First Lensman by E.E. Smith

For hours Virgil Samms sat motionless, staring almost unseeing into his plate. It was not that the view was not worth seeing -- the wonder of space, the ever-changing, constantly-shifting panorama of incredibly brilliant although dimensionless points of light, against that wondrous background of mist-besprinkled black velvet, is a thing that never fails to awe even the most seasoned observer -- but he had a tremendous load on his mind. He had to solve an apparently insoluble problem. How. _how_. HOW could he do what he had to do?

Finally, knowing that the time of landing was approaching, he got up, unfolded his fans, and swam lightly through the air of the cabin to a hand-line, along which he drew himself into the control room. He could have made the trip in that room, of course, if he had so chosen; but, knowing that officers of space do not really like to have strangers in that sanctum, he did not intrude until it was necessary.