The announcer stepped beside d**k and smiled encouragement at him. But d**k did not smile back. He could not move a muscle, his brain refused to synchronize with the nerve centers of his body.
The announcer, long experienced, knew exactly what to do. “May I ask your name, please?” he said easily. It was the simplest possible question to answer, the easiest way to break camera fright.
Dick made a mighty effort and found his voice. “Richard Simmons,” he replied. He realized he had squeaked rather than spoken.
“Do your friends call you d**k?” the announcer asked.
This time it was a little easier. “Yes, they do,” d**k answered. His voice was a little less strained. Then, at that moment, he shook it off. It flashed through his mind that for a few seconds he was the voice of the Spacemaster
