Here, in this field, the GSC's--the General Spacecraft Cradles. From one of which, as soon as Pop got clearance, their ship would take off. Their ship! Bobby felt an eager quickening of his pulse; his stomach was aswarm with a host of butterflies. _Their ship!_ The space officer said, "I think that takes care of everything, Dr. Moseley. I presume you understand the land-grant laws and obligations?" "Yes, Lieutenant." "Very well, then--" Space-red hands made official motions with a hand-stamp and pen. "Your clearance. And my very best wishes, Sir." "Thank you," said Pop quietly. He turned. "That's all. Ready, Mother? Eleanor? Moira?" Bobby bounded forward. "Can I push the button, can I, Pop? When we start, can I?" * * * * * Dick was waiting before the open lock of the _Cuchulainn_. Dick could do anything, everything at once. He took The Pooch into the circle of his left arm, helped his mother aboard, said, "Shut up, kid, you're enough to wake the dead. Watch that guard-panel, Elly. Papers all set, Pop?" And he tickled The Pooch's dimpled cheek with an oily finger. "You act just like your mama," he said irrelevantly, and the baby gurgled. Eleanor cried, "Dick--those dirty hands!" "Everything is in order, Richard," said Pop. "Good. You folks go in and strap down. I'll seal. Here comes the cradle-monkey now." Pop said, "Come along, Robert," and the others went inside. Bobby waited, though, to see the cradle-monkey, the man under whose orders spacecraft lifted gravs. The cradle-monkey was a dour man with gnarled legs and arms and temper. He looked at the _Cuchulainn_ and sniffed; then at Dick. "Family crate, huh?" "That's right." "Well, f'r goddlemighty' sakes, don't try to blast off with y'r side jets burnin'. Take a seven-point-nineteen readin' on y'r Akka gauge, stern rockets only--" "Comets to you, butt-hoister!" grinned Dick. "I've had eight years on the spider run. I can lift this can." "Oh, a rocketeer?" There was new, grudging respect in the groundman's tone. "Well, how was I t' know? Y'ought t' see what some o' them jaloupi-jockeys do to my cradles--burn 'em black! Oh, well--" He backed away from the ship. "Clean ether!" said Dick. He closed the lock. Its seal-brace slid into place, wheezing asthmatically. Bobby's ears rang suddenly with the mild compression of air; when he swallowed, they were all right again. Dick saw him. "What are you doing here, kid? Didn't I hear Pop tell you to come below?" Bobby said, "I'm not a kid. I'm almost sixteen." "Just old enough," promised Dick, "to get your seat warmed if you don't do what you're told. Remember, you're a sailor on a spaceship now. Pop's the Skipper, and I'm First Mate. If you don't obey orders, it's mutiny, and--" "I'm obeying," said Bobby hastily. He followed his brother down the corridor, up the ramp, to the bridge. "Can I push the button when we take off, huh, Dick?"