I was already jetting, riding the prevailing winds high in the stratosphere, and at last grabbing a lift on the skin of a passenger rocket-plane. From high up Chicago looked almost as it did from normal human eyes. There was no feeling of being lost in enormity, at least. That was how I found the Experimental Hospital, and descended toward it. The rest was easy. I had only to follow the newscast men to the three rooms. Hovering in the air, I felt the thunderous vibration of a doctor explaining wearily for perhaps the thousandth time: "Tissues and organs have no fundamental defect; some repair and replacement has even been made. There should be consciousness, but there is not. The rest is mystery." I went to Jan's room first. How long had it been since I had seen her real face? It was waxen, now. All the color faded, as in an old painting. Never mind how I felt; it was bad enough. I drifted to Doc's room. His eyes and cheeks were sunken. Hovering high over him, I could not tell that he breathed. Then I saw myself, gigantic and pallid. The embarrassment of seeing this corpselike thing was lessened by the fact that it resembled my former lusty self only slightly. "Hurry back, Jan, please," I urged aloud, though no one could hear me. "Hurry back, Doc." I heard things in that room. Physicians conversing in thunderous undertones: "I'm getting tired of this. Interesting case, but it has been too long. Can't last much longer. Yes, sometimes it seems an unkindness to try to maintain life in something doomed to die." Now that there was a chance at last, the help of those doctors might be wavering. I found an interne writing at a table in the corridor. It occurred to me that, had it been necessary, I would even have dunked my entire body in ink from his pen-nib, and written him a message by dragging myself across the paper of the form he was filling out. But I still had my jet rod, so I clung to his knuckle, and scribbled on the form in a charred line left by a needle of atomic fire: _I have returned. So have the others. Please continue your efforts. Thanks._ _Charles Harver._ The interne's hand jerked. I was hurled toward the ceiling. But I heard his bone-jarring roar: "Hey--Fletch! Dave! Look at this!" If they didn't understand or believe, still they would be alert and interested. There would be no breakdown of their struggle to keep those bodies living.