be picked up elsewhere. It probably was. But she told Joe how she felt,
and she wanted to read him the newspaper stories based on the reports
Brent had sent down. Brent was in command of the Platform now that
Sanford lay in a resolute coma in his bunk. But Joe discouraged such
waste of time.

"How's the food?" asked Sally. "Are you people getting any fresh
vegetables from the hydroponic garden?"

They were, and Joe told her so. The huge chamber in which sun-lamps
glowed for a measured number of hours in each twenty-four produced
incredibly luxuriant vegetation. It kept the air of the ship breathable.
It even changed the smell of it from time to time, so that there was no
feeling of staleness.

"And the cooking system's really good?" she wanted to know. Sally was
partly responsible for that, too. "And how about the bunks?"

"I sleep now," Joe admitted.

That had been difficult. It was possible to get used to weightlessness
while awake. One would slip, sometimes, and find himself suddenly tense
and panicky because he'd abruptly noticed all over again that he was
falling. But--and yet again Sally was partly responsible--the bunks were
designed to help in that difficulty. Each bunk had an inflatable top
blanket. One crawled in and settled down, and turned the petcock that
inflated the cover. Then it held one quite gently but reassuringly in
place. It was possible to stir and to turn over, but the feeling of
being held fast was very comforting. With a little care about what one
thought of before going to sleep, one could get a refreshing eight