His piercing eyes stared into the hot disk of the sun and Brace finally made out the tiny speck of Gartland's ship. He had to remember. He HAD to. Automatically, his fingers adjusted the controls until the pointed nose lined up on the middle of the ship ahead. He muttered, repeating over and over, the night has a thousand eyes—the night has a thousand eyes. Gartland's ship loomed larger and Brace pounded the acceleration lever against the stop. As he screamed onward, Brace fought, struggled, strained to remember. He MUST remember. Then it came, and the tension in him snapped. The night has a thousand eyes and the day has but one.
"THE NIGHT HAS A THOUSAND EYES AND THE DAY BUT ONE!" he yelled.
The bulk of the ship ahead all but blotted out the sky and the homely face staring at it was laughing while tears poured down his face. That instant before eternity seemed to prolong itself as if unwilling to die, and Brace closed his eyes. His voice was young and clear as he cried, "Cecelia, Cecelia! I'm coming!"