His time-to-destination indicator gave him ten hours, when he began to feel uneasy. He couldn't pin-point the source of unease at first. He was fidgety, impatient. Or something that resembled those feelings. It was like when he couldn't remember why he wasn't supposed to turn the Skipdrive back on. It occurred to him that he wasn't thinking clearly, somehow. He noticed to his surprise he had switched on his transmitter. Probably while he was drumming his fingers or something. He switched it off. Thirty minutes later he found himself toying with the same switch. He had turned it on again. This was getting ridiculous. He shouldn't be so nervous. He grinned wryly to himself. The transmitter switch, indeed. If ever a useless piece of junk had been put in _Phoenix I_, that was it. Transmitter switch! He laughed aloud. And left the switch open. He found himself staring with fascination at the microphone. It was pretty interesting, he had to admit that. It was mounted on the back of the control chair, on swivel arms. It could easily be pulled into position right in front of his face. Just as if it had been meant to. He fiddled with it interestedly, swinging it back and forth, seeing how it moved on the swivel arms. He was interested in the way it moved so smoothly, that was all. By coincidence, when he let go of it, it was directly in front of him. There was something picking at him, something was nagging at the back of his mind. He whistled under his breath and knuckled his eyes. He scrubbed at the top of his head with his right hand, as if he could rub the annoying thought. Suddenly he heard his own voice saying: "Earth Control, this is _Phoenix I_. Come in please." He looked up, startled. Now why would he say a thing like that? And then, in the midst of his surprise, he repeated it! "Earth Control, this is _Phoenix I_. Come in please." He flipped the Receive switch without volition. His hands had suddenly developed a life of their own. He began to breathe more rapidly, and his forehead felt cool. He swallowed twice, quickly. There was no answer on the receiver. _No what? Answer? What is "answer"?_ "Estimate arrival four hundred seventy-two minutes," he said loudly, looking at the time-to-destination indicator. There was a sudden flood of relief, washing away the irritation that had been picking away at the back of his mind. He felt at ease again. He turned off both transmitter and receiver and stood out of the control chair. He felt better now, but he was a little worried about what had happened. He couldn't understand it. Suddenly he had lost control of himself, of his voice and his hands. He was doing meaningless things, saying things, making motions stupidly. Every movement he made, every act, was without pattern or sense. He had a sudden thought, and it made his whole body grow cold and prickly, and he almost choked. _Maybe I'm going Nova._ He was near the edge of panic for a minute. _Nova Nova Nova Nova._