Whiteford nodded absently. "Just be sure and tell Maxwell that Personnel Incorporated can always supply the man! Always!" * * * * * Inside the cabin, Whiteford methodically went through the take-off preparations he had practiced during the previous two weeks. He gave the chronometer, synchronized to start with the take-off, a quick inspection and turned to the meters on the instrument panel. He quickly went over the small control board that would permit him to make deviations and corrections in the ship's course of as much as five degrees and checked the geiger counter apparatus which emitted a faint burp as a stray cosmic ray hit it. The Counter was designed to warn against stray radiation from the engines (but the chances were ten million to one that there would be any, Burger had said). He flicked through the pages of the ship's log and idly noted the entry pages for meter readings and observations. Against the rear bulkhead of the small cabin was a hammock-like affair, suspended by coil springs. He punched the hammock casually. It would serve to cushion the effects of acceleration at the take-off and as a bunk for the pilot the rest of the trip. Near it and almost a part of the deck was a food locker. There was a small spigot at the top that served as a water tap for the tank below. Around the top of the cabin there was a series of small ports of steel-strong plastic, permitting an outside view. The ports were currently closed with steel over-lap caps. He looked down at his watch. Two minutes until take-off. He strapped himself in the hammock and bounced once or twice to test the springs. They hardly gave at all under his efforts; they were designed to give way under the acceleration of 8 or 9 g's. The hammock and the skin tight pilot suit were supposed to keep him together under the crushing weight of acceleration, at which time he'd be like jelly in a mould. A light sweat sprung out on his forehead. If something went wrong with the apparatus, they could scrape him off the rear bulkhead like a pancake off a hot griddle. He hadn't thought of that before. Not only that but how about radiation from the engines? Shielded, of course, but even the best engineers could sometimes.... Good God, how did he ever get.... There was a sudden surge of the ship and the springs holding the hammock stretched as easy as a dime store rubber-band. He felt his weight double and treble. His breath came in tight little gasps as if a sorting machine had been dumped on his chest. The weight kept increasing and the cabin started to spin. Little black dots danced around the edges of his area of vision and gradually covered it. He felt he was smothering in a dark, black pit....