As Spartan sounded the alarm, he spoke tersely into the intercom mike, warning of the danger ahead and telling the crew to scatter to separate compartments, to minimize the loss in the event that a large meteor crashed into one segment of the ship. We had all been drilled on this procedure, which included the donning of spacesuits. While Spartan remained in the control room, Axel and I put on our suits, zipped them, and then I carried one to Spartan, who put it on while Axel continued to manipulate the controls. The manipulation simply included increasing the power of the plasma motors. All twelve were now operating, and auxiliary jets on the sides of the ship were being fired in order to curve the ship from its trajectory so that it would pass as near the extreme rear fringe of the cloud as possible. Here the meteors would be the smallest, driven back from the central mass by the pressure of sunlight, which would have less effect on the larger masses. Wearing a space helmet aboard ship had one major disadvantage. In order to talk, it was necessary to use the radio transmitters located in the helmets. All were on the same wave length and since all of us were talking at the same time, there was a babble of voices in our ears. "Silence!" Spartan's voice rose above the others. "Keep quiet! You distract me!" The sounds subsided. Spartan took over the controls from Axel and continued to increase the power of the ship. Suddenly he seemed to be aware that Axel and I were still in the control room. "Go back to my compartment! Both of you! You know the regulations for an emergency like this." Dr. Spartan's compartment, like the shower room and lavatory farther to the rear of the ship, was divided in half by a corridor. On one side were his living quarters and on the other was the chartroom which contained a small but adequate electronic computer, astronomic tables on microfilm, a projector for the film, and our entire supply of writing materials. Axel stationed himself in the chartroom, and I went to Spartan's sleeping quarters. I felt helpless and trapped. The room, for a captain's quarters, was bleak. His sleeping bag was lashed to the bulkhead and there was a private lavatory and shaving mirror, for he did not share the one the rest of us used. A small chest--like the ones the rest of us had for our personal belongings--was near the bed roll. I remembered suddenly that the male members of the crew had been clean-shaven and had sported butch hair-cuts when they'd come aboard. Even Gail wore a mannish bob. But Dr. Spartan had kept his beard. If, in order to cut down on weight, we'd been ordered to trim our hair, why hadn't Spartan made a sacrifice in that direction?