"Resume . . . ? But I thought he was psychologically, er, well . . . unbalanced."

"He was troubled by what happened to him on his last mission, of course. Anyone would be. But in my opinion, he's worked through those troubles and he's ready to go back to active duty."

Murdock's face wrinkled with suspicion. "I don't get it. For five months you shrinks have been working him over without a word of progress. Now all of a sudden you say he's okay?"

Feeling almost as if she should cross her fingers, Marian Campbell answered, "It happens that way sometimes. He's gained the insight he needed to understand what happened to him. He's adjusted to it. He's fit for duty."

"Not under me," Murdock said fervently. "I'm going to transfer him out of here just as soon as he comes marching through my door."

"You can't do that!"

Murdock looked startled. Her voice had boomed.

"I mean," Marian said, trying to tone it down, "that I would recommend he be allowed to continue in the astronaut program. It's what he's trained for and what he enjoys doing."

"That doesn't mean—"

She overrode him. "I understand there's a shortage of trained personnel with his qualifications. It would be against Air Force policy to waste a man of his training and experience in a different slot."

"If he's psychologically fit for such duty," Murdock retorted.

"He is," Marian said.

The Colonel gave her a shrewd stare. It seemed almost ludicrous, his face was so tiny on the phone screen. But still it sent a shiver of apprehension along Marian's spine.

"You are guaranteeing that he's mentally sound?" Mur- dock asked.

Marian Campbell stiffened her back. "There are no guarantees in the medical profession, Colonel. But I will personally draft the report on Captain Kinsman, recommend- ing that he be returned to the duties for which he has been trained."

"That ties my hands if I want to transfer him."

"Unless you transfer him to the NASA program," Mari- an blurted.

Murdock's face took on a knowing leer. "So that's how he worked out his emotional problem. Twisted you around his little finger, didn't he?"

Just to wipe the smirk off his face, Marian made herself smile and say, "It wasn't his little finger, Colonel."

Murdock's face flamed red. He snapped, "Well, then write your report and make your recommendation! I'll handle my own problems my own way." He cut the connection and the phone screen went blank.

Marian leaned back in her chair. Well, old gal, now you've got a reputation for screwing around with your pa- tients. She almost wished it were true.

She hauled the tape recorder out of its drawer and started to dictate her final report on Kinsman. But in the back of her mind she was thinking. What else can you do? Keep him here? That will kill him just as surely as cutting off his oxygen. You've got to let him go.

Over the faint hum of the air-conditioning she thought she heard distant piano music. From the recreation hall. A light, happy piece of Mozart. She listened for several min- utes. No one interrupted the pianist.

So now he can go to the Moon. Maybe he'll find what he needs there. But he won't. He's locked up inside himself. If you let him go, he'll never break free. He'll carry that shell around him forever. You know that. You know it and you're letting him go. He's going to kill himself, one way or the other. Himself, and maybe others besides. And you're letting him go out and do it because you're too weak to keep him here and watch him die one day at a time.

She turned on the tape recorder and watched the cassette slowly turning as she fought back an urge to cry.