No answer came. Space was a velvet black out here, the stars gleaming points. She had no sensation of movement, but twisting her head in the helmet, she could see the lifecraft becoming smaller. Her heart sank with the knowledge that inertia was pulling her out, out farther and farther into space. _He's not coming after me_, she thought suddenly, and the thought terrified her, made her throat suddenly tight. _Even if he hears, he won't come._ Around her, space drifted--dark, silent, limitless. Ahead, a great nebula glowed. "I'm sorry," she said slowly to herself. "I suppose I deserve it." "Probably," George's voice came in her helmet, "but I'm coming after you anyway. Everybody's okay on this end, except our insurance man who couldn't get his helmet on in time; it seems my hands were somehow in the way." Her heart leaped at his voice. "Do you still love me, George?" she asked. Somehow, that mattered more than anything else. "I don't know," he said wearily, "I don't really know." "Can't we try again?" she pleaded. "I'm sick of trying," George said. Her heart sank. She drifted through space watching the lifecraft bear down upon her. In a few seconds it would be close enough, so that the braking rockets-- "George!" she cried. "You're coming too close. I'll be burned by the braking rockets!" "Accidents happen," George told her. She screamed. The lifecraft turned aside then, and long fingers of flame shot past her from the forward tubes. The ship drifted alongside her then, and all jets were cut. She breathed sudden relief. "Thank goodness. For a few seconds there...." "It was a bad few seconds for both of us," George told her. "Don't tempt me again, Silvia." He appeared at the gaping hole in the lifecraft, a rope in his hands. "I won't, George," she promised. "We'll try again; this time we'll _really_ try." He tossed her the rope. She grabbed it and began the descent to the ship. When he pulled her inside it was like being born again. And somehow, she knew this new life would be different.