But the dream of Mars was a kind of adolescent fantasy, she was starting to tell herself, something she was going to have to grow out of at last. She felt vaguely ashamed of playing the crass games of the selection panel. And it was surely true that she could achieve far more — even in terms of Mars studies — on Earth, rather than waste a decade of her life on the vain hope of getting a spaceflight.

It was time to be mature.

The last thing she needed was a siren voice like Romero.

But he was still talking. “Of the geologists, you came closest to passing, Natalie. There were no women in the final cut either. My God, what do those guys in Houston think they’re doing? It isn’t a goddamn boys’ flying club. I don’t want to give up. I want to appeal this decision, challenge them.”

“I don’t know, Jorge…”

On and on. But she didn’t hang up.

And, eventually, she agreed that Jorge could put her name forward again.

Romero pulled in a lot of favors. She suspected he’d even spoken to Ben Priest.

She had to fly back to San Antonio, and undergo some of the tests again. Romero brought in senior aerospace physicians, the best in the country, to look over her case. This time the tests were even harder to bear, so tense did she feel about the whole situation.

She went along with it all. She went through the motions of the tests and reviews, as if numb; she figured she must be in some kind of state of denial.

In the meantime she tried to make plans for the rest of her life, on Earth. And she tried, unsuccessfully, to figure out some way to talk to Mike.

A month after the revised medical reviews, the phone rang. When York picked it up, she recognized Chuck Jones’s voice.

“Natalie?”

Her breath caught in her throat.

It had been an ordinary day, one among thousands, soon to recede from her short-term memory and become lost in the blur of time; she realized that whatever Jones said, she would remember that day as long as she lived.

“Yes. York.”

Jones said bluntly: “The new medico stuff is fine. How would you like to come fly for us?”

My God.

“Natalie? Are you there?”

“Uh, yes, I’m here.”

“Are you going to accept?”

…Is that it? But what about all the normal things that come with a job offer? Salary, reporting date, duties? What about the pension plan, for Christ’s sake? Am I just supposed to leap in gratefully, blindfolded?

“Well, I guess there’s a 99 percent chance I’ll accept.”

There was a long silence. When Jones came back his voice was stern. “We need a yes or no, Natalie. What’s with these shades of gray?”