... _A shudder in the mind of Bailey and the other same minds_ ... Krotzer was beginning again: "This is Captain Krotzer of the ..." when there was a blinding white flash and the ship rang like a great bell slammed with a sledge-hammer. A spurt of white-hot blasted into the compartment and Benning, who had been near the bulkhead, cartwheeled with hands to his seared face. A wild horse of fright leaped inside Bailey and he wanted to tear off the headset. Above the alarm bell DiCredico was yelling. "Pinhead meteor. No danger. Jones, Alvarez, help Benning. Bulkhead will seal itself, men, it's only a pinhead meteor." Bailey's ears rang. A tiny, immensely fast meteor had hit, been vaporized, the coagulant between the inner and outer shells had sealed the hole. His spine itched. Did the little one mean they were near a swarm where they might catch a big one? His answer was a modulated mechanical keening from the proximity teller, up forward. He glanced at DiCredico for the don-space-suits order, but the captain was floating forward fast and wordlessly. To control himself Bailey gave his attention to the radar. All he heard was the insinuating laughter. The teller was howling like a hound in hell. DiCredico emerged from the forward compartment, his short bulk ungraceful in the air. "Don suits!" he ordered. "We're in a swarm!" Matt wrenched off the headset and launched himself toward his suit rack. He scrambled into his suit, dogged down the helmet, and sound and fire burst through the ship. He was lifted and slammed against a bulkhead. Black fire belched behind his eyes. He had a flashing vision of the backyard of his folks' home in Pittsburg, and a dark curtain fell over it. ... _Everywhere they had a vision of their home in Pittsburg. A black curtain fell over it_ ... When he opened his eyes he saw he was alone among a crew of death. They hung in their spacesuits against the bulkheads like limp grey bats while the ship tore on through space. Two had failed to get their helmets on. Their faces were bruised plums, mottled. Inside their bloated chests, the lungs would be pink froth, literally having exploded with the instant drop in air pressure. A third man's suit had ruptured up the front, the raggedy edges flayed back like skin. The man was swollen like one long drowned. There was no air. It had rushed through the barrel-sized hole in the hull. There was only one hole--the meteor had burst on impact and not passed clear through. Chunks of stone, ribbons of blood, scraps of metal hung quiet or floated above the deck. Matt had never told anyone how he felt about space. It was a freezing, heart-killing loneliness that waited icily, and now it had come in through the hull and was with him. His jaw clenched. He had no idea whether he could carry on alone, but he was going to.