Johnny's teeth flashed behind the face-plate. He clicked his heels and bowed stiffly from the waist, in a fine burlesque of an ancient courtier. He stalked past Hoskins and punched the button which controlled the airlock. They waited. Nothing. Johnny frowned, jabbed the button again. And again. The Captain started to speak, then fell watchfully silent. Johnny reached toward the button, touched it, then struck it savagely. He stepped back then, one foot striking the other like that of a clumsy child. He turned partially to the others. In his voice, as it came from the speaker across the room, was a deep amazement that rang like the opening chords of a prophetic and gloomy symphony. He said, "The port won't open." II _The extremes of mysticism and of pragmatism have their own expressions of worship. Each has its form, and the difference between them is the difference between_ deus ex machina _and_ deus machina est. --_E. Hunter Waldo_ "Of course it will open," said Hoskins. He strode past the stunned pilot and confidently palmed the control. The port didn't open. Hoskins said, "Hm?" as if he had been asked an inaudible question, and tried again. Nothing happened. "Skipper," he said over his shoulder, "Have a quick look at the meters behind you there. Are we getting auxiliary power?" "All well here," said Anderson after a glance at the board. "And no shorts showing." There was a silence punctuated by the soft, useless clicking of the control as Hoskins manipulated it. "Well, what do you know." "It won't work," said Johnny plaintively. "Sure it'll work," said Paresi swiftly, confidently. "Take it easy, Johnny." "It won't work," said Johnny. "It won't work." He stumbled across the cabin and leaned against the opposite bulkhead, staring at the closed port with his head a little to one side as if he expected it to shriek at him. "Let me try," said Ives, going to Hoskins. He put out his hand. "_Don't!_" Johnny cried. "Shut up, Johnny," said Paresi. "All right, Nick," said Johnny. He opened his face plate, went to the rear bulkhead, keyed open an acceleration couch, and lay face down on it. Paresi watched him, his lips pursed. "Can't say I blame him," said the Captain softly, catching Paresi's eye. "It's something of a shock. This shouldn't _be_. The safety factor's too great--a thousand per cent or better." "I know what you mean," said Hoskins. "I saw it myself, but I don't believe it." He pushed the button again. "I believe it," said Paresi. Ives went to his desk, clicked the transmitter and receiver switches on and off, moved a rheostat or two. He reached up to a wall toggle, turned a small air-circulating fan on and off. "Everything else seems to work," he said absently. "This is ridiculous!" exploded the Captain. "It's like having your keys home, or arriving at the theater without your tickets. It isn't dangerous--it's just stupid!" "It's dangerous," said Paresi.