Calhoun was walking on the steel plates of a gigantic spaceship which
floated among dozens of its fellows, all seeming derelicts and
seemingly abandoned. He was able to walk on the nearest because of
magnetic-soled shoes. He trusted his life to them and to a flimsy
space rope which trailed after him out the Med Ship's airlock.

Time passed. A clock ticked in that hurried tempo of five ticks to the
second which has been the habit of clocks since time immemorial. Very
small and trivial noises came from the background tape, preventing
utter silence from hanging intolerably in the ship.

Maril found herself listening tensely for something else. One of the
four bound blueskins snored, and stirred, and slept again. Murgatroyd
gazed about unhappily, and swung down to the control room floor, and
then paused for lack of any place to go or anything to do. He sat down
and began half-heartedly to lick his whiskers. Maril stirred.

Murgatroyd looked at her hopefully.

"_Chee?_" he asked shrilly.

She shook her head. It became a habit to act as if Murgatroyd were a
human being. "No," she said unsteadily. "Not yet."

More time passed. An unbearably long time. Then there was the faintest
of clankings. It repeated. Then, abruptly, there were noises in the
airlock. They continued. They were fumbling noises.

The outer airlock door closed. The inner door opened. Dense white fog