Communication with Earth was out. Completely. Radio deader than a vacuum. Darrel Bond allowed himself a grin. The fleet admiral had warned him against straying off the freight lanes. Had, in fact, threatened to break him down to a button-pusher if he did it again. That was a laugh! Button-pusher! What was he now, if not a button-pusher? In the old days, space piloting had been something—a thrill and a challenge. But now—buttons! Ships so automatic that he seemed to just go along for the ride. On