Originally published in If Worlds of Science Fiction June 1958 The day was still no more than a ragged streak of red in the east; the pre-dawn air was sharply cold, making Johnny Youngbear's face feel slightly brittle as he dressed quietly in the gray bedroom. "Johnny?" said his wife hesitantly. "Be careful," she said simply. "Try," he said. Then he shrugged. "Not my day, anyway." "I know," she said. "But--be careful." He left the house and walked out into the chill desert dawn. He turned his face to the brightness in the east, trying to catch a little warmth, but could not. Except the Ship. Silence.