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bit interested. The worst of it was that the more difficult she was to conquer, the more the Frenchman would enjoy the chase.
    With that gloomy thought in mind Charley Pine floated down the passage toward the head.
    “Jean-Paul Lalouette said you are rich. Is it true?” The person asking was Claudine Courbet, an engineer on her way to the lunar base for a six-month stay. She and Charley Pine shared a tiny cabin. Neither had any say in the pairing since they were the only women on the flight.
    Since Claudine asked the question in French, Charley had to translate the question in her head, then think of an appropriate response. “Oui, ” she said, not knowing enough of the language to deflect the question.
    “Some people think that explains it.”
    “What? Explains what?”
    “Why you are here. Did you or your family agree to pay money so you could be on the crew?”
    “No.”
    “Someone said you probably did after they heard Jean-Paul’s story. Pierre has invested his fortune in this project. Some say he is down to his last euro. That’s why he sold a round-trip to the American. Still, he’ll never get the money back.”
    “Easy come, easy go,” Charley Pine said.
    “On the other hand, some people said you are Artois’ next girlfriend,” Claudine confided, then hurried to add, “but I do not think that. He has a girlfriend, an extremely rich one—her grandfather is one of those Italian car people. She is very pretty even though her breasts are not real.”
    “The curse of the store-bought tits,” Charley murmured in English. “I thought he was married?”
    “Oh, yes. Julie Artois. But men like Pierre also have women friends. It is expected.”
    “I see,” said Charley Pine, who didn’t. The thought of being some married man’s mistress left her cold. She began the process of zipping herself into her hammock so that she could sleep. This was the first time she had tried it in the weightless environment, and she was finding it a serious chore. When she was in training, the French had told her all tasks in weightless environments took more time and effort. “How do you say ‘damn’ in French?” she asked Claudine.
    Her roommate ignored that comment. “Pierre was under extreme pressure to include a European in the flying crews or lunar team,” she continued earnestly. “For political reasons, you understand. The European Union and all that. He refused to be pressured, but he had to do something since the government is investing so much in the lunar project. He would have been wise to hire a European scientist long ago and be done with it, but he did not wish to chance a breach in security. I think he recruited you to silence his critics in the government.”
    “Those pesky critics,” Charley replied. She managed to tug the zipper home and sighed in relief. She had hated sleeping bags since her camping days as a preteen. Just when you finally get zipped in, you have to go to the bathroom. Thank God she remembered to go before she started this evolution.
    Before Claudine could get started on another juicy tidbit, Charley asked, “How do you like your first spaceflight?”
    That got Claudine revved up. Her husband refused to allow her to go, but she signed up anyway. This was the adventure of a lifetime; the view of the earth from space was fantastic; she had dreamed of standing on the moon looking at earth all her life, ever since she saw those photos of the Apollo crews as a child; she would just get another husband when she returned to earth. She was still chattering away when Charley drifted off to sleep.
    Charley Pine awoke when Claudine Courbet closed the compartment door behind her as she left. Charley lay floating weightless in her hammock for a few minutes trying to get back to sleep. It was a lost cause.
    She examined the compartment thoughtfully. It was not large; every cubic inch was utilized in some manner. Color-coded pipes and conduits ran through the room against the wall that was