The Lonely Ones

The line between noble dreams and madness is thin, and loneliness can push men past it

excerpt
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 space 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 god.
Yet, like a tiny flame in the darkness, there was hope, a savage, desperate hope that grew with the passing 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, shining gray ball. They stared hard, for it was like an enchanted, God-given fruit handed them on a star-flecked platter of midnight. It was like the answer to a thousand prayers, a shining 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."