Starlight seeped through the punctured hull around the control chamber. The air supply had long since whistled into space. What ship atmosphere that was salvaged had been piped into the suits and rationed among the men.
They had circumnavigated the Inner Belt after plotting a course back to Earth. Hollender's computations presented them with a rough chance of making it before the air would no longer maintain their life processes.
But it had not worked out. The Earth was yet a bright star in the front ports when the coughing began, when the function of respiration became painful labor.
Some were already choosing the quick way out. Hollender had entered the control room, waved a hand in salute, and unzipped his suit, even as Hiller watched. The instant freezing from the space-filled ship bloated the body slightly, but otherwise there was little difference. Hollender stood statuesquely, coldly rigid, clamped solidly by his boots.
Art Eastburn arrived next, unsmiling. The two men regarded each other, chests heaving, for an endless moment. The mechanical engineer reached for his suit zipper.
"Art, hold on! Not yet, Art, not yet!"
"Not what, Fred? Come out of it, man!"
Eastburn was standing over him, speaking against the plastiglas of Hiller's visor. He sat before the control board, still cinched in his seat. The mechanical engineer wore no suit and he was smiling.
"We're through," his friend was saying. "We made it, Fred."