During the years of rigorous, specialized training almost from childhood they had kept him away from Carol, teasing him--it was the only word that now occurred to his mind--with the dangled promise of her presence on the flight. They had let him see her pictures--intimate, almost-nude photos harvested by the gossip columnists, snaps of her glory in bathing attire as she lounged by a swimming pool. Swimming. Since he had been selected as a boy, every free afternoon he had been made to swim, swim, swim--developing the long, smooth muscles they wanted him to have. It had been, he knew, the same with Carol. Had they taunted her with his pictures too? Had she responded by wanting him, loving him, longing for him? How did she feel about their first moment together being shared by the greedy eyes of continents? The President was speaking now, rolling sonorous sentences into the mike, words which would officially sanction this unorthodox act of the military, which would justify the morally unprecedented dispensing of maid to man without benefit of--anything. Because the psychologists had wanted it that way. Ken leaned down to whisper in her ear, "I wish I could get you inside the ship." She looked at him with sudden coolness. "Impatient, Major?" She turned away quickly and he could feel her body stiffen. Had he said something wrong? Or--the new thought was jarring disharmony: did he represent the end of this girl's--_his_ girl's--hopes for a conventional, happy marriage? Did she think him the altar of sacrifice, whereupon she would accrue the moralist's scorn and, tomorrow, attract only the lecherous? Or was it just an act? What, besides ship and instrument operation, had they taught her? Grimly he listened to the President, who was then extolling their merits as though--well, as though they were some sort of laboratory specimens. "... acute hearing, 20/10 vision ... perfect health ... highest combination of intelligence and fast physical reactions ... exceptional bravery and loyalty." Cheers. "... intensive training ... youngest to receive their military ranks ... expert pilots ... _fittest humans for this attempt_." Stubbornly, Ken continued to hold her waist. He watched the sun sneak around one stubby wing of the _Latecomer_. He'd need those glinting wings to land. Land? What were the actual odds against circling the moon and landing again on earth? That phase--and a lot of others--had never been discussed. The speeches were over and he put the thought from his mind. They were extending the mike to him, waiting for his farewell--or his last words? Abruptly, ignoring the mike, he swung Carol up the ramp and crawled in through the port behind her. * * * * * In the narrow confines she slipped out of her uniform. She glanced at him once, quickly, then cast down her eyes. "You don't have to look, you know."