"Eh bien, parlons francais," the American said at last. "Sorry, Duport, I didn't mean to offend you. It's just that it was a shock.... Why are you smiling like that?"
"Nothing, sir." Duport's mouth straightened itself out.
"What do you mean rien? No, tell me, Duport. You should know by now that the Corpsman's first law is that we tell each other what's on our minds. If we're going to be sealed up together in a tin can for two weeks...."
"I'm sorry sir, it was your accent. I found it amusing."
"Oh, that. You're not the first one. Eh bien. Have you been assigned quarters yet, Duport?"
"No, sir."
"I'll see to it myself after the briefing. You'll find conditions are rather primitive on the island, but you won't be here long. The ferryboat leaves in six days."
"Yes, sir."
The American was fascinated by Duport's eyes, their unnatural, bright glaze. The boy never seemed to blink. He yet stood at attention, looking down at the older man with unshifting eyes.
"Stand at ease, Duport. As long as you're early, we might as well start the briefing now." On an impulse, he went to the projection screen and touched a switch which flashed on a photomap of the lunar landing area. He pointed to a particular object which was visible only because of the long shadow it cast.