"Psychometrics. Got a doctorate in it. I thought it might be valuable to
the Air Force--at one time." She sipped two CCs.
"I've a little syk background," Grant said. She looked up in sudden
interest. "Started to major in it until I ran up against some of the
profs. If this is what syk produces, I decided, it's not for me. Changed
to engineering then. Unfortunately, the general knows about my record."
"How did he take it out on you, parade duty?"
"Worse. He made me an aide."
The girl leaned on an elbow and regarded him with her chin in her hand.
"You bring his slippers?"
"As G-2, I did up until quarter of an hour ago. I've been promoted. Meet
the Base Mojave Syk Coördinator."
Putting her nose in her drink, she giggled softly. "What is it he wants
coördinated, the syk or me?"
"You're on bearing," he laughed. "My name's Grant."
His hand went across the table, opened, and waited.
"Bridget," she said, and her hand fell into his in a handshake which
lingered slightly.
* * * * *
At Grant's insistence they jeep-toured the base. To his surprise Bridget
took interest in the installations, but asked most of her questions
around the atomjet hangars.
"I've never seen one close," she hinted.
Grant flashed his Security card at the guards and they went in. She
strolled about the tapering, snub-winged craft, apparently inspecting it
closely. Grant's thought was that she felt she had to dramatize
understanding something about Air Force rocketry.
After a short silence Bridget asked, "What is the compensating factor
for the reactor's being placed off the center of stability?"