The answer to some questions, before getting down to business. (And maybe Five has done him some good.)

39

Endurance-

At current speed and orientation, the next course adjustment wasn't due for another five hours, when two more burns and a roll would put them in orbit.

There being some time to kill (though not a great deal), helmets and gloves were removed, and a hurried meal was cobbled together. Food bars, lemonade and the last bag of dehydrated peaches were shared around, while Pete replayed the newscasts from Earth.

A great deal had happened in 32 days, most of which Pete and Linda already knew about. Roger, Cho and John still needed catching up, though. Their reactions to the Unity Complex disaster were varied. Dr. Kim was relieved that so many people had been saved, but concerned that the perpetrators had yet to be caught, or even clearly identified. Roger was both glad to see the Vice President and Marine Honor Guard, and deeply grieved that President Moreira had perished. John had to read between the lines for his news. He watched the replay of Cindy Taylor's broadcast and her interview with Lady Murasaki very closely, gathering therefrom that his brothers were safe, and 'off the hook'. He was still concerned, though, and quite unable to express it. Here, at least.

After this, everyone took turns visiting the latrine (a complicated process; nothing was simple in microgravity, or quick), three waiting in line while someone else manned the cockpit.

It happened that John was on the flight deck, monitoring telemetry and watching the changing face of Mars, when Roger floated in, looking like he wanted to talk. The pilot didn't mind. He was still rather weak and nauseous, so distractions were actually welcome.

The Marine pulled himself down into the commander's seat, strapped in and said, apropos of nothing,

"John, do you think there's such a thing as real love?"

Ill-equipped for this sort of thing, the pilot shrugged.

"I don't know... serious attraction, maybe."

But, Roger shook his head, frowning. He had a pencil which he kept spinning in mid-air, giving one end a light tap every time it showed signs of slowing down, or drifting off.

"No, AO', it's more than that. I'm not gonna lie. I'm a friendly guy; I've gotten around. A lot. I'm a Marine, and I like women. But, she's different. She's..."

And Roger held his two hands together, sort of cupped, as though he were holding something precious, and incredibly fragile.

"It's like I keep hearing this voice in my head saying, 'Big Guy, make your move, before somebody else does'. You know what I mean?"

John thought about Penelope, and realized that, no, he didn't. What he'd glimpsed when Roger and Cho held hands in the medlab, when they stole the odd moment to whisper together, or she'd rushed tokiss the Marine's cheek, in front of everyone... he'd never really experienced.

"Not really," he admitted quietly, "but... I'm glad if things are working out for the two of you."

The Marine stopped spinning his pencil, and put it away.

"Maybe. I've got a weird feeling about the future, though. I'm not scared! It's just a gut-thing, a feeling, and I want to make her an offer, quick... only I don't have a small enough ring."

Well, that he could do something about. A little unorthodox, perhaps, but...

Twisting the Princeton class ring off his finger, John flipped it at his startled friend.

"Here. You might still need to wrap tape around the back, but it'll do, for now."

Roger fielded the sparkling gold circle, snatching it from the air in his big right hand. It hovered above his calloused brown palm, reflecting in miniature the cockpit lights. At the front was a flat square of polished onyx, around which 'Princeton University' was inscribed. There was a date on one side, a degree on the other.

Thorpe looked up from the ring, to John. He didn't grin, or even smile, but said with dignity.

"I won't forget this. Ever."

Then Pete bellowed from the habitation module,

"Tracy, you're up! Get out here and make it happen! I want nothing but clean pipes on the way in!"

Great. Showtime, so to speak. As John was unstrapping to rise, the Marine said,

"When you see her, send her this way, would you, John? And, uh... wish me luck?"

John smiled.

"Roger, I think if it's real," (like Grandma and Grandad) "you don't need luck. How about, 'congratulations'?"

So, John went aft to meet his preflight obligations (once again, 'so to speak'), greeting Dr. Kim on the way, and indicating with a swift jerk of his blond head that someone up front very much wanted to see her.

Cho delayed him with a small hand against the sleeve of his survival suit. Her slanted dark eyes seemed very large in the small, fine-boned oval of her face. She looked as if she didn't know quite what to ask.

(Oh, well. It wasn't like he was all that motivated, anyway, despite the mission commander's impatient prodding.) He said, reassuringly,

"Don't worry. Nothing's wrong. He just wants to ask a question."

But Dr. Kim was nothing, if not observant. The class ring was missing from John's right hand. In and of itself, a minor detail (one that hadn't even existed, prior to the shift in realities), but vital, now.

Cho had been raised very traditionally. Time and dramatic events had swept her along willy-nilly, but now something shone in her path as bright and permanent as gold, and she had 30 feet to make a decision. She gave the pilot a quick, nervous embrace, saying,

"Thank you, John. I will go and speak with him."

John thought of something, then.

"I don't know exactly what he's going to say, Cho," (her name, 'Kim Cho', meant 'beautiful gold' in Korean. It suited her well.) "He might have trouble getting it out..., but you mean a lot to him."

Well, that certainly sounded lame. It seemed that he could no more talk about emotions than he could sort them out.

"Tracy!" McCord, again, from the next compartment. "There's a window of opportunity here, Pal, after which you're going to be holding it, for the next six hours."

John considered the first 51 prime numbers (his version of counting to ten), then squared and added them, for good measure.

"Coming, Pete."

Dr. Kim took his hands, and gave them a little squeeze, then stifled a sudden giggle.

"Beg pardon?" John asked, cautiously.

"He said to me, 'hope everything comes out all right, in the end'. I pass on the good wishes."

Then there were the Heegner Numbers, good for another 10 seconds of calming contemplation...

A few moments later, mind made up, Cho launched herself into the flight deck. She was very wide-eyed as Roger took her hand, and pressed the substitute ring into it.

Clearing his throat, he said,

"I just wondered, Pretty Lady, if you'd like to join the Marines..., or one of them, anyway?"

By way of response, Cho slipped on the class ring, then said 'yes', in Korean and English, both.