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“Something wrong?” she said,not able to keep from saying it, not even able now to keep the anxiety out of her voice.
    â€œOh, yeah.” He sounded as if she had ruined his evening. “Thanks for calling.” She could hear papers moving, an insect sound. He had her file next to the phone! “Your orders have been changed.”
    It made no sense to her. Then it made only trivial sense—the reporting date had been changed, or the time. Or she should go to a different office. But a warning voice was murmuring, Just like Alan, just like Alan—
    â€œYour orders have been changed from Houston,” he said. He was going slowly, but she said, her voice steely now, “Give it to me.”
    â€œThe Houston orders were changed, I don’t have the reason here—now don’t shoot the messenger, okay, Commander—”
    â€œCut the crap. What are you trying to tell me?”
    She heard a sigh, then words spoken to somebody on his end, something like I’ll be there in a minute. Then he said, “The orders to the space program have been canceled. You have a new set of orders to a command in West Virginia. The, uh—Inter-Service Word Processing Training Center. As XO. Look, I had nothing to do with this; I just got a priority message—”
    She stopped listening.
    Her life stopped.
    She wasn’t going to astronaut training .
    But why?
    They had loved her in Houston. Her fitreps were great. Her physicals were perfect—the doctor’s own word, “perfect,” “You’re a perfect type for space.” She was perfect for space from the Navy’s PR viewpoint, too—combat experience, a mother, attractive.
    The detailer was asking her a question. Fax—did she have a fax?
    â€œNo. No, they don’t have a fax here.” Her voice surprised her with its steadiness.
    â€œWell, get a fax number there someplace so I can send you the orders. The reporting date’s been put back, so you’ve got a couple of weeks to, you know, adjust things.”
    Adjust things? That did it!
    â€œLike my household goods, which are all on the way to Houston?” She was angry now—her one great failing. Was that it, they’d washed her out because she got angry? “I just bought a fucking house in Houston, and my household goods are going there, and I’ve got two kids and a dog and nowhere to live!”
    â€œLook, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, this isn’t my doing—!”
    â€œWell, who the fuck’s doing is it?”
    â€œI don’t know. This came from CNO’s office.”
    What the hell did the Chief of Naval Operations care about her astronaut training? Jesus Christ! Just like Alan, and they didn’t explain to him, either—
    â€œThis isn’t fair. I want to appeal. This isn’t the way the Navy does things! Goddamit, I’ve followed the rules; I believe in the system; they can’t just—just—They’ve ruined my fucking career!”
    He spent a minute or two talking her down, and the anger ebbed, turned into that steely calm again. Her mind was racing on, however, leapfrogging over anger and fear and hatred of the Navy, already seeking explanations, because there had to be an explanation, and when she found what it was, blood was going to flow.
    â€œOkay,” she said. “Don’t jerk me around. I want answers.”
    â€œAbsolutely.” He wasn’t a bad guy. He knew that something, somebody, had decided to destroy her.
    She turned the phone off, then back on, and tried to call Alan at the BOQ at Aviano, but he wasn’t there. Already on his way to Trieste, she thought, kicking ass as he went. Just as well—he had enough problems already.
    She put the phone away and slammed the tailgate and stood there. It was so dark now that she hardly noticed her father at the corner of the car. How long had he been there?
    â€œRosie—what’re they