Later, with many cameras and millions of people watching, Kieran's body, in a pressure-suit, was ceremoniously taken to a selected position where it would orbit the Moon. All suggestions of the funerary were carefully avoided. The space-struck man--nobody at all referred to him as "dead"--would remain in this position until a revival process was perfected. "Until forever," thought Hausman, watching sourly. "I suppose Garces is right. But they'll have a whole graveyard here, as time goes on." As time went on, they did. 2. In his dreams, a soft voice whispered. He did not know what it was telling him, except that it was important. He was hardly aware of its coming, the times it came. There would be the quiet murmuring, and something in him seemed to hear and understand, and then the murmur faded away and there was nothing but the dreams again. But were they dreams? Nothing had form or meaning. Light, darkness, sound, pain and not-pain, flowed over him. Flowed over--who? Who was he? He did not even know that. He did not care. But he came to care, the question vaguely nagged him. He should try to remember. There was more than dreams and the whispering voice. There was--what? If he had one real thing to cling to, to put his feet on and climb back from-- One thing like his name. He had no name. He was no one. Sleep and forget it. Sleep and dream and listen-- "Kieran." It went across his brain like a shattering bolt of lightning, that word. He did not know what the word was or what it meant but it found an echo somewhere and his brain screamed it. "Kieran!" Not his brain alone, his voice was gasping it, harshly and croakingly, his lungs seeming on fire as they expelled the word. He was shaking. He had a body that could shake, that could feel pain, that was feeling pain now. He tried to move, to break the nightmare, to get back again to the vague dreams, and the soothing whisper. He moved. His limbs thrashed leadenly, his chest heaved and panted, his eyes opened. He lay in a narrow bunk in a very small metal room. He looked slowly around. He did not know this place. The gleaming white metal of walls and ceiling was unfamiliar. There was a slight, persistent tingling vibration in everything that was unfamiliar, too. He was not in Wheel Five. He had seen every cell in it and none of them were like this. Also, there lacked the persistent susurrant sound of the ventilation pumps. Where-- _You're in a ship, Kieran. A starship._ * * * * * Something back in his mind told him that. But of course it was ridiculous, a quirk of the imagination. There weren't any starships. _You're all right, Kieran. You're in a starship, and you're all right._ The emphatic assurance came from somewhere back in his brain and it was comforting. He didn't feel very good, he felt dopey and sore, but there was no use worrying about it when he knew for sure he was all right--