The pilot, returning to his control panels from the brief recess he had taken elsewhere in the ship, only saw Cragin for as long as it took the Earthman to unleash the weapon he had captured. There was a flat explosion, the weapon bucked uncomfortably, and the pilot died with a large, blue hole through what Cragin took to be his head. There was only one more thing left to logic, and the rest-- For the second time in his life since he had met Lin Griffin, he wondered what, if something there was, might lie beyond logic. The simplified control panel resembled something that might have been manufactured in Earth factories half a century before. It had been obviously designed for the capabilities of the servant-pilot to whom it was assigned. If only she had the guts-- Cragin blasted off, and twisted the speed-control full on. The Trespass Limit would shatter him, of course. Or within moments at least, the death which the Owners themselves controlled would seek him out. Unless.... He could not understand the symbols, but he knew the acceleration and velocity needles were going crazy--they were deep in a red-hued band and nearing its limit. Even through the inverse inertia field, Cragin could feel the thrust of the terrible acceleration and then-- There was a click. A hum which rose within seconds to a high shrill followed it and then another click came, another hum, then going up the scale. Such sounds could be only from--COMPTOMETERS! Cragin spun a telescreen control, a mad laughter welling from within him, bursting through his blood-flecked lips, shaking him uncontrollably. There was blackness! The gateway, gone--the great, star-like home of the Owners, vanished! Somehow, he was out! A critical speed, and the comps going like crazy! Cragin laughed and laughed until he fell unconscious. VI It had been, as closely as he could tell, nine years. Nine years of aimless--no, helpless, wandering from planet to planet, from sun to sun, flying tight-rope between countless dimensions, following his fantastic escape from the realm of the Owners. He should feel excitement now; should want to laugh until he deafened himself because even now, swimming palely in the field of his forward electronoscope was the solar system, his system; HOME. Luck, chance, whatever you wanted to call it, he was home. Stumbled on it, of course, as he had stumbled his entire way the length, depth and time of all creation. He should laugh, but there was no strength for laughter. There was just a tranquil kind of acceptance, a mould of thought into which Cragin had long since forced his mind, in order to retain his sanity as he ran the never ending gamut of change which was the very fabric of the infinity in which he had plodded. Home. A place of torture and of slow death, but at least a place where he might die among his own kind.