“Who are you?” “Gully Foyle is my name.” “Where are you from?” “Terra is my nation.” “Where are you now?” “Deep space is my dwelling place.” “Where are you bound?” “Death’s my destination.” On the one hundred and seventy-first day of his fight for survival, Foyle answered these questions and awoke. His heart hammered and his throat burned. He groped in the dark for the air tank which shared his coffin with him and checked it. The tank was empty. Another would have to be moved in at once. So this day would commence with an extra skirmish with death which Foyle accepted with mute endurance.
