g and
distinct because there was no air where this thing floated. The
blackness between them was absolute because this was space itself. The
thing that floated was a moon. A man-made moon. It was an artificial
satellite of Earth. Men were now building it. Presently it would float
as Joe dreamed of it, and where the sun struck it, it would be
unbearably bright, and where there were shadows, they would be abysmally
black--except, perhaps, when earthshine from the planet below would
outline it in a ghostly fashion.

There would be men in the thing that floated in space. It swam in a
splendid orbit about the world that had built it. Sometimes there were
small ships that--so Joe imagined--would fight their way up to it,
panting great plumes of rocket smoke, and bringing food and fuel to its
crew. And presently one of those panting small ships would refill its
fuel tanks to the bursting point from the fuel other ships had
brought--and yet the ship would have no weight. So it would drift away
from the greater floating thing in space, and suddenly its rockets would
spout flame and fumes, and it would head triumphantly out and away from
Earth. And it would be the first vessel ever to strike out for the
stars!

That was the picture Joe had of the Space Platform and its meaning.
Maybe it was romantic, but men were working right now to make that
romance come true. This transport plane was flying to a small town
improbably called Bootstrap, carrying one of the most essential devices
for the Platform's equipment. In the desert near Bootstrap there was a
gigantic construction shed. Inside that shed men were building exactly
the monstrous object that Joe pictured to himself. They were trying to
realize a dream men have dreamed for decades--the necessary space
platform that would be the dock, the wharf, the starting point from
which the first of human space explorers could start for infinity. The
idea that anybody could want to halt such an undertaking made Joe
Kenmore burn.

The co-pilot painstakingly crushed out his cigarette. The ship flew with
more steadiness than a railroad car rolls on rails. There was the oddly
cushioned sound of the motors. It was all very matter-of-fact.

But Joe said angrily: "Look! Is any of what you said--well--kidding?"

"I wish it were, fella," said the co-pilot. "I can talk to you about it,
but most of it's hushed up. I tell you----"

"Why can you talk to me?" demanded Joe suspiciously. "What makes