from all the other mornings of his experience.

He got up and began to dress, in Major Holt's quarters back of that
giant steel half-globe called the Shed, near the town of Bootstrap. He
felt queer because he felt so much as usual. By all the rules, he should
have experienced a splendid, noble resolution and a fiery exaltation,
and perhaps even an admirable sensation of humility and unworthiness to
accomplish what was expected of him today. And, deep enough inside, he
felt suitable emotion. But it happened that he couldn't take time to
feel things adequately today.

He was much more aware that he wanted some coffee rather badly, and that
he hoped everything would go all right. He looked out of the windows at
empty, dreary desert under the dawn sky. Today was the day he'd be
leaving on a rather important journey. He hoped that Haney and the
Chief and Mike weren't nervous. He also hoped that nobody had gotten at
the fuel for the pushpots, and that the slide-rule crew that had
calculated everything hadn't made any mistakes. He was also bothered
about the steering-rocket fuel, and he was uncomfortable about the
business of releasing the spaceship from the launching cage. There was,
too, cause for worry in the take-off rockets--if the tube linings had
shrunk there would be some rather gruesome consequences--and there could
always be last-minute orders from Washington to delay or even cancel
everything.

In short, his mind was full of strictly practical details. He didn't
have time to feel noble aspirations or sensations of high destiny. He
had a very tricky and exacting job ahead of him.

The sky was growing lighter outside. Stars faded in a paling blue and