How come Boerst’s looked uninflated and his own all puffy in places? Maybe that’s why he had so much trouble moving around, why he had to keep his feet spread apart all the time. He tried bringing them together, but his heels refused to cooperate. Why were Boerst’s so cooperative and not his own? But if it weren’t for Boerst, it would have slipped his mind completely that he was supposed to stand at attention, with his back to the rocket, facing the three men in uniform. Boerst was the first to be approached. Maybe it was a fluke, and maybe it wasn’t, or maybe it was simply because his name began with a B. But even if accidental, it was sure to be at Pirx’s expense. He was always having to sweat out his turn, which made him nervous, because anything was better than waiting. The quicker the better—that was his motto.

He caught only snatches of what was said to Boerst, and, ramrod-stiff, Boerst fired off his answers so quickly that Pirx didn’t stand a chance. Then it was his turn. No sooner had the CO started addressing him than he suddenly remembered something: there were supposed to be three of them flying. Where was the third? Luckily for him, he caught the CO’s last words and managed to blurt out, just in the nick of time:

“Cadet Pirx, ready for lift-off.”

“Hm… I see,” said the CO. “And do you declare that you are fit, both physically and mentally… ahem… within the limits of your capabilities?”

The CO was fond of lacing routine questions with such flourishes, something he could allow himself as the CO.

Pirx declared that he was fit.

“Then I hereby designate you as pilot for the duration of the flight,” said the CO, repeating the sacred formula, and he went on.

“Mission: vertical launch at half booster power. Ascent to ellipsis B68. Correction to stable orbital path, with orbital period of four hours and twenty-six minutes.