"We're going to be hit, we're going to be hit again, and maybe a couple of dozen times after that. If a big one slams straight into us, somebody might get a bloody nose. But we can get through even if the ship turns out to look like a thick piece of Swiss cheese. "Right now we're sailing in between thinned-out stuff, Hollender tells me. The first hour will be a tea party compared to the second. "The air pump room sits smack in ship center. Anyone who'd like to zip his suit and shut himself in with the pumps has my permission. Speak up now; I can't force co-operation in something like this." The intercom stayed silent. "Thanks," the commander said. "One more thing. Fish a couple of hunks of cotton out of your first aid. After you hear the first hit, you'll know where to put 'em." * * * * * Hiller watched the changed stellar configurations through the ports. The stars shone in a friendly brightness compared to the darkness around them. That darkness held invisible missiles which possessed only velocity and direction, harmless vectors. Only when they met the hull would there be a molecular and not only calculative indication of their presence. The ship rode silently, weighted with the heaviness of a grim expectancy. Hiller curiously switched on his meteor-scanner, making sure to keep the circuits connecting to the guiding jets and gyros cold. Even if they could afford the fuel, the gadget would tear itself apart with the plethora of loose particles to monitor. The greenly glowing two radar scopes' limited field was clear for the first few moments. Then three fine lines sped down the center, and before they faded two others plummeted beside their fading tracks. Watching the scope fascinated him. The lines traced, glowed, and faded, always cutting the same angle, so far staying fairly clear of the center. He caught himself tensing when one began at top center and coursed swiftly toward the ship. A trail actually disappeared under the center marker but came out the other side too swiftly for him to wince under the anticipated shock. Were they increasing in frequency? Definitely they were. A shower of lines bracketing the scope center substantiated him. He realized why more tracks appeared near the center than at the edge of the scope. Most particles evidently were small enough so that at the outer limits of the radar's range the trails made no register. Also, the tracks glowed brighter near the center and faded toward the edge. Too, he became aware the trails were hardly straight. The ship's transit velocity through the Belt bent the trails toward an arc on the scope face. He saw the track start at the top: but before realization came that it had gone no farther than the center, his head jarred in an instantaneous headache. The quick jolt through his feet and buttocks arrived at the same time, and his sight washed away into a watery blur.