They thudded each other on the back, they yelled things they could not remember, they let the tears flood down their cheeks without noticing, and they laughed; they laughed long and loudly with words and wordlessly, and then they watched again, watched mighty Earth below them turning by some power that was not theirs to see on an invisible spit over Infinity. It was at the end of the fourth month that Streeter died. "Josh? Josh what's our trouble?" Young, earnest. Wiry and pink-cheeked and an eternal glint of excitement in his light blue eyes. Thorn kept studying the instruments as he answered, slowly, and without alarm in his voice. It wasn't much, but the bunching of his thick eyebrows had given him away. It always did. "Port reflector's all, I guess, Johnny. Been watching it; a hair off, so we're down just enough BTU's to make a dent in power supply. Must have come out a little cockeyed when we popped it. Want to watch the panel a few minutes while I--" "Second-guessed you, Skipper--" Johnny Streeter was already halfway into a pressure-suit. "Just zip me up the back and check my petticoat...." Josh Thorn grinned, closed Johnny's suit, secured his soap-bubble helmet. They'd both been Out before so it wasn't as if this was the first time. It was just that this was the first time it _had_ to be done. "Suit-check, Johnny...." "I read you--" crackled the bulkhead audio. "Air?" "Fourteen point seven psi, oxygen 26 per cent, nitrogen...." They finished the check; all the complex machinery of Baggy-Drawers was functioning perfectly. Then Instrument Check--Methodically, Johnny's gauntleted mitts touched each magnetic hook on the wide girdle, named each implement suspended from it, replaced it. "Can I go out and play now?" "Be a good boy, Johnny." The lock hissed, cycled down, and then Thorn was hearing the metallic noises of Johnny's feet striding ponderously like some story-book Colossus along the "upper" hull, sternward, and then to port. "Be a cinch, Josh," the audio crackled. "If they're all this easy I'll feel like a draft-dodger! Maybe if I swab the deck while I'm ou--" A sound that wasn't Johnny but it was. "Johnny? Johnny, do you read me?" Josh Thorn could feel sweat dripping on his stomach. "Johnny--" He left the mike, made his way aft in clumsy haste, the simulated gravity confusing long-conditioned reflexes. And he listened beneath the hull section over which Johnny would be. Listened for a thump, a scrape of metal on metal, a vibration of life.... Nothing. His own Baggy-Drawers seemed built for a midget with one leg as he struggled into it. Cursory check--enough, she worked, she'd have to.... Out. Aft. Port. Johnny.... Johnny Streeter was still standing, but it was an odd kind of stance; the stance of a marionette on slack strings. Motionless. Standing by the reflector mast, some of his magnetized instruments clinging to it.