Johnny watched it in silence for a moment, then turned his eyes up, to the sky. Somewhere up there a tiny satellite spun wildly about the earth, a little silver ball in some celestial roulette wheel. Gradually it would spiral closer and closer, caught by the planet's implacable grasp, until it flared brightly like a cigarette in the heavens before dissolving into drops of molten metal. But it would have served its purpose. In its short life it would have given Man knowledge; knowledge of space, knowledge enough that he could go himself, knowing what he would find in the emptiness between the earth and the moon. Or knowing nearly. _What's it like out there?_ The satellite answered partly; the Ship would answer more. Johnny slammed the jeep into gear, hurtled down the other side of Six Mile Hill. Through his mind ran the insistent repetition of an old song he knew, and he hummed it tunelessly through closed teeth. _I had a true wife but I left her ... oh, oh, oh._ The jeep skidded to a halt beside Control. Mitch Campbell's green station wagon was already there, creaking and settling as the motor cooled. Control was full of people; Air Force brass, technicians, observers, enlisted men of indiscernible purpose. The room hummed with the muted buzz of low, serious conversation. Mitch Campbell sat in one corner, apparently forgotten in the confusion. He had nothing to do. Not yet. He was already in flight dress, holding the massive helmet in his hands morosely, turning it over and over, staring at it as though he thought he might find his head inside if he looked carefully enough. "Morning, Colonel," said Johnny, forcing his voice to be casual and cheerful. "You're up early this morning." "Morning, Colonel, yourself," said Mitch, looking up. "Big date today?" "Well--yeah, you might say so," Mitch said, smiling faintly and with obvious effort. "Thought I might go once around lightly," he said, hooking his thumb upwards. Upwards through the concrete ceiling, into the air, through the air, up where there was no air for a man to breathe. Once around lightly. Around the world. Lightly. "Tell you what, Mitch." "O.K., tell me what," he said. "You like the movies?" Johnny asked. "You like to get a little adventure in your soul? You like a little vicarious thrill now and then?" "Yeah, I like that." "Tell you what. We'll go. No, don't thank me. We'll go. Tonight. Eight o'clock, you come by." "Wives and everybody?" Mitch asked. "Why not?" Johnny said. "They're cooped up in the house all day." They both knew the wives would be in Control in an hour, listening to the radio chatter, waiting, eyes wide, shoulders stiff and tight. "Fine," said Mitch. "Fine." A crew-chief came up and touched Johnny's shoulder. "Colonel Youngbear," he said, "Observation is going up." Johnny stood and looked out the tiny window at the red-painted B-52. "See you tonight, Mitch. Eight o'clock? Don't forget. Westerns."