"What's biting you now?" asked Herb.
"Nothing," said Gary, "except Tommy Evans. Ever since we left Saturn we haven't heard a thing out of Donovan except this Tommy Evans.”
Herb stared at his lanky partner.
"You sure got a bad case of space fever," he said. "You been like a dog with a sore head the last few days.”
"Who wouldn't get space fever?" snapped Gary. He gestured out through the vision plate. "Nothing but space," he said. "Blackness with little stars.
Stars that have forgotten how to twinkle. Going hundreds of miles a second and you wonder if you're moving. No change in scenery. A few square feet of space to live in. Black space pressing all about you, taunting you, trying to get in…”
He stopped and sat down limply in the pilot's chair.
"How about a game of chess?" asked Herb.
Gary twisted about and snapped at him:
"Don't mention chess to me again, you sawed-off shrimp. I'll space-walk you if you do. So help me Hannah if I won't.”