While queue was moving slowly past and people were talking, Prof banged for attention. "I ask for volunteers for a dangerous mission. This Declaration will go on the news channels--but must be presented in person to the Federated Nations, on Terra."

That put stop to noise. Prof was looking at me. I swallowed and said, "I volunteer." Wyoh echoed, "So do I!"--and little Hazel Meade said, "Me, too!"

In moments were a dozen, from Finn Nielsen to Gospodin Dangling-Participle (turned out to be good cobber aside from his fetish). Prof took names, murmured something about getting in touch as transportation became available.

I got Prof aside and said, "Look, Prof, you too tired to track? You know ship for seventh was canceled; now they're talking about slapping embargo on us. Next ship they lift for Luna will be a warship. How you planning to travel? As prisoner?"

"Oh, we won't use their ships."

"So? Going to build one? Any idea how long that takes? If could build one at all. Which I doubt."

"Manuel, Mike says it's necessary--and has it all worked out."

I did know Mike said was necessary; he had rerun problem soon as we learned that bright laddies at Richardson had snuck one home--he now gave us only one chance in fifty-three... with imperative need for Prof to go Earthside. But I'm not one to worry about impossibilities; I had spent day working to make that one chance in fifty-three turn up.

"Mike will provide the ship," Prof went on. "He has completed its design and it is being worked on."

"He has? It is? Since when is Mike engineer?"

"Isn't he?" asked Prof.

I started to answer, shut up. Mike had no degrees. Simply knew more engineering than any man alive. Or about Shakespeare's plays, or riddles, or history, name it. "Tell me more."

"Manuel, we'll go to Terra as a load of grain."

"What? Who's 'we'?"

"You and myself. The other volunteers are merely decorative."

I said, "Look, Prof. I've stuck. Worked hard when whole thing seemed silly. Worn these weights--got 'em on now--on chance I might have to go to that dreadful place. But contracted to go in a ship, with at least a Cyborg pilot to help me get down safely. Did not agree to go as meteorite."

He said, "Very well, Manuel. I believe in free choice, always. Your alternate will go."

"My-- Who?"

"Comrade Wyoming. So far as I know she is the only other person in training for the trip... other than a few Terrans."

So I went. But talked to Mike first. He said patiently. "Man my first friend, there isn't a thing to worry about. You are scheduled load KM187 series '76 and you'll arrive in Bombay with no trouble. But to be sure--to reassure you--I selected that barge because it will be taken out of parking orbit and landed when India is faced toward me, and I've added an override so that I can take you away from ground control if I don't like the way they handle you. Trust me, Man, it has all been thought through. Even the decision to continue shipments when security was broken was part of this plan."

"Might have told me."

"There was no need to worry you. Professor had to know and I've kept in touch with him. But you are going simply to take care of him and back him up--do his job if he dies, a factor on which I can give you no reassurance."

I sighed. "Okay. But, Mike, surely you don't think you can pilot a barge into a soft landing at this distance? Speed of light alone would trip you."

"Man, don't you think I understand ballistics? For the orbital position then, from query through reply and then to command-received is under four seconds... and you can rely on me not to waste microseconds. Your maximum parking-orbit travel in four seconds is only thirty-two kilometers, diminishing asymptotically to zero at landing. My reflex time will be effectively less than that of a pilot in a manual landing because I don't waste time grasping a situation and deciding on correct action. So my maximum is four seconds. But my effective reflex time is much less, as I project and predict constantly, see ahead, program it out--in effect, I'll stay four seconds ahead of you in your trajectory and respond instantly."

"That steel can doesn't even have an altimeter!"

"It does now. Man, please believe me; I've thought of everything. The only reason I've ordered this extra equipment is to reassure you. Poona ground control hasn't made a bobble in the last five thousand loads. For a computer it's fairly bright."

"Okay. Uh, Mike, how hard do they splash those bleeding barges? What gee?"

"Not high, Man. Ten gravities at injection, then that programs down to a steady, soft four gees... then you'll be nudged again between six and five gees just before splash. The splash itself is gentle, equal to a fall of fifty meters and you enter ogive first with no sudden shock, less than three gees. Then you surface and splash again, lightly, and simply float at one gee. Man, those barge shells are built as lightly as possible for economy's sake. We can't afford to toss them around or they would split their seams."

"How sweet. Mike, what would 'six to five gees' do to you? Split your seams?"

"I conjecture that I was subjected to about six gravities when they shipped me up here. Six gravities in my present condition would shear many of my essential connections. However, I'm more interested in the extremely high, transient accelerations I am going to experience from shock waves when Terra starts bombing us. Data are insufficient for prediction but I may lose control of my outlying functions, Man. This could be a major factor in any tactical situation."

"Mike, you really think they are going to bomb us?"

"Count on it, Man. That is why this trip is so important."

Left it at that and went out to see this coffin. Should have stayed home.

Ever looked at one of those silly barges? Just a steel cylinder with retro and guidance rockets and radar transponder. Resembles a spaceship way a pair of pliers resembles my number-three arm. They had this one cut open and were outfitting our "living quarters."

No galley. No W.C. No nothing. Why bother? We were going to be in it only fifty hours. Start empty so that you won't need a honey sack in your suit. Dispense with lounge and bar; you'll never be out of your suit, you'll be drugged and not caring.

At least Prof would be drugged almost whole time; I had to be alert at landing to try to get us out of this death trap if something went wrong and nobody came along with a tin opener. They were building a shaped cradle in which backs of our p-suits would fit; we would be strapped into these holes. And stay there, clear to Terra. They seemed more concerned about making total mass equal to displaced wheat and same center of gravity and all moment arms adding up correctly than they did about our comfort; engineer in charge told me that even padding to be added inside our p-suits was figured in.

Was glad to learn we were going to have padding; those holes did not look soft.

Returned home in thoughtful condition.

Wyoh was not at dinner, unusual; Greg was, more unusual. Nobody said anything about my being scheduled to imitate a falling rock next day although all knew. But did not realize anything special was on until all next generation left table without being told. Then knew why Greg had not gone back to Mare Undarum site after Congress adjourned that morning; somebody had asked for a Family talk-talk.

Mum looked around and said, "We're all here. Ali, shut that door; that's a dear. Grandpaw, will you start us?"

Our senior husband stopped nodding over coffee and firmed up. He looked down table and said strongly, "I see that we are all here. I see that children have been put to bed. I see that there is no stranger, no guest. I say that we are met in accordance with customs created by Black Jack Davis our First Husband and Tillie our First Wife. If there is any matter that concerns safety and happiness of our marriage, haul it out in the light now. Don't let it fester. This is our custom."