"And you, and you, and you...."

Thayer called out at last. "That's all, sir. No more room."

"None at all? You're sure?"

"Certain, sir. The talley is three hundred and thirty...."

Nearly a hundred men remained in the corridor. Ashen-faced but calm, they stared at the rectangular doorway which would have meant a chance to live.

"In you go, Thayer," said the Captain. "Prepare to release."

Into the tense silence broke the brittle clicking of high heels as Tom and Dorothy Hall sauntered up, arm in arm, a puzzled frown on their foreheads.

The Captain moaned. "Another woman! Wait, Thayer. We've one more woman here. Which one of you men in Boat A will volunteer to give up his place to young Mrs. Hall?"

An elderly man walked serenely back into the ship, and joined the others.

Dorothy looked bewildered. "But what's happened? We kept hearing so much noise we decided to get up. Is something wrong?"

"We're abandoning ship. This gentleman is giving up his place to you.

Get in."

She clung to Tom's arm. "Not without my husband!"

"Mrs. Hall! We can't waste time on hysterics. This ship might be vaporized while we're talking. A man has given up his chance at life for you. Get in."

She held back. "And Tom?"

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 pa.s.sed 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 gla.s.s 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 gla.s.s 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."