[52--Hurry Up and Wait-Mo]

There was no such thing as a terminal, or even a waiting room inside the compound I was in.  My surroundings were completely unfamiliar to me.

There were no signs or building numbers, so I just started wandering.

It was like I was on an alien planet, or a sci-fi movie set.  It was beautiful— the nearly full Moon was out and it was a clear cold night. 

Nothing makes for better viewing conditions than cold, dry weather, and I could clearly see the men and machines at work possibly a quarter of a mile away.  Nobody seemed to see me at all.

But I was freezing, without a coat, or gloves.  I was pleased to find the cap I wore had extensible ear flaps hidden inside.  I tucked my hands in my pockets and huddled against the building to get out of the wind.  I sidled along, passing in front of blacked-out windows.

At the vertex of the chevron was an entrance, big double glass doors.  I checked them and was relieved to find them unlocked.

I slipped inside and found myself in a chevron-shaped room, only the arms were much shorter.  A corridor ran along the inside of both wings of the vee.

"Can I help you," A flashy young secretary asked to me from behind a counter at the apex of the room.  It was shaped like an arc, in keeping with the rest of the decor, which was Fifties Airport.

I went up to the desk and gave her my papers and ID.  "I am supposed to get on a rocket," I said, exactly as if I were saying 'I'm want you to strap me to a giant bomb, light it, while I hope that it has a leak, so the fire can get out'.

"Let's see," she said, in a tone so bubbly it caused my nose to itch.  She was pretty, but too highly polished.  Her hair was perfect, her makeup so bold it looked logographic. 

She was wearing a suit that I wasn't sure whether it was a uniform or not.  It was medium grey, of a flattering, though slightly outdated cut, and utterly without insignia.  The buttons were obsessively plain, in two rows of pairs.

But neither was there jewelry or other superfluous decoration.  To top it off, she wore a stylized garrison cap—cut from the same cloth as her smock—of the type a Marine would call a piss-cutter.

I decided the evidence pointed to no particular conclusion.

She took them over to her computer terminal and typed for a minute.  Referring back to the original document several times.

"Your crew will be here soon.  And you should all be able to board.

Launch will be 7:33 Universal Time.  That's 1:33 this AM.  Your flight time will be 45 minutes." 

She printed my flight plan and stamped it.  I took it, gathered up my documents and looked around. 

There was a short row of air-port style chairs along four of the six walls.  Four low coffee-tables, each complete with ashtrays and a centerpiece of fake holiday greenery, completed the look. 

There were a couple of silver-domed trashcans by the doors, but nothing else at all. No magazines, no plants, no TV or radio.  And not the slightest signs of people.

The ashtrays were clean, there was no litter on the floor, broken crayons or discarded toys under the chairs.  It was like a display window in shopping mall.

Most disturbing of all, there was no dust.

I took a seat and looked at my flight schedule.

FLIGHT SCHEDULE FOR HEYWOOD, DANNIELLE LYNN, USPC-76-011301

FLIGHT NUMBER:  OFS-77-004

DEPARTURE:  07:33:18 UT, TUE 04 JAN 77, FROM OFFUTT TRANSORBITAL SPACEPORT

FIRST BURN:  00:23:57 (07:33:18 TO 07:57:15 UT)

DURATION:  00:45:12

ARRIVAL:  08:18:30 UT, TUE 04 JAN 77, AT OPHIUCHUS STATION

SPACECRAFT:  LOCKHEED SKYHOPPER, NUMBER 65-013, USS 'BUGS BUNNY IV'

CAP JAMES GRIFFIN, USSF, PILOT AND CAPTAIN

FLT LTN RODRIGO VASTIS, USSF, COPILOT AND ASTROGATOR

That told me a whole lot of nothing I didn't already know.  I couldn't tell a Skyhopper from a grasshopper.  And what kind of ship is named after a cartoon character?

I sat there, slowly thawing, for about ten minutes, with nothing to do and bored out of my skull.

Then the door opened.  Two men came in, dressed in black flight suits.  They wore garrison caps, which they removed and tucked into a small O.D. grip they each carried.  I could instantly tell they were clowns.

The older of the two, a barrel-chested guy about 5'6" with short legs and long arms, sauntered up to the counter and checked in with the receptionist. 

The other milled around behind him while the pretty woman took their orders and started typing on her console again.  He was thin, with dark curly hair and a hollow pinched face with sallow skin.  He didn't look like he got enough sleep.

I hoped they weren't my crew.

The receptionist finished at her computer and handed them back their paperwork.  She pointed me out and they both came over.

"Morning, little lady," the older one addressed me, trying vainly to sound like John Wayne.   "What brings you up here on a night like this?"

He wore two bars on his shoulders and his nametag said "CAP Jekyll."

"Dr. Jekyll, I presume."

"Yup," he said, looking like the cat that ate the canary, "my reputation precedes me, I see."

The skinny one turned back around, wearing those giant freaky eyeballs on springs.  Was anybody that childish?

His nametag said "1st Ltn Hyde", so I knew I was in for a treat.

"E tu, Brute," I asked him, and plucked at one of his eyestalks.

"Careful," he warned.  "You could put an eye out with that."

I was gonna die, burn up on the launch-pad while these keystone cops tried to crawl into the engine ducts or something.

"Are you the crew," I asked with only slightly feigned horror.

They both nodded, grinning like idiots.

"I'm Jekyll, and I'll be drivin' this handbasket.  And this is..."

"Let me guess—Heckyll?"

"Vera funny," the skinny one replied.  "I'm Flight Leftenant Runnin' Hyde,  the bug-eyed astroguessor.  I used to do the Flagstaff, Arizona run, on 24 hour standby, take off at a moments notice.  I had to keep my Injun Running all damn day!"

Apparently that was funny, up in space, where the air was presumably thinner.  I wondered where these fools had trained.

"You don't look like an astronaut," the one labeled Jekyll noted. "Are you checked out?"

"I hope so," I told him.  "I spent all-day working at it."

"Have you equalized?"

"Equalized?"

"Yeah," he explained.  "We run one-third of an atmosphere, just like the space station.  You gotta spend time in the chamber of horrors, otherwise you'll fizz up like a great big soda."

"No.  I think I'd have remembered a 'chamber of horrors'."

"Well, it's only 11:00 now.  If we get you in now, you can have four hours before launch.  What say, kid?  You up for the most traumatic experience of your life?"

"Do I have a choice?"

"Sure.  You can remain a groundhog the rest of your life.  Say, what are you in for?"

"Litterin'," I told him solemnly.

They both moved away.  They were clowns.  I just hoped they knew their business under their serious cries for help.

"Well," Hyde said, grabbing me by the arm, "let's get you locked away.  The Judge won't be up here till 2:30 at the earliest.  We can't even get on the bird till 3:00.  You got any luggage?"

"No," I told him.  "They wouldn't let me bring any."

"A coat?"

"No.  I was surprised how cold it got after dark."

"We'll get you a flight suit, if we can find one small enough.  Boy, you lot get younger every year.  In my day, you had to be at least thirteen to join the military."

I'm sure he was still joshing.

"I'm sixteen," I told them, "and certified as an adult."

"Venus years don't count," Jekyll quipped.