Bailey started across the red field. Aloneness, menace, strangeness settled on him as he walked. Maybe you got used to these feelings. Maybe you got over them. Maybe they got you. Or maybe something else got you. So this was the service. He was at the bubble. Fry and DiCredico were looking at him so strangely ... partly expectant, appraising, ironic--indefinable. Matt turned to wave Fry on, then went up and peered into the bubble. Then he knew what had happened to Captain Krotzer. The captain sat with his shirt undone and dirty, his eyes fixed glassily to a place on the dome some twenty feet from where Bailey stood. Unkempt beard was on his face. A blaster lay on the table. The bodies of his crew lay about him. Krotzer held the radar mike, his lips moving monotonously. It must have smelled terrible in there. Space was the monster that had got Krotzer and the crew of the Galileo, moving in on them with icy probings until one of them had cracked. Bailey felt a hand on his shoulder. Fry had arrived. The medic gazed into the dome. They went over and sat near DiCredico. "We may as well go in and get him," said their skipper. "Try to be easy on him." Matt Bailey felt something breaking inside his chest. Maybe it would grow back, maybe it wouldn't. ... _They felt something breaking inside his chest in all the rooms in Minnesota and Bloomsbury and Hong Kong, and then there was a separation and they were no longer Bailey but themselves, watching a thin man stand up beside a desk._ _"I am Wilson Bonner of World Tele," he said. "You have just witnessed the world's first kinevision broadcast, and you may have your brains back. Practically everybody on earth tonight was Matt Bailey--although there is really no Matt Bailey at all._ _"Perhaps you expected something more pleasant from your first kinevision, and your government owes you an explanation. You are aware of the progress of space flight research. We have achieved planetary escape. There is wild optimism. The space ministry has been swamped, clogged, with space-ship volunteers._ _"It was time for realism._ _"Matt Bailey was a synthetic personality. We invented him. We fed personality factors into a calculator, and we also fed into the calculator some highly informed guesses about just a few of the conditions likely to be encountered in space flight._ _"We used the calculator to project the neural reactions of the synthetic person, Bailey, under the assumed conditions._ _"Through kinevision, these sensations were reproduced in you._ _"I need not labor the point. Space flight will be no Sunday outing. You deserve to know that--to know it with your feelings as well as your brains. And especially you young men should know it--you who are thinking about joining the volunteers. Frankly, we hope some of you will not volunteer. For though there is no Matt Bailey, there will be, someday, soon."_