"What was it?" asked Frankston. "What killed Trippitt? So quickly, too. He was only outside a few minutes like the rest of us, and eight hours later he was dead." "We couldn't be sure," answered James. "Some virus. There are countless varieties. People live in a contaminated atmosphere all their lives, build up a resistance to them. Sometimes a particularly virulent strain will produce an epidemic, but most people, if they're affected, will have a mild case of whatever it is and recover. But after thirty years in space, thirty years of breathing perfectly pure, uncontaminated air, Trippitt had no antibodies in his bloodstream. The virus hit and he died." "But why didn't the rest of us get it?" asked Gregory. "We were lucky. Viruses are like that." "Those people talked about building a home for us," muttered Frankston. "Why didn't they?" "It wouldn't have been any different," answered James gently. "It would have been the same, almost an exact duplicate of the ship, everything but the rockets. Same metal and plastic and filtered air and synthetic food. It couldn't have had wool rugs or down pillows or smiling wives or fresh air or eggs for breakfast. It would have been just like this. So, since the ship was obsolete, they gave it to us, and a plot of ground to anchor it to, and we're home. They did the best they could for us, the very best they could." "But I feel stifled, shut in!" "The ship is large, Frankston. We all crowd into this section because, without each other, we'd go mad." James kicked the edge of the magazine on the floor. "Thank God we're not allergic to decontaminated paper. There's still reading." "We're getting old," said Gregory. "Some day one of us will be here alone." "God help him then," answered James, with more emotion than was usual for him. * * * * * During the latter part of the conversation, the little red signal had been flashing persistently. Finally James saw it. Ross was in the outer lock. James threw the decontaminator switch and the signal winked out. Every trace of dust and pollen would have to be removed from Ross's suit before he could come inside the ship. "Just like on an alien planet," commented Gregory. "Isn't that what this is to us--an alien planet?" asked Frankston, and neither of the other men dared answer his bitter question. A few minutes later, Ross was back in the cabin, and James helped him out of his spacesuit. "How are the geraniums, Ross?" asked Gregory. "Fine," said Ross enthusiastically. "They're doing just fine." He walked over to his bunk and lay down on his side so he could see out of the viewport. There would be an hour left before darkness fell, an hour to watch the geraniums. They were tall and red, and swayed slightly in the evening breeze. --LYN VENABLE Transcriber's Note: