the mother of one of the crewmen of the First Centaunis
expedition; by ordinary standards she was in no shape to
stand a trip through space, and surely she would be no help
to anybody when she arrived. She was followed by a striking
brunette girl in close-fitting, close-cut leotards, with a figure
like a dancer. She might have been anywhere between 21 and
41 years old; she wore no ring, and the hard set of her other-
wise lovely face did not suggest that she was anybody’s wife.
Oddly, she also looked familiar. Arpe nudged Oestreicher
and nodded toward her.
“Celia Gospardi,” Oestreicher said out of the corner of his
mouth. “Three-V comedienne. You’ve seen her, sir, I’m sure.”
And so he had; but he would never have recognized her,
for she was not smiling. Her presence here defied any ex-
planation he could imagine.
“Screened, or not, there’s something irregular about this,”
Arpe said in a low voice. “Obviously there’s been a slip in
the interviewing. Maybe we can turn some of this lot back.”
Oestreicher shrugged. “It’s your ship, sir,” he said. “I
advise against it, however.”
Arpe scarcely heard him. If some of these passengers were
really as unqualified as they looked . . . and there would be
no time to send up replacements . . . At random, he started
with the little girl’s mother.
“Excuse me, ma’am . . .”
The girl turned with surprise, and then with pleasure.
“Yes, Captain!”
“Uh, it occurs to me that there may have been, uh, an
error. The Flyaway 11’s passengers are strictly restricted to
technical colonists and to, uh, legal relatives of the First