His touch upon the 'Tee' bar became light and sure of itself. He no longer waggled widely or jerked the bar when a deviation became noticed, Dusty corrected his course with deft touches like the driver of an automobile. He was learning, and filled with a self-confidence he had no right to feel, but did not know enough to be scared about. Dusty Britton, who had never been in a space rocket in his life, drove a galactic spacecraft across the galaxy under what can be called "Dual Flight Training." Which was all right, so long as the trainee has enough space to make mistakes in. Dusty literally had galactic reaches and these were well marked against the pitfalls. And if Gant Nerley's face radiated confidence and his voice sounded cheerful it was due to Gant Nerley's knowledge that constant admonition, warning, and cries of horror would only cause more trouble than Dusty Britton's meandering course. But flight is easy, whereas landing is the most difficult maneuver in the universe. So by the time Dusty Britton was homing on the main phanobeacon of Marandis itself, Gant Nerley had his plans. Dusty Britton was not going to barrel that spacecraft down tailfins first like a screaming elevator that might come to Velocity Zero at a plus or minus a half mile from Ground Zero and maybe a plus or minus thirty seconds of Drive Turnoff; to drop like a plummet or ram the spaceport with a planet-shaking crash or burn a crater in the 'port with full drive still warping the space below the ship's tailfin. Dusty Britton came to a full zero-zero-zero landing a million miles above Marandis. He came to a grinding halt high above the planet, looked around dazedly, and asked Gant: "What makes?" "Keep your drive at one gravity thrust," said Gant. "Stand by for Pilot!" The last order was delivered in a ringing voice as though it were a standard procedure. To Dusty, familiar with the tactics used by seagoing liners upon entering port, standing by for a pilot was quite a sensible practise. If the Captain of _The North America_ permitted a pilot to bend the big liner along Ambrose Channel, through The Narrows and into New York Harbor, Dusty Britton saw no objection to having a pilot come aboard to bend the big spacecraft down past whatever dangers might be presented by moons, meteors and cosmic junk. And Gant Nerley, not knowing how Dusty felt about spacecraft piloting, hoped that this procedure sounded like Standard Operating Practise. Dusty replied in ringing tone, "Standing By for Pilot!" Gant took a deep breath. Minutes later a small scooter hauled alongside and a Marandanian pilot came aboard and took over. He smiled at Dusty and said, "I'm Nort Wilgas, Pilot."