But now I’m applying to become one of these people. My God. Will people look at me the same way? How the hell will I cope with that?

Joe Muldoon guided her to her seat, a chair stuck in the middle of the room.

There were hardly any books in the “library.” On the wall behind her chair was a row of photographs: portraits of dead astronauts, Russian and American. Jesus. Put me at my ease, why don’t you. There was a big TV running in the corner, the sound turned down low. It ran a continuous feed from the crew up in orbit in Skylab A; the split screen showed a shot of the Earth, taken from Skylab, and Mission Control ground track displays. Occasionally she heard the controlled murmur of the air-to-ground loop.

The panel was seven people: seven white males behind a long oaken desk. Many of the faces were familiar to her from TV and newspaper coverage of the space program: astronauts, senior NASA science managers, administrators.

And there at the center of the table — she recognized with a sinking heart — was Chuck Jones. He nodded at her, dark and squat, his graying black hair a fine bristle.

Christ. Chuck Jones. She hadn’t seen him since Jorge Romero’s ghastly field trip in the San Gabriel Mountains, all those years ago. She wondered if Jones remembered her.

Jones rapped on the table and called the group to order. “Thanks for coming in, Natalie. We’ve all seen your application, and it’s very impressive.”

“Thank you.”

“So we can skip all of the stuff you’ve covered before. Now we want you to tell us about your scientific studies, and how they are going to help us get to Mars. In your own time.”

Suddenly, her mouth was dry as the sands of Jackass Flats. What a question. It was so loaded.

Slowly, she began her answer.

She summarized the main thrust of her work, the geological surveys based on Mariner data, and how she’d helped formulate a hypothesis that maybe Mars had once had surface water, in liquid form, and maybe that water was still there, under the oxidized soil. And how, if the first crew could find incontrovertible evidence of that water, it would all but assure the continuation of the exploration of Mars. Find water, and there will be lots more flights, guys. Seats for you all. But you need me to find the water.

Chuck Jones was staring at her. She was sure he remembered her from that field trip.