I joined the line of passengers at the checking desk, my half-kilo of baggage clutched nervously against my side. My heart was pounding with a mixture of fear and anticipation, my muscles twitching under the unaccustomed tension of the plastiflesh sheath that hid me.
All around me were the smells and sounds and sights of a spaceport, and above me were the stars, brilliant and close at hand in the dark sky.
The queue moved swiftly toward the checking desk, where a gray-haired officer with a seamed face sat.
The voice of the timekeeper came periodically from the loudspeakers around the perimeter of the field.
"Passengers for the Martian Queen, check in at desk five. It is now H minus forty-seven."
I stood now before the officer, tense and afraid. This was critical, the last check-point before I could actually set foot in the ship.
"It is now H minus forty-five," the timer's metallic voice said.
The officer looked up at me, and then at the faked photoprint on my papers.
"Kim Hall, age twenty-nine, vocation agri-technician and hydroponics expert, height 171 centimeters, weight 60 kilos. Right?"
I nodded soundlessly.