e he is; there's no protection up here! When that
stern bulkhead goes...."

It was breaking. I could see it bending sternward under the pressure.
And at best it was leaking air, so that the decks were a rush of wind.
Already Drac and I were gasping with the lowered pressure.

"Drac, get out of here. Go get Waters; bring him forward. The hell
with his transmitter: this is life or death!"

"But you?"

"I'm coming down. From the forward deck, call the hull control rooms.
Order everybody forward and to the deck."

"What about the pressure pumps?"

"I can keep them going from here."

I set the circulating system to guide the fresh air forward, but it
was futile against the sucking rush of wind toward the stern. As the
pumps speeded up I saw, with the little added pressure, the great
cross panel of the stern bulkhead straining harder. It would go in a
moment.

Drac was clinging to me. "Tell me what to do!"

"I've told you what to do!" I shoved him to the catwalk. "Get out of
here. Get Waters forward. Get the men out of the hull."

His anguished eyes stared at me; then he turned and ran forward on the
catwalk. I saw him forcibly dragging the bald-headed Waters from the
helio cubby. It was the last time I ever saw either of them.

A buzzer was ringing in the turret, and I plunged back for it. The
exertion put a band of pain across my chest, a panting constriction
from the lowering pressure.

Fanning, assistant engineer, was still at the pressure pumps. His
voice came up: "Pumps and renewers working. Will you use the gravity
shifters?"

"Hell, no! Get out of there, Fanning. We're smashed. Air going. It's a
matter of minutes--abandoning ship. Get forward!"

Suddenly the stern bulkhead cracked with a great diagonal rift. I
waited a moment to give them all time to get forward; then I slid all
the cross 'midship bulkheads.

It was barely in time. The stern bulkhead went out with a gale of
wind, but the barrier amidships stemmed it. Half of the vessel
sternward was devoid of air, but here in the bow we could last a
little longer. Beneath me I could see Grantline's men--some of them,
not all--and a few of the stewards, crew and officers, crowding the
deck, donning space-suits. The two side chambers were ready; half a
dozen men crowded into each of them. The deck doors slid closed. The
outer ports opened; helmeted, goggled, bloated figures were blown by
the outgoing air from the chamber into space. Then the outer sl