o an utter, absolute ebony
that suddenly seemed to be straining against the thick canopy, mocking
the dim lights of the compartment. For many hours now, nothing to do but
wait and watch, make occasional control corrections.

He caused the couch to relax, offered Carol a water sausage. They had
eaten nothing, and drunk but sparingly, since twenty-four hours before
take-off. Her hand touched his as she took the container. It was like an
electric shock, and his heart thudded. Deliberately, he brushed his
fingers over hers, clasped her wrist, looking at her.

She became motionless. Then she looked up at him, lingeringly. Her lips
parted.

The pressure within him mounted. Almost reverently he reached for
her--then stopped when tears formed in her eyes. He drew back,
uncomprehending. Could desire be coupled with sorrow? Or was he merely
reading desire into some emotion not remotely connected with passion?
She had been given to him without reservation, but he could not bring
himself to take her unwillingly. The difference, he realized, between
love and lust--damn the psychologists. He let out his breath, fumbled in
a small plastic box near the controls, dug out several nutriment bars.
He handed a couple to Carol without looking at her and munched unhappily
at the chocolate-flavored ration.

They watched the blackness of space for hours. The stars appeared as
bright glowing blobs sunk dismally far into the heavy depths of some
Stygian jelly. It was a time to be savoring the first experience of man
beyond his mortal sphere, but Ken stared unseeingly, his mind dulled,
vacant with indecision and disillusion that was almost a physical hurt.
The zest of adventure, in the midst of adventure, was throttled before
it saw life. The sustaining dreams of training and preparation were
dusty misery. Robotically, he watched the instruments, occasionally made
microscopic adjustments. Carol's hands, close to his, infrequently
changed camera settings.

Unexpectedly the radio sounded. Ken tuned to maximum volume, strained to
hear the muted words. It was a moment before he realized they were
drawling, abnormally slow, like one of the old spring-wound phonographs
running down. When he caught it, the message stunned him.

"_Late-comm-merr_ pers-sonn-nell. Re-turnn noww, noww, noww.
Emerr-genn-cy orr-derr of the Prezz-zi-dent. _Llate-comm-merr_
pers-sonn-nell...."

He listened to it twice more before silencing the radio. Turn back? Now?
He