"We're through. We're through." If he could understand why the silence hurt his ears, why he was tense, why--Realization spread over his body in a wave of exhilarating relief. Speech failed him after Art helped him remove his suit. Speech was unnecessary the way Art rapidly filled him in on the lack of casualties and minor damage. "How long was I out?" the commander at last brought himself to ask, noticing Bleck's body had been removed. "Over an hour," Art answered. "When the rocks stopped punching I couldn't raise you on the intercom. Found you passed out. You wouldn't revive so I took advantage of my second-in-command rank and straightened out the ship's spin with the guide jets." Hiller glanced at the ports. The stars rode steadily, and he was aware his viscera felt stable. "But dammit, Art, all this air!" Hiller complained, waving his hand over his head. "Aren't you over-generous? We must have lost enough through the hull to put us in suits, or at least turn us back." The engineer grinned teasingly. "I don't think we've lost a cubic inch, Fred." "The patch kit?" "Still out." "But all those penetrations with us in a twirl--" "All taken care of." Art was enjoying himself. Hiller's hunch, never considered seriously, jumped back into his mind. That had to be the only explanation. Art was going on, "As a matter of fact, there's a good example right there." He pointed above them to the bulkhead, layered with plastic, a coolant area, and duralite, that separated the men from space. "One of the toughest hits the ship took, blasted an inch-round hole, looks like. No wonder you conked out." The after effects of the experience again was making it difficult for the commander to focus his eyes. He unbound his seat bands and clanked directly under the spot, his friend following. From the closer viewpoint he could see a small, glistening white circle in the bulkhead surrounded by a ring of heat-discolored metal. That was no patch. He grinned back at Art. "Automatic, eh?" "I never considered the possibility," Art replied. "I figured the inside pressure would be too great." "I'm not trying to sound off big," the commander said, "but I had it in the back of my mind when I decided to sail through. As it turned out, it meant the difference between survival or otherwise. Had I known that, I might not have gambled." Fred Hiller returned to his seat and pushed himself down. His strength was only beginning to return. "With a bigger hole, it wouldn't have worked. But I was counting on little holes with our strong hull. It would take more pressure than what's inside the ship to stop the instant freeze of space cold in small openings like that. "I think our frozen air plugs will hold way longer than it takes to repair the patch kit. Matter of fact, I may leave them in until we hit Mars' atmosphere. I'm feeling sentimental about them already!"