* * * * *
He jerked his mind away suddenly from the thoughts which had crowded
into his forebrain.
What were the chances that the first expedition to Alphegar IV would
succeed? What were the chances that it would fail?
And (Fennister grinned grimly to himself) what good did it do to
calculate chances after the event had happened?
Surrounding the compound had been a double-ply, heavy-gauge, woven
fence. It was guaranteed to be able to stop a diplodocus in full charge;
the electric potential (_potential!_ That word again!) great enough to
carbonize anything smaller than a blue whale. No animal on Alphegar IV
could possibly get through it.
And none had.
Trouble was, no one had thought of being attacked by something immensely
greater than a blue whale, especially since there was no animal larger
than a small rhino on the whole planet. Who, after all, could have
expected an attack by a blind, uncaring colossus--a monster that had
already been dying before it made its attack?
Because no one had thought of the forest.
The fact that the atmospheric potential--the voltage and even the
amperage difference between the low-hanging clouds and the ground
below--was immensely greater than that of Earth, that had already been
determined. But the compound and the defenses surrounding it had already
been compensated for that factor.
Who could have thought that a single lightning stroke through one of the
tremendous, twelve-hundred-foot trees that surrounded the compound could
have felled it? Who could have predicted that it would topple toward the
compound itself?
That it would have been burning--that was something that could have been
guaranteed, had the idea of the original toppling been considered.
Especially after the gigantic wooden life-thing had smashed across the
double-ply fence, thereby adding man-made energy to its already
powerful bulk and blazing surface.
But--that it would have fallen across Storage Shed Number One? Was
_that_ predictable?
Fennister shook his head slowly. No. It wasn't. The accident was simply
that--an accident. No one was to blame; no one was responsible.
Except Fennister. _He_ was responsible. Not for the accident, but for
the personnel of the expedition. He was the Military Officer; he was the
Man In Charge of Fending Off Attack.
And he had failed.
Because that huge, blazing, stricken tree had toppled majestically down
from the sky, crashing through its smaller brethren, to come to rest on
Storage Shed Number One, thereby totally destroying the majority of the
food supply.
There were eighty-five men on Alphegar IV, and they would have to wait
another six months before the relief ship came.
And they didn't have food enough to make it, now that their reserve had
been destroyed.
Fennister growled something under his breath.
"What?" asked Major Grodski, rather surprised at his superior's tone.
"I said: 'Water, water, everywhere--', that's what I said."
Major Grodski looked around him at the lush forest which surrounded the
double-ply fence of the compound.
"Yeah," he said. "'Nor any drop to drink.' But I wish one of those
boards had shrunk--say, maybe, a couple hundred feet."
"I'm going back to my quarters," Fennister said. "I'll be checking with
the civilian personnel. Let me know the total damage, will you?"