Scotty nodded. "I've been maneuvering dummies until I'm blue in the face."
"You'll need it pounded in."
"It's pounded, don't worry."
The General gave a satisfied nod. "All right, Scotty. See you at the blast-off. And remember, if you want to pull out—nobody will blame you. Right down to the last minute before Zero, you can pull out—"
"I don't think so," said Scotty. "I don't think I'm going to pull out. Not on this one."
"Zero minus twenty minutes—"
The harsh metallic voice dragged Scotty back to the present with a jolt. For a moment he had almost regained the old familiar burn of self-assured bravado he had felt as he had finished talking to the General that day and sauntered out toward the ship standing in the launching scaffold. He had even been smiling as he recalled the interview—
But now his eye caught the dull gleam of the control board before him, and his smile faded.
The voice was whispering softly, deep inside his head: Come off it, Scotty. Who are you trying to kid?