"Well, aren't you going to give me an argument?" demanded Dusty. "No. You can't be seen." "But someone's likely to smell bourbon on my breath." "No one that counts. And by the time we get back--" Dusty stopped raising the flask in midair. "Get back--?" he roared. "Get back. Look, Gramer--" "Sit down, Dusty. Take it easy." "Gramer, what goes on here? You're not suggesting that we take off in this fire-breathing hot water boiler, are you?" "You've read all the advertisements." "Yeah, but nobody with sense would take ad-writer's copy for anything but guff." Outside, a bomb burst with an ear-splitting racket. A stentorian voice thundered, "X Minus Five Minutes!" "Ye Gods, you're really going through with this madman's publicity scheme?" Gramer smiled. "Sure. It's just to Venus; but you can bet your life that every kid that sees this take-off on video or here on the field will be dreaming of the fabulous adventures you'll be having. Those kids _know_ this is for real, Dusty." "Include me elsewhere," mumbled Dusty. He started for the spacelock. "You can't let those kids down!" roared Gramer. Dusty paused at the sill of the spacelock. "Gramer," he said cynically, "I'm not letting anybody down. I'm just keeping the hide of Dusty Britton in one unscarred piece." "But the public--" "That's what you've got press agents for, Gramer. So you can get your high-priced publicity men to run a few miles of paper explaining how I happen to have left this shooting star four minutes before take-off!" "Dusty, you're a no-good louse." "But a whole one. And let me tell you this, Gramer, you're less worried about the state of youthful morals than you are about losing the thread of a good, high-selling series. So I'm going to sail out of here as though I was scared to death of rockets--which I sure as hell am--and you're going to tell some bright explainist to get busy earning the dough you pay him. And when the smoke is all cleared away, I'll be safe and you'll be safe, and Dusty Britton will continue to go rolling along and the box office will continue to come rolling in. Spend a few short months in space? Not while the geegees are running at Hialeah!" "But Dusty--" "Space? Bah! Nothing, floating gently from vacuum to void and back again. Not for Dusty Britton!" Dusty paused long enough to run splayed fingers through his hair and then he headed for the spacelock with a determined step. "Wait!" roared Gramer. Dusty paused. "The least you could do is to go out of here not looking like Dusty Britton. Don't be an ass! I'll cover for you, but you've got to help!" "All right but--" Outside another bomb racketed and the amplifier announced laconically, "X Minus Three Minutes!" and startled Dusty with the realization that he did not have much time. "--make it quick!" "You--there!" A technician coming up the ladder looked startled. "Fifty bucks to swap clothing with Britton, here."