Kinsman shook his head. "It doesn't matter, Frank. My psychological profile will shoot me down. They won't let me back into space again."

Zipping up and heading for the only sink, Colt said, "You can't let it beat you, man. You can't let it take the life outta you."

Wonderful play on words.

Gesturing Kinsman to the sink ahead of himself, Colt said, "What happened is over and done with. You gotta stop acting . . . well, you know."

Kinsman looked into the mirror above the sink, into the haunted eyes that always stared back at him. "I act sick? Mentally unwell? Disturbed?"

"You act like a goddamned dope," Colt grumbled.

Wiping his hands on the cloth toweling that hung from a wall-mounted fixture. Kinsman said, "Frank, for a minute back there I got excited. I thought maybe Durban was right and this hospital project would make enough new slots for astronauts that I'd get another chance. But we both know better. They won't let me fly again. You, sure. But not me. I'm grounded."

Colt went to the sink as a couple of miners banged 163 through the door and headed for the urinals. A gust of noise and raucous laughter bounced off the tile walls as the door swung shut.

"Listen, man, one thing I've learned about the Air Force—and everything else," Colt said over the splashing water of the sink. "If you take just what they want to give you, you'll get shit every time. You gotta fight for what you want."

Kinsman shook his head. "My family were Quakers, remember?"

Colt was moving to the towel machine when one of the miners jostled him.

"D'ya mind, mate?" Wordlessly Colt stepped away from him, turned, and started wiping his hands on the toweling.

"Bloody foreigners all over th' plyce, ain't they?" said the miner's companion.

Kinsman looked at them for the first time. They were no taller than he or Colt, but they were heavy-boned, big- knuckled, and half drunk.

Colt was wiping his hands very deliberately now, looking at Kinsman with his back to the two miners.

"Bad enough they're tykin' up half th' bloody pits to put their bloody spyce cadets in," said the one at the sink, "but now they're goin' f stink up th' bloody pub."

"An' myke goo-goo eyes at th' girls."

"We oughtta bring in a few bloody chimpanzees t' serve

'em their drinks."

"Foreigners," said the second miner, loudly, even though the washroom was small enough to hear a whisper. "You remember what we did t' those Eye-Tyes back in

Melbourne, Bert?"

"They weren't Eye-Tyes; they were bloody Hungarians."

"Wops, Hunkies, whatever. Treated 'em ryte, din't we?"

"Gave 'em what they deserved."

Kinsman was between Colt and the door. He wanted to tell his friend to leave, to ignore the drunken Aussies and walk out. But he couldn't.