The Star Line ought to abandon that silly custom of christening a new ship, thought Captain Evans. It was an archaic ceremony, utterly irrational, a foolish relic of a primitive world in which people had been so uncertain of their machines that they had had to depend on luck, and to beg good fortune of unpredictable gods.
Taking up Ley's Space Ships again, he began fondly to reread the page, when there was a knock at the door and a crewman entered.
"Mr. Jasperson to see you, sir."
The Captain stared, a tiny muscle in his cheek quivering.
"You know I'm not to be disturbed until after takeoff, Stacey."
"Yes, sir. But Mr. Jasperson insisted. He says he knows those rules don't apply to him."
Evans closed the book, laid it on his desk, and stood up. He leaned forward and spoke softly.
"Tell Mr. Jasperson—"
"Tell him what, Josiah?" boomed a voice from the opening door. "You can tell me yourself now."
Burl Jasperson was a portly little man with legs too short for his bulging body, and clothes that were too tight. His head was bald except for a fringe above the ears, and he might have been a comical figure but for the icy blue eyes that probed from under the dome of his forehead.