No. This shoot wouldn't be spectacular. There weren't even any reporters around. Official Service cameramen would record what happened; and if all went well there'd be plenty of excitement about it later, and if all didn't go well it wouldn't matter too much. This time there was no publicity buildup. Nobody'd be disappointed if things went wrong. The only person who'd feel badly was First Lieutenant Ed McCauley, and he wouldn't feel it too keenly. In fact, he wouldn't feel anything. He'd be dead. He considered the idea for a moment, but when a person is First Lieutenant McCauley's age, dying is something that happens to somebody else. You can't imagine it happening to you. It's a sort of reverse of being born, but you can't imagine that either, though it happened. He sat up and kicked his feet over the side of the cot. He felt a little bit relieved. He was excited, now that he remembered what was in the works for today, but it wasn't a solemn feeling. He got up and looked at himself in the small square mirror over the washstand. He looked exactly as he always did. He felt the same way. Well-l, maybe a little more awake and alive than usual, because he'd been horribly afraid that something would happen and the shoot would be called off. But it hadn't--so far. He went down the hall to the showers, trailing a towel over his shoulder. He showered, thinking zestfully about the prospects. There'd be no trouble about the weather. At this base clouds were exceptional and a cloud cover that hindered even visual tracking was almost unknown. Suddenly he wanted to sing, but he restrained himself. As lucky as he felt, it might sound like showing off. The door of the shower room opened and somebody came in. "Hi, National Hero. You in there?" It was Randy's voice, slightly sardonic. "Ain't nobody here but us chickens, boss," McCauley answered cheerfully. "Nary a hero." Randy grunted. "How d'you feel, Ed?" "Wet," said McCauley. He turned off the shower and began to towel himself. When he emerged, Randy searched his face, his anxiety showing on his own. "Nope," said McCauley, "the condemned man's got a good appetite for breakfast. Quit worrying about me, Randy!" "If you'd only slipped on your soap and broken your doggone neck," Randy complained, "a good guy might've gotten a chance to take your place!" McCauley grinned. Randy would give his eyeteeth to take his place today. Anybody would. McCauley still worried that even now something would spoil things, but he'd been worrying for months. He'd been jumpy ever since the rumor first went around that sometime soon somebody was going up in a rocket and coming down again. Nobody ever had. Up to this morning it was still waiting to be done. But somebody--in fact, he himself--should do it today. This was why today was the most special day of his life.