Peron decided that he had to find a quiet place to think. He headed farther along the passage, and at last found he was in a different type of chamber. This one was an automatic galley, similar to the one that had served the Planetfest winners on their travels around the Cass system. Peron found a water spigot and drank deeply from it. He reveled in the clean feel of the pure liquid on his tongue and palate. Whatever its other virtues, S-space definitely made food and drink taste less interesting. He took a few moments more to study the arrangement, and noticed that there was processing equipment different from anything he had seen in the other galley. From the look of it, it could produce a standard menu, or something with added and unknown ingredients. While he was watching, four of the little robots came trundling into the galley area. They ignored him. They were carrying plates, most of which still held the remains of a meal. One of those plates caught Peron’s eye. It held the remnants of uneaten spicy food — the same food that had been served to Peron at his last meal in S-space. The surface of the robots was glistening with moisture. Peron went across to one of them and touched it. The metal was icy cold. He put his finger to his mouth and tasted the liquid with his tongue. The droplets were plain water, condensed from the air around him.

He sat down on the floor, put his head between his hands, and pondered. Everything made sense — if he could force his mind to accept one incredible possibility. And it was a possibility that he was finally in a position to check for himself.

Peron stood up. He took the heaviest metal tureen that he could find in the galley, and swung it as hard as he could against the metal wall. It did not bend. He headed back to the chamber where the patient robots sat, and waited until one of them rose from its position. Then he followed it closely as it proceeded along one of the numerous passageways branching off from the central opening.

When the machine turned to move through one of the small doors, Peron was ready. The door opened, and the robot slid through. While the door was still open Peron jammed the sturdy metal container into the gap. There was a squeak of metal and a protesting whine from the door’s control mechanism, but the aperture remained open.

Peron crouched down and looked through.

An icy current of air met him from the other side. The temperature there must be very close to freezing. The little robot had gone on its way, and the area beyond was lit only by the dullest of red glimmers of light.

Peron judged the width of the door with his eye. There would be just enough space for him to squeeze through, provided he was willing to risk the skin on his shoulders. He eased off his jacket, pushed it through ahead of him, and wriggled to the other side.

It was even colder and darker than he had thought. He shivered, and pulled his jacket tight about him. Unless he had more clothing, it would not be possible for him to stay there long.

Peron recognized the room that he was in. It was next to Rinker’s living quarters. He had been there before, in his original explorations of the ship. But there was one great difference. Instead of a one-gee field he now felt that he was still in freefall.

The little robot had disappeared. As he watched it came into view along the corridor. It was carrying an empty bottle of the fermented drink that Rinker usually enjoyed with his solitary meals. The robot came steadily closer. Again it ignored Peron. It hesitated at the door jammed open by the tureen, then went to another door and calmly passed through it. As it did so, another pair of service robots appeared on the other side, and set to work to free the obstruction and repair the door.

Peron did not stay to observe. He hurried through to Rinker’s apartment, where Rinker was sitting in a chair. He was completely motionless, his hand raised and his mouth open. Peron stood and watched for several minutes. Finally the hand inched closer to the open mouth. Peron stepped forward and touched Rinker’s cheek. It was like chilled marble. Fingers stabbed to within an inch of Rinker’s eyes produced no reflexive blink of the lids.

It was proof enough. Peron hurried out and headed for the suspense room. On the way there he passed the dining area, where the motionless figures of Garao, Ferranti, and Atiyah still sat at table, three perfect sculptures of frozen flesh.

The suspense room was deserted. Peron paused for a long moment in front of the cold sleep caskets. Again he wondered at his motives. To risk his own life was one thing; to put the lives of his friends in jeopardy was another. Wouldn’t it be better to wait until the ship arrived at the mysterious Headquarters of the Immortals, and see how the group would be treated there?

He tried to imagine the answers that the others would give. Part of his mind could create a simulated conversation with Lum, Kallen, Sy, Elissa, and Rosanne. “You’re in no danger in the tanks, and I’m not sure just how the revival process works. It looks simple, but suppose there’s a hidden snag? Maybe I should just wait and see what happens when we get to Headquarters?”

He thought he could hear their consensus: “Hell, no. If there’s one thing none of us can stand it’s to have somebody else running our lives for us. You know that — why do you think we were considered as troublemakers? Go on. Make trouble. Get us out of here.”

He stepped to examine each tank in turn. The controls were all identical. He could change the dial setting either to S or N, and there was a table to indicate the correct procedure for each. The return from cold sleep to N-state was a fairly long process. It would take twelve hours. But Peron did not need to stand guard all that time. He would forage for warm clothing for everyone — Elissa and the others were all naked except for the filmy white covering. Then he could crack open another door, and return to the warmer area where the robots lived and the galley was located.

He considered a barricade for the door to the suspense room, then decided that it would not be necessary. If things went according to plan his work would be over before Rinker and the others could interfere.

Elissa first. He couldn’t wait to see her and talk to her again. It took only a few moments to change the setting and press the Start command. Peron peered in anxiously through the transparent top of the tank. There was a hum of motors within the casket, and after a few moments a yellow vapor began to fill the interior. Then Elissa and everything else within were soon invisible. Filled with trepidation, Peron went on from tank to tank, setting the conditions that should bring all the others back to consciousness from cold sleep. * * *

The horror had begun for Elissa when she saw the condition of Peron’s suit. It had been shredded and ruptured by impact with Whirlygig’s rough surface until it must be useless for thermal protection. The outside temperatures guaranteed that he could not survive.

Before their grief could do more than begin, Wilmer had taken charge. Even Lum’s casual self-confidence and Sy’s remote air of superiority had crumbled and been swept aside by the other’s grim certainty. They had done as Wilmer asked — and done it without questions.

First a breathable atmosphere had to be created within the dome. Then Elissa and Kallen had eased Peron gently out of his suit and clothing. His skin had darkened, and veins were prominent against the dusky surface. Elissa bent close. She could see no sign of breathing. She felt for a pulse, but could find no trace. His wrist and throat were ice-cold to the touch of her ungloved hand. “Give me a hand to turn him over,” said Wilmer. “We want him face down. Good. Now you go over there and help Lum with the temperature controls. They have to be precise — and you don’t want to watch this.”