you’re pretty. And he is – Well, look at him.’
‘Stop it, boys. I’m his mother, Captain. You really are the captain of the Moonship?
I’m impressed.’
Captain LeCroix sat down with us. I saw that his ‘redeye’ was another tall, dear
drink. He said to me, ‘No need to be impressed; the computer pilot does it all. But
I’m going to: ride her… if I can avoid Bill long enough. Have a chocolate écláir,
Bill.’ ‘
‘Smile when you say that, stranger!’
‘A cheeseburger? A jelly doughnut? A stack of wheats with honey?’
‘Mom, do you sec what that scoundrel is doing? Trying to keep me from dieting just
because he’s scared I might break his arcos. Or his neck.’
‘Why would you do that, Woodrow?’
‘I wouldn’t. But Les thinks I would. He weighs just one hundred and twenty-six
pounds. My best weight, in training, is one forty-five, you may remember. But by
lift-off day and H-hour I have to weigh exactly what he does… because, if he
catches a sniffle or slips in the shower and breaks something, God forbid, I have to
sit there in his place and pretend to pilot. I can’t avoid it; I accepted their
money. And they have a large, ugly man following me around, making sure I don’t run:
‘Don’t believe him, Ma’am. I’m very careful going through doors and I won’t cat
anything I don’t see opened. He intends to disable me at the last minute. Is he
really your son? He can’t, be.’
`I bought him from a Gypsy. Woodrow, what happens if you don’t make the weight?’
‘They slice off one leg, a bit at a time, until I’m down to exactly one twenty-six.
Spacemen don’t need feet.’
‘Woodrow, you always were a naughty boy. You would need feet on the Moon.’
‘One is enough there. One-sixth gravity. Hey, there’s that big, ugly man they got
watching me! He’s coming this way.’
George Strong came over and bowed. ‘Dear lady! I see you have met our Moonship
captain. And our relief pilot, Bill Smith. May I join you?’
`Mom, do you know this character? Did they hire you to watch me, too? Say it ain’t
so!’
`It ain’t so. George, your relief pilot is my son, Woodrow Wilson Smith.’
Later that night George and I had a chance to talk privately and quietly.
‘George, my son tells me that he must get his weight down to one hundred and
twenty-six pounds in order to qualify as relief pilot. Can that be true?’
‘Yes. Quite true.’
‘He hasn’t weighed that little since his junior year in high school. If he did get
his weight down to that and if Captain LeCroix fell ill, I suspect that Woodrow
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would be too weak to do the job. Wouldn’t it make more sense to adjust weights the
way they do with race horses? Add a few lead weights if Captain LeCroix flies; take
them out if the relief pilot must go?’
‘Maureen, you don’t understand.’
I admitted that I did not.
George explained to me just how tight the weight schedule for the ship was. The
Pioneer was stripped down to barest essentials. She carried no radio – only
indispensable navigational instruments. Not even a standard pressure suit- just a
rubber acceleration suit and a helmet. No back pack – just a belt bottle. Open the
door, drop a weighted flag, grab some rocks, get back in.
‘George, this doesn’t sound to me like the way to do it. I won’t tell Woodrow that –
after all, he’s a big boy now’ – assumed age, thirty-five; true age, fifty-three –
‘but I hope Captain LeCroix stays healthy.’
Another of those long waits in which George pondered something unpleasant –
‘Maureen, this is utter, Blue Star secret. I’m not sure anyone is going to fly that
ship.’
‘Trouble?’
‘Sheriff trouble. I don’t know how much longer I can hold off our creditors. And we
haven’t anywhere else to rum. We’ve pawned our overcoat so to speak.’
‘George, lei me see what I can do.’
He agreed to live in my apartment and look after Princess Polly while I was away –