Somebody marched stiffly toward the four of them. Joe's expression grew
rueful. The Space Project was neither Army nor Navy nor Air Corps, but
something that so far was its own individual self. But the man marching
toward Joe was Lieutenant Commander Brown, strictly Navy, assigned to
the Shed as an observer. And there were some times when he baffled Joe.
Like now.

He halted, and looked as if he expected Joe to salute. Joe didn't.

Lieutenant Commander Brown said, formally: "I would like to offer my
best wishes for your trip, Mr. Kenmore."

"Thanks," said Joe.

Brown smiled distantly. "You understand, of course, that I consider
navigation essentially a naval function, and it does seem to me that any
ship, including a spaceship, should be manned by naval personnel. But I
assuredly wish you good fortune."

"Thanks," said Joe again.

Brown shook hands, then stalked off.

Haney rumbled in his throat. "How come, Joe, he doesn't wish all of us
good luck?"

"He does," said Joe. "But his mind's in uniform too. He's been trained
that way. I'd like to make a bet that we have him as a passenger out to
the Platform some day."