"Oh, sure. All right, I'll take a sidearm and twenty rounds of soft-nosed ammo. Give me another one."
And so we went on. When we first started rehearsing each other what we usually said at a point like that was either, "Well, I won't have to worry, because you'll be there with me anyway," or "Kiss me, you fool." But we'd kind of stopped saying that.
In spite of it all, we graduated. All of us.
We gave ourselves a graduation party, Sheri and me, and all four of the Forehands, and the others who had come up from Earth with us and the six or seven who had appeared from one place or another. We didn't invite any outsiders, but our teachers weren't outsiders. They all showed up to wish us well. Klara came in late, drank a quick drink, kissed us all, male and female, even the Finnish kid with the language block who'd had to take all his instruction on tapes. He was going to have a problem. They have instruction tapes for every language you ever heard of, and if they don't happen to have your exact dialect they run a set through the translating computer from the nearest analogue. That's enough to get you through the course, but after that the problem starts. You can't reasonably expect to be accepted by a crew that can't talk to you. His block kept him from learning any other language, and there was not a living soul on Gateway who spoke Finnish.
We took over the tunnel three doors in each direction past our own, Sheri's, the Forehands' and mine. We danced and sang until it was late enough for some of us to begin to drop off, and then we dialed in the list of open launches on the PV screen. Full of beer and weed, we cut cards for first pick and I won.
Something happened inside my head. I didn't sober up, really. That wasn't it. I was still feeling cheerful and sort of warm all over and open to all personality signals that were coming in. But a part of my mind opened up and a pair of clear-seeing eyes peered out at the future and made a judgment. "Well," I said, "I guess I'll pass my chance right now. Sess, you're number two; you take your pick."
"Thirty-one-oh-nine," he said promptly; all the Forehands had…
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Classifieds.
GILLETTE, RONALD C., departed Gateway sometime in last year. Anyone having information present whereabouts please inform wife, Annabelle, do Canadian Legation, Tharsis, Mars. Reward.
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…made up their minds in family meeting, long since. "Thanks, Rob."
I gave him a carefree, drunken wave. He didn't really owe me anything. That was a One, and I wouldn't have taken a One for any price. For that matter, there wasn't anything on the board I liked. I grinned at Klara and winked; she looked serious for a minute, then winked back, but still looked serious. I knew she realized what I had come to understand: all these launches were rejects. The best ones had been snapped up as soon as they were announced by returnees and permanent-party.