We entered the sublunarian chambers beneath the ship. Dr. McQueen had preceded us here; and under his direction the _Orion Zeta_ had been made as aseptic as the Big Tank itself. Colonel Barrett and his subordinates who'd train us to operate the _Zeta_ would have to wear sterility-suits aboard her, and would enter through the formaldehyde sump that was now her only entrance. Even the dust of the moon was not entirely sterile. The Firebird took my arm to urge me toward the liquid gateway to the ship, eager to see our new home. "Wait," I said, holding her back till all the others had gone through the antiseptic pool. "Cold feet, Johnny?" she teased me. "Gloria Moss once told me, Firebird, that a healthy respect for tradition is essential to the organic strength of a group such as ours," I said. "So...." I bent and picked the Firebird up, her weight moon-trimmed to that of a three-year-old. She put her arms around my neck as I carried her down the ladder into the poisonous decontamination tank that was our front door to Alpha Centauri. End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of World in a Bottle, by Allen Kim Lang