Six of them, hermetically sealed in a vast metal argosy--a giant trireme sailing the interstellar seas of a vast and pitiless universe in search of new worlds undreamed of; a galactic ship that had now become a self-contained coffin without even an atmosphere for the dead and dying to breathe as their desperation increased. This was, for the crew, an interlude in an expanding saga of exploration and discovery, a single incident in the cosmic drama important to them alone. The ship had been checked and double-checked and checked once more at the start of her great odyssey. “We have explored and conquered the nearer planets.” The captain had reminded them. “But who can guess what lies beyond in other systems, other galaxies?” How remote now seemed the skyport in the dawn, and all of that far-off day’s activities. Where had the sickness come from? They had no way of knowing, beyond their certainty that it had not originated in their own world. Was the answer to be found in an improper diet, the too sudden adjustment in atmospheric content and volume, or even in a minute frozen spore lodged in some tiny crevice in the exhaust tubes or the hull--a frozen bacillus brought to the ship on some tiny chunk of rock from some unknown world? A daring surmise worthy of further research and investigation. Tomorrow, on another world perhaps, but certainly not here and now in this flying missile of death; this tragically doomed and expiring space-giant. Their hopes and expectations had soared in the beginning, but now the great dream was dead and lying with the bodies of the spacemen. It had been man’s first dream of galactic empire; and might well be his last. True, there would be other space-flights, but they could never be the same. This was the first, the virgin voyage--and beyond it was the bitterness of a lost hope, of a broken dream. For the hopes and aspirations of a whole race, of a great people, to break and settle in a trough of frustration, was in itself an incredible sin. It was a sin against the Mind that had created and breathed life into the vast and lonely emptiness of the interstellar void. And now, plague-ridden, the vast ship plunged downward toward the surface of a strange new world. Its seas stretched wide and blue across the televiewing screen, and its rich brown earth stretched out a warm and welcoming hand. Its very youth sounded a clarion call to rest and dream from the weariness of the long voyage. Light-aureoled clouds stretched about it, girdling and shielding it in clinging, wispy fragments of dream-traceries. The ship’s lone survivor cried out--in agony, and not as a protest against the beauty of the world below, and the memory of his comrades, dead only hours before. Once again the strange sickness twisted a sharp, agonizing knife against his vitals. Once again the vertigo gripped him, and pulled him to the floor with a giant hand.