“What do you expect? After all we’re doing a space opera--on _live_ TV. There are bound to be technical difficulties. As long as they don’t ask me for a close-up with the feet in we’ll lick any problem they can dream up. Right?” “Right!” echoed Don brightly. “Anything the movie boys can do with process shooting and laboratory tricks we can do right here in the studio--and better. I’m with _you_!” George picked up his earphones from the desk and spoke into the tiny mike. “Bill! Bill Sanders! Are you still on cans?” Out on the studio floor one of the men waved his arm. George saw him through the double glass pane and continued: “Good! Tell the boys to let in the big black in two--in front of the spaceship set. And get the fog machine set. I’m going to use a half hour of fax rehearsal time when we get back for some experimenting. Has the dry ice arrived yet?” On the floor Bill waved “yes.” “Okay.” “Tell me, George,” the T.D. asked. “What exactly is the effect you want in that Ganymede scene?” George picked up a paper clip and absent-mindedly began twisting it around his pencil in a tight spiral. It was a silly habit of his, but an innocuous one. “It’s like this,” he began to explain. “We’re on Ganymede--that’s one of Jupiter’s moons. The ‘Planeteer’ has landed and is walking around on the satellite in his space suit. We’ll play the whole thing in front of the black drop and put in electronic stars.” He leaned over the desk. “Can do, Don?” “Can do!” “Fine! Now--the floor will be covered with dry ice fog. It’s supposed to be ammonia vapors or some such guck. So far so good.” He rolled his little paper clip spiral off his pencil and started on another one. “The ‘Planeteer’ is all alone, see? But suddenly another spacesuited figure joins him. It turns out to be _he himself_--and duplicated! And if that’s not enough, a third copy joins them--all three of them _he himself_. He’s supposed to look at himself, talk to himself, and walk in front of himself. We can’t use doubles because of those transparent space helmets. And what’s more, the three triplicated ‘Planeteers’ are supposed to make the exact same movements at the exact same time. The whole thing’s supposed to be some sort of hallucination.” He stood up. “And speaking about hallucinations--I’m so hungry _I’m_ going to get them if I don’t get something to eat. Coming, Steve?” “Fine,” said the T.D. The director leaned across the desk again. “And how about our _vidiot_? You want to join us, Don?” he asked. Don cringed mentally at the nickname. Even though he knew it was only a good-natured rib at the video technicians he always winced at the term “vidiot.” But he managed to sound unconcerned when he answered: “Guess not, George. I’m not hungry. Besides I’ve got a heavy date after the show. I’ll just stick around here.”