Basil would brake into Zeroville orbit. _Should have started by now_, he thought, _shouldn’t they?_ Then he _felt_ the difference, and knew he’d been feeling it all along. Deceleration. Not much yet, but you started easy with ions and let it build. No blast, no sweat. Monday, after lunch, nothing to do except sit in the damn lounge and watch them all lushin’ it up. Hell with that. Hell of a trip not to drink on; nothing else to do. Half the victims got stoned first night out and _stayed_ that way. He spent Monday afternoon in the dining room, drinking coffee, watching out the pretty picture window while the Moon came around and around, bigger each time--if you happened to have micro-calipers to measure with. He stared out long enough so he found out one thing: empty Space didn’t bug him at all. He already knew that the birds were okay. He had almost enjoyed it, going through the business end of the wheel with the guys. It wasn’t _going_ that bugged him; it was _where_ the Hell you went. Which was just what he’d said all along. But now he _knew_. Chris had kept him knocked out the whole trip up and back before; so _they_ hadn’t been so damn sure either...? Well, now _he_ was. He sat there until Chris came in and saw him. Then he sat there long enough to make sure Chris knew he was looking _out_. Then he swung down to the crew lounge and found a poker game getting under way. He was okay till the game broke up. After that, it was bad. That was the only time he almost broke down. A couple of shots would’ve put him to sleep at least. He spent the time from two in the morning till six, when they started to serve breakfast, sitting in the damn dark dining room, watching the Moon grow so slowly you didn’t know it, except that you _knew_ it. After people started to show up, it was better; he had to keep up some front, when they were watching him. Chris stayed out of his way; he stayed out of Chris’. He was disappointed, some, but glad; Chris probably knew he came on as Mac’s man. So that was that. No battles. Everybody knew what side they were on. At least Mac and Chris knew. Johnny knew what side he was on, too, but it wasn’t what _they_ thought. _Turnabout, that’s all_, he thought with silent grim pleasure. _They used me; now I use them. Let ’em all bleed._... Tuesday was bad anyhow--bad all day long. If he’d had to stay awake Tuesday night, he didn’t know-- The Medic asked him, did he want a sleeping pill. Well, Hell, plenty of people took sleeping pills. Only now he was wide-awake, rested, and much too clear in the head. _Maybe I should of stood out of bed...?_ _Ten hours_.... He didn’t know what was going to happen, but he was sure of this much: he was _not_ going to drink; and he was _not_--voluntarily, anyhow--_damn it, not without a fight_--going to sleep out anything the rest of the passengers could take. _Dollars Dome--11_ A.M. (_C.S.T._)