"I resent the word 'reactionary,' Spaceman! In civilian life, I was a lapidary and I learned the value of deliberation. But I never got too cataleptic to tap a million-dollar gem, which is more than my contemporaries can say, many of 'em." "Captain Gavin," Quade said patiently, "you must realize that an outsider like you, among a crew of skilled spacemen, can never be more than a figurehead." Was this the way I was to be treated? Why, this man had deliberately insulted me, his captain. I controlled myself, remembering the familiarity that had always existed between members of a crew working under close conditions, from the time of the ancient submarines and the first orbital ships. "Quade," I said, "there's only one way for us to find out which of us is right about the cause of our scanning blackout." "We go out and find the reason." "Exactly. We go. You and me. I hope you can stand my company." "I'm not sure I can," he answered reluctantly. "My hazard pay doesn't cover exploring with rookies. With all due respect, Captain." I clapped him on the shoulder. "But, man, you have just been telling me all we had to worry about was common transphasia. A man with your experience could protect himself and cover even a rookie, under such familiar conditions--right?" "Yes, sir, I suppose I could," Quade said, bitterly aware he had lost out somewhere and hoping that it wasn't the start of a trend. * * * * * "Looks okay to me," I said. Quade passed a gauntlet over his faceplate. "It's real. I can blur it with a smudged visor. When it blurs, it's solid." The landscape beyond the black corona left by our landing rockets was unimpressive. The rocky desert was made up of silicon and iron oxide, so it looked much the same as a terrestrial location. Yellowish-white sand ran up to and around reddish brown rock clawing into the pink sunlight. "I don't understand it," Quade admitted. "Transphasia hits you a foul as soon as you let it into the airlock." "Apparently, Quade, _this_ thing is going to creep up on us." "Don't sound smug, Captain. It's pitty-pattying behind you too." The keening call across the surface of consciousness postponed my reply. The wail was ominously forlorn, defiant of description. I turned my head around slowly inside my helmet, not even sure that I had heard it. But what else can you do with a wail but _hear_ it? Quade nodded. "I've felt this before. It usually hits sooner. Let's trace it." "I don't like this," I admitted. "It's not at all what I expected from what you said about transphasia. It must be something else." "It couldn't be anything else. I know what to expect. You don't. You may begin smelling sensations, tasting sounds, hearing sights, seeing tastes, touching odors--or any other combination. Don't let it bother you." "Of course not. I'll soothe my nerves by counting little shocks of lanolin jumping over a loud fence." Quade grinned behind his faceplate. "Good idea."