“…less,” he gasped, regaining consciousness with a spine-shattering start and with the conviction that someone had played a dirty trick on him while he slept. That was always Suspenso’s after-effect, along with a ravening hunger and thirst. Sage reached for the canned tomatoes which spacemen favor in getting their starving, dehydrated bodies back to normal. Then he recalled the comb-shaped vessel and squinted blearily through the blister above his hammock. The black sky was empty of everything except gigantic sun, unwinking stars and the blank and shining disc of Venus.
“Guess they…don’t bother with…small fry,” he croaked, opening the can. After finishing its contents he loosened the hammock straps, dragged himself to the control board and cut the atomic drive. The pile could not be dampe
