But that was in the future.
"There's a lot you could do," he told Demarest. "Shield the atomics."
"Working on it," commented Demarest. "But every ounce we add cuts down on the payload. The best way is to get the ship from one place to another faster. It's time in space that hurts. Less exposure time, more trips before the crew has to retire. It adds up to the same thing."
On Mars, Amantha fondled the picture. "Pretty. But it ain't real." She laid it aside.
Ethan squinted at it. "I could make you think it was. Get it enlarged, solidified. Have them make it soft, big as a baby. You could hold it in your lap."
"Outgrew playthings years ago." Amantha adjusted the chair switch, but the rocking motion was no comfort.
Ethan turned the picture over, face down. "Nope. Hate to back you up, 'Mantha, but it ain't the same. There's nothing like a baby, wettin' and squallin' and smilin', stubborn when it oughtn't to be and sweet and gentle when you don't expect it. Robo-dolls don't fool anybody who's ever held the real thing."
In the interval, Earth had drawn ahead. The gap between the two planets was widening.
"That's another fallacy," objected the training director. "The body can stand just so much acceleration. We're near the limit. What good are faster ships?"
"That's your problem," said Demarest. "Get me tougher crewmen. Young, afraid of nothing, able to take it."