He wouldn't fail to pause, Pauker reflected. Marsfield was his destination. And now it looked like he'd really make it. That damned baggage man had given him a bad moment. There was no red scar on his left cheek, but his over-sensitive imagination had screamed that Customs had opened his bags and sent this man down to search for him. Obviously, the baggage man had been looking for another passenger, and there had been no necessity to retreat into booth seven for concealment. Oh well, he thought, if he made no worse errors than this he could look back at a rather faultless operation. An extra shot of some serum might give him a stiff neck or a headache, but this was a minor thing, and it served him right for losing his head. The purring voice in his ear expertly seduced his attention. He knew it was part of the departure routine to dispel nervousness of the several hundred passengers aboard, some of whom were bound to be claustrophobes. The close-packing of humanity was necessary, of course, from space limitations. So were the arrangements for keeping them immobile on the whole trip. This was no ocean liner where you could wander about, swim and play shuffle-board. You bought your ticket, lay down and played dead for nine months. It was part of the contract. On the other hand, as the girl was explaining, "All possible care has been taken for your safety and comfort. We are about to blast-off now, and during early acceleration I will continue talking to you, explaining the many answers to the questions that occur in most people's minds." * * * * * The first vibration seemed to start in his own chest, and the frequency was so low that he felt, rather than heard it. Then the gentle motion of departure pressed him deeper and deeper into the soft mattress. The acceleration increased in easy stages so that each breath he drew seemed only slightly more difficult than the last. The skin of his neck and face pulled taut, and his lips flattened against his teeth. "Continue taking deep, slow breaths," the voice advised. "There is no need for any concern, because your pre-flight physical examination determined that you are well fitted to withstand the slight discomforts of space-travel. The several injections you received included carefully measured doses of narcotics designed to make your journey more pleasant. "One injection relaxes all your muscles, which, in turn, lowers your metabolism and makes intravenous feeding adequate. You will know no hunger or nausea, even when we go into free-flight." There had been no change in the voice at blast-off, and Pauker realized it must be recorded. It was all he could do to keep from swallowing his tongue. Talking would have been impossible. They relaxed your muscles, all right. It amounted to virtual paralysis!