"Item. He drinks a glass of orange juice, a large one, every night before retiring. A supply of orange juice must be provided." "All right," said McCauley. "Anything else?" "Item," said Randy. "He is extremely annoyed by noise. He must have a working area that is lined with soundproof material and has a soundproof door so he can have absolute quiet." McCauley grunted. "If you can think of anything quieter than space with one's rockets off.... But okay. What else?" "Item. He suspects he's allergic to the vegetation in the air-freshening system," said Randy. "I promised it would be checked." "We'll make impressive allergy tests for him," said McCauley. "If that's all...." "It isn't," said Randy. "He wants a bunk with a hard mattress. He won't use the acceleration chair except for take-off." McCauley stared. "But didn't you tell him?..." "I," said Randy wryly, "am polishing apples. I want to go on this shoot even if he does, which means I want to go very badly. No. I didn't tell him that in free-fall flight with no gravity a steel plate is as comfortable as a down pillow. Why start an argument with a man in a blue funk?... He showed me the reference library he insists he has to take with him. It weighs eight hundred pounds." "There," said McCauley, "he has to lose! We can't take eight hundred pounds of excess weight. We simply can't do it!" Randy grinned. "I showed him a moon-base microfilm reader and offered him the equivalent of four tons of books on half a dozen reels. He couldn't refuse to buy. He only named half a dozen book titles not already on film, and they're being filmed now." "Anything else?" "Not so far," said Randy. "He's scared and ashamed of being scared. I don't think he'll actually get up nerve enough to back out, but I'm sure he'll never get the nerve to go. When he finds out the actual take-off time I look for trouble." "What kind?" "Maybe hysterics," said Randy. "I'm almost sorry for the guy, but not quite. A man with his brains ought to face the fact that he feels timid, and either fight it or admit it. Especially, a man ought to realize that other people can tell what's the matter with him." McCauley considered, frowning. "For your information only," he said, "take-off will be 1400 hours Tuesday, neither plus nor minus. We'll have to stop at the Platform to refuel, and the Platform has a schedule. We'll need to swing very close to Venus for its pull to change our course, and Venus has a schedule. And we'll need to meet Earth farther along in its orbit, and Earth has a schedule. None of them can be changed to humor Bramwell's psychological idiosyncrasies. We take off at 1400 hours Tuesday!" But Randy shook his head. "Oh, oh! Friend Ed, we're in trouble!" "He won't go?"