Struggling with weightlessness, he made his way back to the small room he shared with Arkalion. Hardly more than a cubicle, it was, with sufficient room for two beds, a sink, a small chest. He lay down and slept, murmuring Stephanie's name in his sleep. * * * * * He awoke to the faint hum of the air-pumps, got up feeling rested, forgot his weightlessness and floated to the ceiling where only an outthrust arm prevented a nasty bump on his head. He used hand grips on the wall to let himself down. He washed, aware of no way to prevent the water he splashed on his face from forming fine droplets and spraying the entire room. When he crossed back to the foot of his bed to get his towel he thrust one foot out too rapidly, lost his balance, half-rose, stumbled and fell against the other bed which, like all other items of furniture, was fastened to the floor. But his elbow struck sleeping Arkalion's jaw sharply, hard enough to jar the man's teeth. "I'm sorry," said Temple. "Didn't mean to do that," he apologized again, feeling embarrassed. Arkalion merely lay there. "I said I'm sorry." Arkalion still slept. It seemed inconceivable, for Temple's elbow pained him considerably. He bent down, examined his inert companion. Arkalion stirred not a muscle. Vaguely alarmed, Temple thrust a hand to Arkalion's chest, felt nothing. He crouched, rested the side of his head over Arkalion's heart. He listened, heard--nothing. What was going on here? "Hey, Arkalion!" Temple shook him, gently at first, then with savage force. Weightless, Arkalion's body floated up off the bed, taking the covers with it. His own heart pounding furiously, Temple got it down again, fingered the left wrist and swallowed nervously. Temple had never seen a dead man before. Arkalion's heart did not beat. Arkalion had no pulse. Arkalion was dead. Yelling hoarsely, Temple plunged from the room, soaring off the floor in his haste and striking his head against the ceiling hard enough to make him see stars. "This guy is dead!" he cried. "Arkalion is dead." Men stirred in the companionway. Someone called for one of the armed guards who were constantly on patrol. "If he's dead, you're yelling loud enough to get him out of his grave." The voice was quiet, amused. Arkalion. "What?" Temple blurted, whirling around and striking his head again. A little wild-eyed, he reentered the room. "Now, who is dead, Kit?" demanded Arkalion, sitting up and stretching comfortably. "Who--is dead? Who--?" Open-mouthed, Temple stared. * * * * * A guard, completely at home with weightlessness, entered the cubicle briskly. "What's the trouble in here? Something about a dead man, they said." "A dead man?" demanded Arkalion. "Indeed." "Dead?" muttered Temple, lamely and foolishly. "Dead...."