ven boots--

As if the man had stripped of his clothing first.

He found out why a moment later, and it left him feeling more than a
little sick. There were other corpses aboard the ship, a battered
Thompson '81 in worse shape than their own Gormann. Bodies, not
skeletons. But when they had entered the sargasso they had apparently
struck another ship. One whole side of the Thompson was smashed in and
Ralph could see the repair patches on the wall. Near them and thoroughly
destroyed, were the Thompson's spacesuits.

The galley lockers were empty when Ralph found them. All the food
gone--how many years ago? And one of the crew, dying before the others.

Cannibalism.

Shuddering, Ralph rocketed outside into the clear darkness of space.
That was a paradox, he thought. It was clear, all right, but it was
dark. You could see a great way. You could see a million million miles
but it was darker than anything on Earth. It was almost an
extra-dimensional effect. It made the third dimension on earth, the
dimension of depth, seem hopelessly flat.

"Ralph!"

"Go ahead, kid," he said. It was their first radio contact in almost
half an hour.

"Oh, Ralph. It's a Gormann. An eighty-five. I think. Right in front of
me. Ralph, if its scopes are good--oh, Ralph."

"I'm coming," he said. "Go ahead inside. I'll pick up your beam and be
along." He could feel his heart thumping wildly. Five hours now. They
did not have much time. This ship--this Gormann eighty-five which Diane
had found--might be their last chance. Because it would certainly take
him all of three hours to transfer the radarscope, using the rockets
from one of their spacesuits, to their own ship.

He rocketed along now, following her directional beam, and listened as
she said: "I'm cutting through the porthole now, Ralph. I--"

Her voice stopped suddenly. It did not drift off gradually. It merely
ceased, without warning, without reason. "Diane!" he called. "Diane, can
you hear me?"

* * * * *

He tracked the beam in desperate silence. Wrecks flashed by, tumbling
slowly in their web of mutual gravitation. Some were molten silver if
the wan sunlight caught them. Some were black, but every rivet, every
seam was distinct. The impossible clarity of blackest space....

"Ralph?" Her voice came suddenly.

"Yes, Diane. Yes. What is it?"

"What a curious thing. I stopped blasting at the port hole. I'm not
going in that way. The airlock,