"Yeah," she answered. "Luckily for me."

"It wasn't a fluke, and it wasn't luck."

Kit stared at me.

"How many people left your team while you were training?"

"A couple."

"Four?"

"Maybe."

"What were their spots on the team?"

She frowned at me.

"What do you mean?"

"Did you change commanders? Payload specialists? Was it different spots, or was it one spot in particular?"

She shook her head and glared at me. I was just doing my job. I'd been a space geek as a kid, growing up in Cocoa Beach near where the spaceships were launched. I'd studied hard in school, but learned that my less-than-perfect eyesight would keep me out of the space program. I settled instead for writing novels about space travel, and reporting on NASA for a string of local papers across Florida and the South.

"I'm going to ask you a stupid question," I said to her. "Did any of the guys on your flight crews ever hit on you?"

"Once or twice."