Watching a hundred lights and half that many instruments, listening to two phone circuits, one with each ear, and hands moving from switches to rheostats to buttons and levers, he was completely informed as to the instant-by-instant status of everything in his department. Although attentive, he was not tense, even during the countdown. The only change was that at the word "Two" his right forefinger came to rest upon a red button and his eyes doubled their rate of scan. If anything in his department had gone wrong, the _Procyon_'s departure would have been delayed. And again, well out beyond the orbit of the moon, just before the starship's mighty Chaytor engines hurled her out of space as we know it into that unknowable something that is hyperspace, he poised a finger. But Immergence, too, was normal; all the green lights except one went out, needles dropped to zero, both phones went dead, all signals stopped. He plugged a jack into a socket below the one remaining green light and spoke: "Procyon One to Control Six. Flight Eight Four Nine. Subspace Radio Test One. How do you read me, Control Six?" "Control Six to Procyon One. I read you ten and zero. How do you read me, Procyon One?" "Ten and zero. Out." Deston flipped a toggle and the solitary green light went out. Perfect signal and zero noise. That was that. From now until Emergence--unless something happened--he might as well be a passenger. Everything was automatic, unless and until some robot or computer yelled for help. Deston leaned back in his bucket seat and lighted a cigarette. He didn't need to scan the board constantly now; any trouble signal would jump right out at him. Promptly at Dee plus Three Zero Zero--three hours, no minutes, no seconds after departure--his relief appeared. "All black, Babe?" the newcomer asked. "As the pit, Eddie. Take over." Eddie did so. "You've picked out your girl friend for the trip, I suppose?" "Not yet. I got sidetracked watching Bobby Warner. She was doing handstands and handwalks and forward and back flips in the lounge--under one point five gees yet. _Wow!_ And after that all the other women looked like a dime's worth of catmeat. She doesn't stand out too much until she starts to move, but then--Oh, _brother_!" Eddie rolled his eyes, made motions with his hands, and whistled expressively. "Talk about poetry in motion! Just walking across a stage, she'd bring down the house and stop the show cold in its tracks." "O. K., O. K., don't blow a fuse," Deston said, resignedly. "I know. You'll love her undyingly; all this trip, maybe. So bring her up, next watch, and I'll give her a gold badge. As usual." "You ... how _dumb_ can you get?" Eddie demanded. "D'you think I'd even _try_ to play footsie with _Barbara Warner_?" "You'd play footsie with the Archangel Michael's sister if she'd let you; and she probably would. So who's Barbara Warner?"