Pritchard's grip, he discovered later, was to the handle of a locked chart drawer. The massive wrench of that impact straightened his arm with a jerk, but at the same time the drawer's lock broke. He fell away in a shower of sheet film just as the _Apollo_ rolled, and a curve of smooth steel wall swung out to catch him and break his fall into a plunging glide against a cushion of stunned men's bodies. It was a miracle that nobody was seriously injured. The slowness of the ship's fall at the outset, the curvature of walls, the general fitness of trained minds and bodies--all combined to prevent anything more serious than cuts and contusions. Captain Savage was the first Pritchard pulled out of the tangle. The wiry old man was unhurt, though dazed. In spite of his age he gamely pulled himself together with a terrier-like shake. "What hit us?" he croaked. "I think whatever was in the ship did it," said Pritchard. "But then, that must mean it's outside now. Think we sustained much damage?" The old man scoffed. "Man, this ship was built for crash landings. The surface glaze must be cracked. And all the supplies we broke out after landing must be all over hell." He gazed aloft at the muster deck's controls, now high overhead. "Have to right her," he muttered, "but I can't get at them. I'll have to get to the master set, I guess." His gaze switched dubiously to the hatch leading to the nose, halfway up the curving wall. "I can set her back up on her tail, firing the beam tubes." "Majinski," called out Pritchard, "build a ladder or pyramid of men up that hatch so the captain can get to the controls. Sturgis, you and you and you--" he picked out half a dozen cadet hunters "--let's scout through the ship. I want to be sure our friend has left." It was awkward work, clambering over girders and through crazily slanting doors and along upside down passages where, in deep space, they floated past with ease. They held their snappers ready while Pritchard opened door after door with the captain's magnekey. They found something in the compression chamber of Number Two Blower. What they found, after taking down the side panel, was a long, flopping red thing--something like a ten-foot carrot, writhing and curling in on itself wetly. It was a foot thick at its big end. It fell out on the curving wall beneath the blower. They watched it soberly as it twisted this way and that convulsively, contracting and lengthening out. It gave off that same sickening odor. "Is this what gave us all the trouble?" somebody demanded. "No." Pritchard's nostrils flared slightly. "Just a part of it, that's all. Most of it got away." "_Most_ of it!" He nodded slowly. "It was leaving when I started closing those ports. It was leaving by this intake port--maybe the way it came in--and the valve started to slice into it. In other words, we had it by the tail. It tried to yank free and that's what tipped us over."