"I want my doll back," she said.
"Oh yeah?"
"You better give it to me."
He said nothing. There was a hissing sound, and a faint roar. Far away, something slid ponderously.
"Pleasant voyage, little ones!" a voice boomed.
Something sat on her chest all at once, squeezing all the air from her. It was a great weight holding her motionless, squeezing. She wanted to cry, but couldn't get the sound out. She wanted her Mom. Mom would know what to do.
She was crushed and flattened into a tunnel of blackness.
Thirty minutes later, the starship Star of Fire, outworld-bound from Sol to the starswarms beyond Ophiuchus, lost all its remaining air. It became an enormous coffin spinning end over end in space amid the blaze of starlight near the center of the galaxy.
One tiny spaceship, a small model of the huge liner, sped away. If it went two days finding no planet, its two occupants would perish when the small oxygen supply gave out. If it found a planet it would circle and land automatically. The possibility of this was small, but not remote. For here at the center of the galaxy, stellar distances are more nearly planetary and most of the stars have attendant planets. But even then, it would have to be a world capable of supporting their lives ...
They sped on, in all innocence. She was five. He was six. His name was Charlie Fullerton. He had her doll. She hated him.