«Well, charge her with being female! I can prove that .»

I didn't say anything. «Dad,» he added wheedlingly, «you know how to write it. 'No personal animus against Miss McNye, but it is felt that as a matter of policy, and so forth and so on.' »

I wrote it and gave it to Hammond privately. Radio techs are sworn to secrecy but it didn't surprise me when I was stopped by O'Connor, one of our best metalsmiths. «Look, Dad, is it true that the Old Man is getting rid of Brooksie?»

«Brooksie?»

«Brooksie McNye – she says to call her Brooks. Is it true?»

I admitted it, then went on, wondering if I should have lied.

It takes four hours, about, for a ship to lift from Earth. The shift before the Pole Star was due, with Miss Gloria's relief, the timekeeper brought me two separation slips. Two men were nothing; we averaged more each ship. An hour later he reached me by supervisors' circuit, and asked me to come to the time office. I was out on the rim, inspecting a weld job; I said no. «Please, Mr. Witherspoon,» he begged, «you've got to.» When one of the boys doesn't call me «Dad,» it means something. I went.

There was a queue like mail call outside his door; I went in and he shut the door on them. He handed me a double handful of separation slips. «What in the great depths of night is this?» I asked.

«There's dozens more I ain't had time to write up yet.»

None of the slips had any reason given – just «own choice.»

«Look, Jimmie – what goes on here?»

«Can't you dope it out, Dad? Shucks, I'm turning in one, too.»

I told him my guess and he admitted it. So I took the slips, called Tiny and told him for the love of Heaven to come to his office.

Tiny chewed his lip considerable. «But, Dad, they can't strike. It's a non-strike contract with bonds from every union concerned.»

«It's no strike, Tiny. You can't stop a man from quitting.»

«They'll pay their own fares back, so help me!»

«Guess again. Most of 'em have worked long enough for the free ride.»

«We'll have to hire others quick, or we'll miss our date.»

«Worse than that, Tiny – we won't finish. By next dark period you won't even have a maintenance crew.»

«I've never had a gang of men quit me. I'll talk to them.»

«No good, Tiny. You're up against something too strong for you.»

»You're against me, Dad?»

«I'm never against you, Tiny.»

He said, «Dad, you think I'm pig-headed, but I'm right. You can't have one woman among several hundred men. It drives 'em nutty.»

I didn't say it affected him the same way; I said, «Is that bad?»

«Of course. I can't let the job be ruined to humor one woman.»

«Tiny, have you looked at the progress charts lately?»

«I've hardly had time to – what about them?»

I knew why he hadn't had time. «You'll have trouble proving Miss Gloria interfered with the job. We're ahead of schedule.»

«We are ?»

While he was studying the charts I put an arm around his shoulder. «Look, son,» I said, «sex has been around our planet a long time. Earthside, they never get away from it, yet some pretty big jobs get built anyhow. Maybe we'll just have to learn to live with it here, too. Matter of fact, you had the answer a minute ago.»

«I did? I sure didn't know it.»

«You said, 'You can't have one woman among several hundred men.' Get me?»

«Huh? No, I don't. Wait a minute! Maybe I do.»

«Ever tried jiu jitsu? Sometimes you win by relaxing.»

«Yes. Yes!»

«When you can't beat 'em, you jine 'em.»

He buzzed the radio shack. «Have Hammond relieve you, McNye, and come to my office.»

He did it handsomely, stood up and made a speech – he'd been wrong, taken him a long time to see it, hoped there were no hard feelings, etc. He was instructing the home office to see how many jobs could be filled at once with female help. «Don't forget married couples,» I put in mildly, «and better ask for some older women, too.»

«I'll do that,» Tiny agreed. «Have I missed anything, Dad?»

«Guess not. We'll have to rig quarters, but there's time.»

«Okay. I'm telling them to hold the Pole Star , Gloria, so they can send us a few this trip.»

«That's fine!» She looked really happy.

He chewed his lip. «I've a feeling I've missed something. Hmm – I've got it. Dad, tell them to send up a chaplain for the Station, as soon as possible. Under the new policy we may need one anytime.» I thought so, too.

Just as they were leaving the telephone called his name. «Don't answer it,» she pleaded. «We'll miss the curtain.»

«Who is it?» he called out. The viewplate lighted; he recognized Olga Pierce, and behind her the Colorado Springs office of Trans-Lunar Transit.

«Calling Mr. Pemberton. Calling – Oh, it's you, Jake. You're on. Flight 27, Supra-New York to Space Terminal. I'll have a copter pick you up in twenty minutes.»

«How come?» he protested. «I'm fourth down on the call board.»

«You were fourth down. Now you are standby pilot to Hicks – and he just got a psycho downcheck.»

«Hicks got psychoed? That's silly!»

«Happens to the best, chum. Be ready. 'Bye now.»

His wife was twisting sixteen dollars worth of lace handkerchief to a shapeless mass. «Jake, this is ridiculous. For three months I haven't seen enough of you to know what you look like.»

«Sorry, kid. Take Helen to the show.»

«Oh, Jake, I don't care about the show; I wanted to get you where they couldn't reach you for once.»

«They would have called me at the theater.»

«Oh, no! I wiped out the record you'd left.»

«Phyllis! Are you trying to get me fired?»

«Don't look at me that way.» She waited, hoping that he would speak, regretting the side issue, and wondering how to tell him that her own fretfulness was caused, not by disappointment, but by gnawing worry for his safety every time he went out into space.

She went on desperately, «You don't have to take this flight, darling; you've been on Earth less than the time limit. Please, Jake!»

He was peeling off his tux. «I've told you a thousand times: a pilot doesn't get a regular run by playing space-lawyer with the rule book. Wiping out my follow-up message – why did you do it, Phyllis? Trying to ground me?»

«No, darling, but I thought just this once – »

«When they offer me a flight I take it.» He walked stiffly out of the room.

He came back ten minutes later, dressed for space and apparently in good humor; he was whistling: « – the caller called Casey at ha' past four; he kissed his – « He broke off when he saw her face, and set his mouth, «Where's my coverall?»

«I'll get it. Let me fix you something to eat.»

«You know I can't take high acceleration on a full stomach. And why lose thirty bucks to lift another pound?»

Dressed as he was, in shorts, singlet, sandals, and pocket belt, he was already good for about minus-fifty pounds in weight bonus; she started to tell him the weight penalty on a sandwich and a cup of coffee did not matter to them, but it was just one more possible cause for misunderstanding.

Neither of them said much until the taxicab clumped on the roof. He kissed her goodbye and told her not to come outside. She obeyed – until she heard the helicopter take off. Then she climbed to the roof and watched it out of sight.

The traveling-public gripes at the lack of direct Earth-to-Moon service, but it takes three types of rocket ships and two space-station changes to make a fiddling quarter-million-mile jump for a good reason: Money.

The Commerce Commission has set the charges for the present three-stage lift from here to the Moon at thirty dollars a pound. Would direct service be cheaper? – a ship designed to blast off from Earth, make an airless landing on the Moon, return and make an atmosphere landing, would be so cluttered up with heavy special equipment used only once in the trip that it could not show a profit at a thousand dollars a pound! Imagine combining a ferry boat, a subway train, and an express elevator —