n oval, humanoid skull was crushed like
an eggshell into the knobs and levers of the control panel. Sudden
horror shot through the big man as he looked around. At the far side of
the room was another of the things, and still another, mashed, like
lifeless jelly, into the floors and panels. Gently he peeled a bit of
jelly away from the metal, then turned with a mixture of wonder and
disgust. "All dead," he muttered.

Brownie looked up at him, his hands trembling. "No wonder there was no
sign." He looked about helplessly. "It's a derelict, Johnny. A wanderer.
How could it have happened? How long ago?"

Sabo shook his head, bewildered. "Then it was just chance that it came
to us, that we saw it--"

"No pilot, no charts. It might have wandered for centuries." Brownie
stared about the room, a frightened look on his face. And then he was
leaning over the control panel, probing at the array of levers, his
fingers working eagerly at the wiring. Sabo nodded approvingly. "We'll
have to go over it with a comb," he said. "I'll see what I can find in
the rest of the ship. You go ahead on the controls and drive." Without
waiting for an answer he moved swiftly from the round chamber, out into
the corridor again, his stomach almost sick.

It took them many hours. They moved silently, as if even a slight sound
might disturb the sleeping alien forms, smashed against the dark metal
panels. In another room were the charts, great, beautiful charts,
totally unfamiliar, studded with star formations he had never seen,
noted with curious, meaningless symbols. As Sabo worked he heard Brownie
moving down into the depths of the ship, toward the giant engine rooms.
And then, some silent alarm clicked into place in Sabo's mind,
tightening his stomach, screaming to be heard. Heart pounding, he dashed
down the corridor like a cat, seeing again in his mind the bright, eager
eyes of the engineer. Suddenly the meaning of that eagerness dawned on
him. He scampered down a ladder, along a corridor, and down another
ladder, down to the engine room, almost colliding with Brownie as he
crossed from one of the engines to a battery of generators on the far
side of the room.

"Brownie!"

"What's the trouble?"

Sabo trembled, then turned away. "Nothing," he muttered. "Just a
thought." But he watched as the little man snaked into the labyrinth of
dynamos and coils and wires, peering eagerly, probing, searching, making
notes in the little pad in his hand.