Part 1 (1/2)

The Lonely Ones.

by Edward W. Ludwig.

Onward sped the _Wanderer_, onward through cold, silent infinity, on and on, an insignificant pencil of silver lost in the terrible, brooding blackness.

But even more awful than the blackness was the loneliness of the six men who inhabited the silver rocket. They moved in loneliness as fish move in water. Their lives revolved in loneliness as planets revolve in s.p.a.ce and time. They bore their loneliness like a shroud, and it was as much a part of them as sight in their eyes. Loneliness was both their brother and their G.o.d.

Yet, like a tiny flame in the darkness, there was hope, a savage, desperate hope that grew with the pa.s.sing of each day, each month, and each year.

And at last....

”Lord,” breathed Captain Sam Wiley.

Lieutenant Gunderson nodded. ”It's a big one, isn't it?”

”It's a big one,” repeated Captain Wiley.

They stared at the image in the _Wanderer's_ forward visi-screen, at the great, s.h.i.+ning gray ball. They stared hard, for it was like an enchanted, G.o.d-given fruit handed them on a star-flecked platter of midnight. It was like the answer to a thousand prayers, a s.h.i.+ning symbol of hope which could mean the end of loneliness.

”It's ten times as big as Earth,” mused Lieutenant Gunderson. ”Do you think this'll be it, Captain?”

”I'm afraid to think.”

A thoughtful silence.

”Captain.”

”Yes?”

”Do you hear my heart pounding?”

Captain Wiley smiled. ”No. No, of course not.”

”It seems like everybody should be hearing it. But we shouldn't get excited, should we? We mustn't hope too hard.” He bit his lip. ”But there _should_ be life there, don't you think, Captain?”

”There may be.”

”Nine years, Captain. Think of it. It's taken us nine years to get here.

There's _got_ to be life.”

”Prepare for deceleration, Lieutenant.”

Lieutenant Gunderson's tall, slim body sagged for an instant. Then his eyes brightened.

”Yes, sir!”

Captain Sam Wiley continued to stare at the beautiful gray globe in the visi-screen. He was not like Gunderson, with boyish eagerness and anxiety flowing out of him in a ceaseless babble. His emotion was as great, or greater, but it was imprisoned within him, like swirling, foaming liquid inside a corked jug.