"I'm going to stop him. He can't take that chance with his ship, with these people...."
"He will and he must. You surely know your husband."
"I know him as well as you do."
Miss Eagen's firm lips shut in a thin hard line. "Do as you like," she whispered. "And while you're doing it—think about whom he's spinning ship for." She took her hand from Marcia's arm.
Marcia twisted away and went into the corridor.
She found herself at the entrance to the pilot room. In one sweeping glance she saw a curved, silver board. Before it a man sat tranquilly. Nearer to her was Jack, hunched over the keyboard of a complex, compact machine, like a harried bookkeeper on the last day of the month.
Her lips formed his name, but she was silent. She watched him, his square, competent hands, his detached and distant face. Through the forward view-plate she saw a harsh, jagged line, the very edge of the Moon's disc. Next to it, and below, was the rear viewer, holding the shimmering azure shape of Earth.
"All Earth watches me when I work, but with your eyes."
Jack had said that to her once, long ago, when he still loved her.