"I'm only saying this because you guys are already so well integrated. I have to work hard to trip you up. You've got three till launch, and you're already in good shape. But I want you in even better shape."

"In other words, guys," said Patrick from his console. "Not so cocky." Bob Kittredge dipped his head in mock humility. "We'll go home now and put on the hair shirts."

"Overconfidence is dangerous," said Hazel. She rose from the chair and stood up to face Kittredge. A veteran of three shuttle flights, Kittredge was half a head taller, and he had the bearing of a naval pilot, which he had once been. Hazel was not intimidated by Kittredge, or by any of her astronauts. Whether were rocket scientists or military heroes, they inspired in her same maternal concern, the wish that they make it back from their missions alive.

She said, "You're so good at command, Bob, you've lulled your crew into thinking it's easy."

"No, they make it look easy. Because they're good."

"We'll see. The integrated sim's on for Tuesday, with Hawley and Higuchi aboard. We'll be pulling some new tricks out of the hat." Kittredge grinned.

"Okay, try to kill us. But be fair about it.

"Fate seldom plays fair," Hazel said solemnly. "Don't expect me to."

Emma and Bob Kittredge sat in a booth in the Fly By Night saloon, sipping beers as they dissected the day's simulations. It was a they'd established eleven months ago, early in their team building, when the four of them had first come together as the crew for shuttle flight 162.

Every Friday evening, they would meet in the Fly By Night, located just up NASA Road 1 from Johnson Space Center, and review the progress of their training. What they'd done right, what still needed improvement.