With a haggard smile, Tom pat-ted her shoulder. "Never mind me, honey.
You go jump in. I'll be all right."
"Mrs. Hall, I'm willing to deprive one man of his chance, because you
are a woman. But I will not ask anyone else to give up his place to your
husband. Every man in the lifeboat has as much right to his life as your
husband, and so has every man who must be left behind. Go, now. It's
your last chance!"
Her face had become calm and all hint of tears was gone. Without
hesitating she looked up at her husband and spoke softly.
"Tell the man to go back. Whether we live or we die, we'll do it
together." Smiling at Tom, she took his hand to lead him away.
"Come, Tom. Let's go look at the sky. I believe these stars are real
ones."
"Close the port!"
The door slid shut. A minute's long wait, then the boat released herself
and shot out into the blackness. The last of the lifeboats was gone.
Professor Larrabee materialized from the shadows and approached Evans
with outstretched hand.
"Well done, Captain!"
"You here? I'd hoped you'd gone with the others."
"What for? My life is over. I've had my pleasures. And this way, I shall
be seeing my wife all the sooner. She always loved adventure, and I
shall tell her all about the Thakura Ripples. Will you join me in a
drink, Captain Evans?"
"No, thank you." His voice broke. "No. I need to be alone." He turned
and strode away.
In the privacy of his cabin he buzzed operations.
"What news, Wyman?"
"Slow, steady climb, sir. All piles have passed critical stage."
Slowly he replaced the phone, and covered his eyes.
* * * * *
Huddled against the wall of boat F, Burl Jasperson stared out of the
observation port, his cold eyes intent on the distant, fast receding
lights of the _Star Lord_. Now that he felt himself to be safe, he was
weak and exhausted. Beside him sat his secretary, a wizened little man
who stared numbly at his clasped hands.
Jasperson coughed.
"Yes, Mr. Jasperson?"
"Get me a panedol tablet and a glass of water. I don't suppose there's
any ice, but if there is, put in some ice. I'm thirsty."
Meekly the secretary shuffled down the long length of the boat, solitary
as a ghost, to the cubicle labelled Rations. He was gone a long time,
thought Burl, and when at last he returned his feet were dragging more
than ever.
"There isn't any water, Mr. Jasperson."
"You idiot! There's got to be water."
"I couldn't find any, Mr. Jasperson."
"Davis!" he roared. "Davis, get me a glass of water!"
Davis looked out from the control room. "Get it yourself. This isn't the
ship's dining room any more, Jasperson. I've got other things to do now
than taking orders from you."
"But I don't know where it is!"
"All right. I'll get it for you this time and show you where it's kept,
but after this you wait on yourself."
Leading the way to Rations, he opened a steel cupboard and reached in.
Suddenly anxious, he groped about frantically, then cried, "But there
isn't any water!"
Jasperson swallowed, with dry throat.
"There isn't any water?" he asked plaintively. "But I'm _thirsty_!"
As the hours crawled by, Jasperson sat in the vast emptiness of the boat
and stared out at the alien stars. He could not bear to look at the long
rows of empty seats, seats that might have been occupied by living men,
two hundred and forty-seven silent, omnipresent accusers. His eyes were
glowing coals, his skin sagged in wrinkles over his haggard face, and
his voice was a mere croak.
"Are you _sure_ there's no water?" he asked again. "Are you certain?"
"Yes, I'm certain, as I've told you a thousand times," said Steward
Davis. "Don't you suppose I'm thirsty too? If you hadn't been in such a
hurry to sneak away we'd have been all right. That man you shot was
probably getting ready to load the water tanks."
"But you told me the boat was all provisioned!"
"I thought it was, when I saw the tail-end of that truck! But you didn't
give me time to check. Why did you have to be in such a hurry?"
Groaning, Jasperson turned again to peer at the unfamiliar suns.
"How long will it take us to reach an inhabited planet, do you think?"
"I don't know, because I don't know just where we are. With luck, maybe
a week, maybe two."
"How long can we live without water?"
"Longer than you'd think. Twelve to fifteen days if we don't move
around. We may be able to land somewhere before then. If not--" His
voice rose to a sudden shriek. "_What good are those twenty-five
thousand credits going to do me now?_"
The secretary sat in numb collapse, but Jasperson prowled the room, up
and down, up and down, past the rows of empty seats, while Davis sat and
watched him with glittering eyes. Jasperson's head was aching, and he
was aware, all at once, that he was out of breath, as though he had been
climbing a steep hill under a broiling sun.
"Have to see to this," he muttered. "They can't treat me this way."
Stumbling, he lurched down the aisle towards Davis, staggering like a
drunken man.
"Got to have more air, Davis. This won't do."
Insolently, Davis got up and looked at the oxygen indicator set in the
wall.
"Needle's falling a bit. I'll turn on another tank." He touched the
switch, then sat down again.
Jasperson began to laugh.
"What's so funny?"
With shaking hand he pointed, laughing harder, his sagging cheeks
quivering as he roared.
"It's those chairs! Ever see such silly chairs? The way they sit there,
and look at you?"
"Hey, man, you're drunk! I wonder...."
He got up to look at the oxygen dial again. The needle had fallen still
further.
"Where's that oxygen?" he shouted. He rushed into the inner compartment
and was back immediately, his eyes black with terror.
"No air reserve either! Only that one tank! You great, blundering,
condemned fool! A man can live for fifteen days without water, but he
can't live ten minutes without air. We're done for!"
Jasperson giggled.
Davis collapsed, and he, too, began to laugh, a helpless, gasping laugh.
They had entirely forgotten the self-effacing secretary, but the noise
of their dying laughter did not disturb him. He had already fallen
sideways in his chair, and would never wake again.
* * * * *
On the _Star Lord_, Tom and Dorothy sat in the empty lounge, looking
through the observation port at the real stars that studded the void.
They were holding hands. They were not afraid, and there was nothing
they needed to say.
Some of the doomed passengers sat in the Bar, drinking steadily. Others
sat and stared at nothingness. Professor Larrabee lay in his cabin, his
face turned to the wall, his eyes closed. But he was not sleeping. He
was thinking of his wife, and a smile clothed his face.
* * * * *
In his cabin Captain Josiah Evans waited alone. His hair was almost
white, now, his cheeks were sunken, and all semblance of youth had left
him. Knowing the futility of his action, nevertheless he completed the
day's entry in the ship's log, and closed the volume.
As the hours crept by he noticed that the temperature in the room was
rising. Once more, for the last time, he called Operations.
"It's no use, Wyman. Let the Piles alone. It's only a matter of hours
now--or perhaps minutes."
"Shall I cast loose the other Piles, sir?"
"No, no use in that, since you can't jettison Piles One, Two and Three.
When they go, we all go. It's impossible, now, that any rescue ship
could get to us in time. You've done a good job, Wyman. You are now
released from duty."
His hands were sweating, his whole body was wet from the high summer
torridness of the room. Captain Evans wiped his sticky hands on his
handkerchief and picked up the little red book, _Ley's Space Ships_.
Opening the book, he read for the last time the well-loved page. Then he
took up his pen and made a new notation in the margin.
"_Star Lord: Lost, May 26, 2421, on the Thakura Ripples._"
He paused a moment, and then with firm, steady strokes he wrote the
final entry: "_Destroyed by the arrogance of her owners, and the
criminal pride and weakness of her Captain._"
He put down the pen, and laid his head on his desk.
* * * * *
Hour after hour Boat A circled the dying _Star Lord_, its weary
passengers tense with hope for the all but impossible rescue. Alan sat
next to Tanya, guarding the sleeping children.