"Not at all." Norton showed his superior knowledge. "Our auto-pilot is the best that money can buy and maintain. And after all, Miss Hemingway, there is little a pilot can do while we are in transit. The auto-pilot does the job from after take-off to before landing. In between, the human pilot relaxes and enjoys his space travel. So—may I build you a cocktail? Or maybe you'd prefer a highball."
"At this hour in the morning?"
Norton laughed and inspected his watch. "I admit that it is ten o'clock by Chicago time. But it is past midnight on Polaris Two at Minervatown. It's three A.M. in Leyport, Procyon Five. It's even three o'clock in London, Terra."
"Besides," said Charles Andrews curtly, "we're hard at work."
"Work?" exploded Norton loftily. "You're hard at work in deep space?"
"Certainly. Deep space or hard planet, work must go on. I did not get where I am by goofing off, Pilot Norton."
Jock Norton grinned. "All work and no play, you know."
"All play and no work is worse."
"It's more fun," said Jock, with a feeling that he was coming off second-best in this fool argument. "Look," he said, "everybody relaxes in deep space. It's customary. It's holiday."
"It's damn foolish." Andrews turned to Alice. "Miss Hemingway, what do you think?"