ted air,
Trippitt had no antibodies in his bloodstream. The virus hit and he
died."

"But why didn't the rest of us get it?" asked Gregory.

"We were lucky. Viruses are like that."

"Those people talked about building a home for us," muttered Frankston.
"Why didn't they?"

"It wouldn't have been any different," answered James gently. "It would
have been the same, almost an exact duplicate of the ship, everything
but the rockets. Same metal and plastic and filtered air and synthetic
food. It couldn't have had wool rugs or down pillows or smiling wives or
fresh air or eggs for breakfast. It would have been just like this. So,
since the ship was obsolete, they gave it to us, and a plot of ground to
anchor it to, and we're home. They did the best they could for us, the
very best they could."

"But I feel stifled, shut in!"

"The ship is large, Frankston. We all crowd into this section because,
without each other, we'd go mad." James kicked the edge of the magazine
on the floor. "Thank God we're not allergic to decontaminated paper.
There's still reading."

"We're getting old," said Gregory. "Some day one of us will be here
alone."

"God help him then," answered James, with more emotion than was usual
for him.

* * * * *

During the latter part of the conversation, the little red signal had
been flashing persistently. Finally James saw it. Ross was in the outer
lock. James threw the decontaminator switch and the signal winked out.
Every trace of dust and pollen would have to be removed from Ross's suit
before he could come inside the ship.

"Just like on an alien planet," commented Gregory.

"Isn't that what this is to us--an alien planet?" asked Frankston, and
neither of the other men dared answer his bitter question.

A few minutes later, Ross was back in the cabin, and James helped him
out of his spacesuit.

"How are the geraniums, Ross?" asked Gregory.

"Fine," said Ross enthusiastically. "They're doing just fine."

He walked over to his bunk and lay down on his side so he could see out
of the viewport. There would be an hour left before darkness fell, an
hour to watch the geraniums. They were tall and red, and swayed slightly
in the evening breeze.

--LYN VENABLE

Transcriber's Note:

This etext was produced from _Galaxy Science Fiction_ December 1952.
Extensive research did not uncover any evi