“Those damn coloring books. It’s like learning to drive a car in a classroom,” she growled. She took another mouthful of Coke and rested the chilled, dew-coated can against her chest.

Ben, lying back in her bed, laughed and lifted his own drink, a Budweiser. “Well, if you’re sick of the classroom, grab time in the simulators.”

“Christ, Ben, we can’t get near the sims. That’s another problem. They’re too damn full of astronauts. I mean real astronauts,” she said bitterly. “Dumb fighter jocks like you, who are really getting to fly.”

“Never mind that. Find time anyway.”

“The sims are booked until 3 A.M!”

He looked impatient. He pulled a sheet up over his flat stomach. “Then come in at 3 A.M. What do you want, Natalie? Nobody said it was going to be easy. You’ve got to get ahead by getting ahead around here. Put yourself out. Make them notice you. Bang on Chuck Jones’s door, demanding assignments.”

She grunted. “It’s a damn stupid way to run a space program.”

“Maybe so, but it’s our way.”

Lying there, he looked oddly restless, though she wasn’t sure how she could tell. She knew he was going to have to go back to JSC later that evening. But she felt a need to keep him here, to keep talking. She was imposing on him, but Ben was the only intimate York had out there.

In fact, since the Three Mile Island thing a few weeks ago, she’d even lost touch with some of her friends back at Berkeley; they’d decided it was immoral of her to keep on working in a “big technology” program that was going to fly nuclear materials into orbit, for God’s sake.

Without Ben to beat up about all the problems she was having inside the program, she suspected she’d go quickly crazy.

“Anyway,” he said, “how’s Mike?”

She looked away. “I don’t know. Busy. Wound up like a watch spring.” She hesitated. “Now you tell me how Karen is.”

He winced. “I didn’t deserve that.”

“…I guess not. I’m sorry.”

He grunted. “Me, too.”

She gripped her Coke can, trying to force herself to focus on the issue. We can talk about Mars and culture clashes at NASA, but we always skirt around us. “I don’t know whether Mike wants me to follow my career here or not.”

“Would it make a difference?”

No. Not anymore. She couldn’t bring herself to say it.

Priest drained his beer. “I think you’re kind of making your choice, Natalie. And maybe Mike is, too. It’s a pity. I love you both. But I guess we’re not all cut out to bake bread and raise kids.”

“Probably not. You neither, huh.”

He looked defensive. “What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing. I’m sorry, Ben.”