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stream to impart their knowledge or, sometimes, to get it back with
     interest. It was an intensely busy but a happy life, for it had a purpose and a goal.
    There was only one shadow, and that was inevitable. When the time for the decision
     came, no one knew who was to be left behind on the desert sands, watching the “Prometheus”
     shrink into the sky until the thunder of its jets could be heard no more.
    An astrogation lecture was in full swing when Dirk and Matthews tiptoed into the back
     of the room. The speaker gave them an unfriendly look, but the five men seated around
     him never even glanced at the intruders. As unobtrusively as possible, Dirk studied
     them while his guide indicated their names in hoarse whispers.
    Hassell he recognized from newspaper photographs, but the others were unknown to him.
     Rather to Dirk’s surprise, they conformed to no particular type. Their only obvious
     points in common were age, intelligence, and alertness. From time to time they shot
     questions at the lecturer, and Dirk gathered that they were discussing the landing
     maneuvers on the Moon. All the conversation was so much above his head that he quickly
     grew tired of listening and was glad when Matthews gave an interrogatory nod toward
     the door.
    Out in the corridor, they relaxed and lit cigarettes.
    “Well,” said Matthews, “now that you’ve seen our guinea pigs, what do you think of
     them?”
    “I can hardly judge. What I’d like to do is meet them informally and just talk with
     them by themselves.”
    Matthews blew a smoke-ring and watched it thoughtfully as it dispersed.
    “That wouldn’t be easy. As you can guess, they haven’t much spare time. When they’ve
     finished here, they usually disappear in a cloud of dust back to their families.”
    “How many of them are married?”
    “Leduc’s got two children; so has Richards. Vic Hassell was married about a year ago.
     The others are still single.”
    Dirk wondered what the wives thought about the whole business. Somehow it didn’t seem
     altogether fair to them. He wondered, too, whether the men regarded this as simply
     another job of work, or if they felt the exaltation—there was no other word for it—which
     had obviously inspired the founders of Interplanetary.
    They had now come to a door labeled “KEEP OUT—TECHNICAL STAFF ONLY!” Matthews pushed
     tentatively against it and it swung open.
    “Careless!” he said. “There doesn’t seem to be anyone around, either. Let’s go in—I
     think this is one of the most interesting places I know, even though I’m not a scientist.”
    That was one of Matthews’ favorite phrases, which probably concealed a well-buried
     inferiority complex. Actually both he and McAndrews knew far more about science than
     they pretended.
    Dirk followed him into the semi-gloom, then gasped with amazement as Matthews found
     the switch and the place was flooded with light. He was standing in a control room,
     surrounded by banks of switches and meters. The only furniture consisted of three
     luxurious seats suspended in a complex gimbal system. He reached out to touch one
     of them and it began to rock gently to and fro.
    “Don’t touch anything,” warned Matthews quickly. “We’re not really supposed to be
     in here, in case you hadn’t noticed.”
    Dirk examined the array of controls and switches from a respectful distance. He could
     guess the purpose of some from the labels they bore, but others were quite incomprehensible.
     The words “Manual” and “Auto” occurred over and over again. Almost as popular were
     “Fuel,” “Drive Temperature,” “Pressure,” and “Earth Range.” Others, such as “Emergency
     Cut-out,” “Air Warning,” and “Pile Jettison” had a distinctly ominous flavor. A third
     and still more enigmatic group provided grounds for endless speculation. “Alt. Trig.
     Sync.,” “Neut. Count,” and “Video Mix” were perhaps the choicest specimens in this