be a steady buildup of acceleration for about ninety
seconds. We'll go rapidly from zero gravity to nine. Breathe deeply
and regularly on the way up. Then, when you feel a normal amount of
pressure, hold your breath. Don't let it out until you feel the G
forces increase again."

"I understand," Monk nodded.

"We'll get up to a peak of 8 G's, and hold that for about two minutes.
Do the same thing--hold your breath when we start accelerating once
more. It'll be easy after that."

* * * * *

The pilot made a final check of Monk's G suit and straps. Then he
clapped the industrialist on the shoulder and strode off.

Twenty minutes later, when they were ready for blast-off, a warning
bell sounded throughout the ship.

With a deafening roar of its rocket motors, the great vessel lifted
itself laboriously from the ground, squatting on flame, filling
Fletcher Monk's mind with the first real sense of fear since he
learned the grim facts of his ailment in Rostov's office.

Then the acceleration began, and in less than a minute, Monk knew a
taste of Hell.

His vision blurred as the crushing force of naked speed pasted him
against the contour seat. Consciousness began to leave him, but not
soon enough. For there, in the tortured imaginings of his
pain-constricted brain, came the ugly black bird again, shrieking
horribly and perching itself on his chest. Its huge claws raked his
ribs, and its dripping beak fastened itself on his throat. Now he
recognized the species for what it was: a vulture, a bird of prey,
unwilling to be robbed of its Earth victim; trying to pinion him to
the planet with the strength of its anger. Its great wings flapped,
flapped, flapped, beating against his body, flooding it with
unrelieved anguish--

Then Monk gasped.

Gone! The bird was gone! A moment's peace, a moment's peace, a
moment's freedom from torment--

No! The vulture returned, bent on its evil purpose. It wouldn't be
denied; it raked its razor-sharp claws across Monk's shoulder; dug
its beak into his chest; flapping, flapping--

Fletcher Monk screamed.

* * * * *

He opened his eyes, admitted a rush of clean air gratefully into his
lungs.

"It's a miracle," said Bill Christy. "Nothing more. You were in a bad
way, Mr. Wheeler, but you'll be okay now."

"Thank you, thank you!" panted Fletcher Monk.

"We're well on our way now. We'll reach the Big Bird in a matter o