Bishop had warned me. It takes years of deep-space time to enable a person to stare at the naked Universe without screaming. It got me. The crystal thunder of the stars, that horrible hungry blackness. I remember I was sort of crying and fighting, then Max had me by the shoulders, holding me gently. He was murmuring and stroking my hair. After a time, I stopped whimpering. [Illustration: Illustrated by STONE] "Thanks," I whispered. "You'd better get some sleep, Greta," he said. I turned in. I think I'm falling in love. * * * * * _January 19_ Today we made planetfall. It took Max a few hours to home in on the test colony ship. He finally found it, on the shore of an inland sea that gleamed like wrinkled blue satin. For a time we cruised in widening spirals, trying to detect some signs of life. There was nothing. We finally landed. Max and Armitage donned spacesuits and went toward the colony ship. They came back in a few hours, very pale. "They're dead." Armitage's voice cracked as he came out of the airlock. "All of them." "Skeletons," Max said. "How?" Bishop said. Armitage's hands were shaking as he poured a drink. "Looks like civil war." "But there were a hundred of them," I whispered. "They were _dedicated_--" "I wonder," Bishop said thoughtfully. "White and brown and yellow. Russian and British and French and German and Chinese and Spanish. They were chosen for technical background rather than emotional stability." "Rot!" Armitage said like drums beating. "It's some alien bug, some toxin. We've got to isolate it, find an antibody." He went to work. * * * * * _January 22_ I'm scared. It's taken three days to finalize the atmospheric tests. Oxygen, nitrogen, helium, with trace gases. Those trace gases are stinkers. Bishop discovered a new inert gas, heavier than Xenon. He's excited. I'm currently checking stuff that looks like residual organic, and am not too happy about it. Still, this atmosphere seems pure. Armitage is chafing. "It's in the flora," he insisted today. "Something, perhaps, that they ate." He stood with a strained tautness, staring feverishly at the chronometer. "Senator Farragut's due to make contact soon. What'll I tell him?" "That we're working on it," Bishop said dryly. "That the four best scientists in the Galaxy are working toward the solution." "That's good," Armitage said seriously. "But they'll worry. You _are_ making progress?" I wanted to wrap a pestle around his neck. We were all in the control room an hour later. Armitage practically stood at attention while Farragut's voice boomed from the transmitter.