She had known about the hydroponics farm, and there was really nothing startling, if you thought about it, at the idea that where man can grow starch, he can, and will, also distill spirits. “Which tank do you grow your beef in?” She asked skeptically. “No tank,” he said, beaming. “That pink slice represents one of our biggest scores to date, gal. Experiment in transporting animals _in utero_. First viable one we got was a pig--wouldn’t you know it? But we have practically a complete livestock farm here now, and we’ve got the process down to where we--” He stopped, as if checking himself, and then finished smoothly. “--we think we can pack up any kind of stock a space traveler orders and ship it to him--anywhere, any time. Not bad, hey? We’re fooling around with deepfreeze now--the embryos, I mean. No luck so far, but--?” His shrug, Lee thought, was magnificently eloquent: all around her, in front of her, even being ingested inside her, was evidence of the stubborn, determined, bull-headed damn dumb optimism of that shrug. Pete Christensen had _made_ this station--fought for it, worked at it, schemed on its behalf--_made_ it almost as literally as though he’d built it with his hands, unaided. “You still headin’ for the wild blue yonder, man?” _Johnny._ Lisa looked once at his tight sardonic withdrawal and thought with a shiver: _He made_ that, _too_. _Dollars Dome--7:30_ P.M. (_C.S.T._) _Half an hour_, Phil thought. He’d give it another half hour, then he’d have to go up. “You get so it seems normal,” he said in answer to the comment from one of the three new all-alike young biochemists. _How do they turn ’em out so same-all-over?_ Once upon a time, scientists at least had been odd ducks, individualists--Okay, escapists; but _individuals_. Now...? “It’s morning now, Moonwise. Just dawned yesterday. But at Moon-night, all the difference is the blinds are down--that’s the effect. The dome lights actually give you the same color and quality of light. You just can’t see out, very far. You have to make your own day-and-night for living purposes. That’s one of the tests you’ll be getting this week. Find out what kind of routine or schedule looks best for each one of you, and after a while ‘night’ is the time you go to your room to sleep.” _You’ll get used to it before_ I _will, I bet_, he thought, amused at the knowledgeable confidence he managed to convey. _Half an hour, at the most._ God only knows which bit of fur Chris was rubbing backwards now. _Or which way Lightning Boy will strike when ole Doc Kutler shows! Well, might as well live dangerously--if there was no safe way to do the job._... He confirmed the opinion of another of the triplet fledglings that the day-night bit might be behind some of the psychogenic systemic malfunctions he’d been warned about.