
"Yes. Hurt. Something like that."
He punched in the final commands for the computer, then turned to face her. "Linda, I haven't had the time to figure out what I feel. You're a complicated woman, maybe too complicated for me. Life's got enough twists to it."
Her mouth drooped a little.
"On the other hand," he grinned, "we WASPs ought to stick together. Not many of us left."
That brought a faint smile. "But I'm not a WASP. My real name's Szymanski. I changed it when I started model- ing."
"Another complication."
She was about to reply when the radio speaker crackled, 97
"AF-9, this is Cheyenne. Cheyenne to AF-9."
Kinsman leaned over and thumbed the transmitter switch. "AF-9 to Cheyenne. You're coming through faint but clear."
"Roger Nine. We're receiving your telemetry. All sys- tems look good from here."
"On-board systems check also green/' Kinsman said. "Mission profile nominal. No excursions. Tasks about ninety- five percent complete."
"Roger. Vandenberg suggests you begin checking out your spacecraft on the next orbit. You are scheduled for re-entry in ten hours."
"Right. Will do."
"Okay, Chet. Everything looks cool from here. Any- thing else to report, ol' Founding Father?"
"Mind your own business." He snapped the transmitter off.
Linda was grinning at him.
