And suddenly George was fumbling in his dresser drawer, frantically searching for the small oblong box, rushing, before he changed his mind. His hands closed on the small container, and its contents were cold between his fingers. And then he was in Tad's room, quietly, seeking the bag, half packed, a few meager clothes, a few meager memories to go away with a hopeful heart. He fumbled in the bag, and suddenly the memories closed in on George Barlow, and he was living again the horrible moments, the rumbling, jolting thunder in the bowels of the ship; the frantic scrambling down the dark passageways, the men, fear-crazed and tumbling over each other in free fall--the gleaming white-hot of the atomic fires gone wild; the screams of agony, the crashing, fiery groping through oven-like chambers, the twisting, wrenching of controls, fighting to stay alive, fighting in blazing agony, fire burning to the bottom of his soul-- The little metal disc slipped into the boy's bag, down between a pair of pants and a book; a thin metal disc of pure gold, a simple symbol, with simple words: _To George L. Barlow, for Heroism in Space_-- He dropped the disc into the boy's bag and stumbled back to his room. He sat in the silence stroking old Snuffy's soft muzzle, sat in darkness, eternal since that hour of terror, as tears streamed down scarred cheeks from his sightless eyes....