"Three days," she said flatly. "Almost four." She paused. "You ship
leave."
"Leave?" The Guesser said blankly. "The _Naipor_? Gone?" It seemed as if
the world had dropped away from his feet, leaving him to fall endlessly
through nothingness. It was true, of course. It didn't take more than
twenty-four hours to unload the ship's holds, and, since there had been
no intention of reloading, there was no need to stay. He had long
overstayed the scheduled take-off time.
It created a vacuum in his mind, a hole in his very being that could
never be filled by anything else. The ship was his whole life--his home,
his work, his security.
"How did you know about the ship?" he asked in a dazed voice.
"A notice," she said. She fished around in one of the big pockets of the
gray dress and her hand came out with a crumpled sheet of glossy paper.
She handed it to him silently. It was a Breach of Contract notice.
WANTED
_for_
BREACH OF CONTRACT