James Bond and Moonraker by Christopher Wood Page A

that covered many graceful inches before they reached the floor. The shoulders sloped gently and the white flesh on the neck was visible because the hair had been combed up and piled in a business-like fashion on top of the head. A few errant wisps sprouted out attractively like the spread tail feathers of a bird. The girl was studying a flow chart as Bond came in, but she turned swiftly and fixed him with a piercing blue eye. Her forehead was high, her nose straight and her mouth wide and faintly supercilious. There was an authoritative set to her jaw and the whole face had a stern wariness about it that was at odds with the soft, feminine curves of her well-shaped breasts. The impression that Bond got was that here was a woman who wanted to be treated like a man — or thought she did. He had met the type before in male-dominated societies. As personal assistants they began to take on the characteristics of their bosses.
    ‘Good afternoon,’ said Bond. ‘I’m looking for Dr Goodhead.’
    The girl advanced towards him. ‘You’ve just found her.’ The smile was a formality.
    ‘A woman.’ Bond reflected that he could have made more effort to keep the surprise out of his voice.
    The girl inclined her head graciously. ‘Your powers of observation do you credit, Mr Bond. It is Mr Bond, isn’t it?’
    ‘James to my friends,’ said Bond.
    The girl extended her hand briskly. ‘Holly Goodhead.’ The hand was firm and dry, but the pressure it exerted minimal. It was a very formal handshake.
    ‘Are you one of the astronaut trainees?’ asked Bond.
    Holly parted her lips slightly as if she had experienced a twinge of pain. ‘I’m fully trained. By NASA, the Space Administration. They assigned me here.’ She looked at Bond levelly for an instant and then moved towards the door. ‘Come, Mr Bond. I’ll show you round. You don’t want to lose time as well as a space shuttle, do you?’
    Bond shook his head ruefully as he followed his guide. It seemed that a good friend was hard to find at the Drax Corporation. His acquaintance with Dr H-olly Goodhead had not started off memorably.
    The first hangar they visited was where a Moonraker was being assembled. Holly showed a pass and after two sound-proof doors had been opened they were in a gigantic workshop with the air full of the smell of welding equipment and the output of the light sources accentuated by the blaze of torches. The framework of the shuttle rose in the air like a rocket and at all levels men were working on the scaffolding that surrounded it, like bees crawling over a honeycomb.
    ‘Each of these men is a specialist technician,’ explained Holly above the noise. ‘They could be teaching at M.I.T. if they weren’t here.’
    ‘There seems to be an enormous amount of activity,’ said Bond. ‘Do they always work at this rate?’
    ‘Mr Drax has set some pretty tough completion dates. He wants to get a test programme into space by the end of next month.’
    Bond gazed upwards and felt awe as he realized what he was looking at. A craft that when finished would be able to perform an almost limitless number of orbits of the earth and yet return to base and land like a conventional aircraft. No parachutes. No spheres plummeting into the ocean and relying on a fast destroyer to retrieve them. He watched a Medusa of coloured wires being hauled aloft and marvelled at man’s ingenuity. What he was seeing made him resolve to temper his dislike of Hugo Drax with respect for what he was doing. To place his resources at the service of mankind was an act of supreme generosity. It far outweighed any personal mannerisms that Bond might find objectionable. Bond thought again and frowned. There was the question of the bugging device in the bedroom. That he did find difficult to reconcile.
    Holly recited a list of statistics that Bond tried to absorb and then led the way through another set of connecting doors to another vast hangar. An elevator took them up to a catwalk,