seemed all right. It could be a false indication. He eased back [p22] on the power setting. Maybe the light would go out. But it didn’t. Instead he felt a surging rumble deep in the bowels of the ship. Luminous needles danced and a second red light flashed on.

He snapped the vidio switch and depressed the mike button.

“Astro One, this is Brandon. Over.”

A steady crackling sound filled his earphones; a grid of light and shadow fluttered on the screen. A thought entered his mind. Maybe he had put too much planet curvature between Astro and himself.

“Astro One, this is Brandon. Come in, please.”

A series of muffled explosions rocked the ship. He chopped the power back all the way and listened intently.

“May Day! May Day! Astro, this is Brandon. May Day!”

A faint voice sputtered in his ear, the face of Reinhardt, the radioman appeared before him. “Brandon, this is Astro One. What is your position? Over.”

Brandon’s voice sounded strange and distant as he talked to his oxygen mask. “Heading—one-eight-zero. Approximately six hundred miles from you. Altitude one hundred thousand feet.”

“What is the nature of your trouble, Brandon?”

Before Brandon could answer, the face of Colonel Towers appeared beside the radioman’s.

“Brandon, what’re you trying to pull?”

“Engine trouble, sir. Losing altitude fast.”

“Do you know the nature of the trouble?”

“Negative. Might have thrown a compressor blade. Got a fire indication, then a compressor surge. Chopped off the power.”

Towers frowned. “Why didn’t you use straight rocket power?”

“Well, sir—”

“Never mind now. You may have encountered oxygen or hydrogen-rich atmosphere—melted your compressor blades. Try an air start on straight rocket. I want that ship back, Brandon. Repeat, I want that ship back!”

“I may be able to ride it down. Get it on the deck intact.”

“Try an air start, Brandon.” Towers leaned forward, his eyes fixed on Brandon. “I don’t want you to set foot on that planet, get me?”

But there wasn’t time to try anything. The cabin was filling with fumes. Brandon looked down. A fringe of blue flame crept along between the floor and the bottom of the pilot’s capsule. A cold ache filled the cavity of his stomach.

“Too late. I’m on fire! Capsuling out. Repeat, capsuling out.”

“Brandon—!”

The colonel’s glaring face flicked off as Brandon pushed the pre-ejection lever into the lock position severing all connections between the ship and the pilot’s capsule. Brandon had a strange, detached feeling as he pushed the ejection button.

[p23]
There was an explosion and the pilot’s capsule shot up like a wet bar of soap squeezed out of a giant’s hand.

The ship turned into a torch and sank beneath him. Brandon closed his eyes for a moment.

When he opened them he was staring at the Milky Way, then the desert as he tumbled over and over. He talked to the Milky Way.

“Ten seconds. Should wait at least ten seconds before releasing the drogue chute so I’ll clear the ship.” Then he spoke to the desert. “And maybe another ten to give the capsule time to slow down.”

He counted then pulled the chute release. Nylon streamed out behind him and snapped open with a tremendous jar. A moment later, bundles of metal ribbons floated out and billowed into a giant umbrella. The last thing he remembered was the taste of blood on his lips.

When Brandon opened his eyes he was staring at the silvery disks of the twin moons. They were high in the sky, obscuring the center of the Milky